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artemiseamoon · 3 years ago

Note

Hey gorgeous :)

Could you maybe write something with Ivar and Roman please? I kinda would be interested in them with being soulmates to a female reader....only if this would interest you?!

The Three of Us

Soulmate au | Modern Ivar x f reader x Roman Godfrey

Oh how I love this pairing and soulmate trope! Here you go @walkxthexmoon (thanks for your patience)

Words: 9,876 (holy crap officially my longest oneshot ever)

Warnings: some yelling and aggressive reactions, curing, mentions of sex/ sex life, sex scenes but I wouldn’t say smut like - i went a more poetic route, you’ll see, drinking

An: I do tend to write modern Ivar without his disability. This is not meant to offend anyone, or meant as erasure. It’s just my choice as a writer. So if this detail bothers you, I respect that but please move on to other works. We don’t need to argue or fuss about it. There are plenty of people who write modern Ivar with his disability. You’ll find many. Thank you 💕

Credits: some GIFs are mine, others are not. Credit to those creators.

Many little things made your life with Ivar and Roman special. Favorite places, songs, movies, sweaters, mugs - even Ivar’s camera. Ivar received a vintage camera for his birthday two years ago and ever since he took that thing everywhere.

The three of you have accumulated a collection of mini-movies. Your adventures and daily life caught on film. It was sweet. At first, Ivar didn’t let anyone touch his camera. Not that this mattered, Roman was always taking it anyway, breaking into Ivars photography room and putting everything back when he was done. It didn’t take Ivar long to catch on.

The two lived in one of the fanciest buildings in the downtown area. You nicknamed it ‘trust fund row’, it was where most of those kids lived, including the well off students of the nearby university and the mid-twenty to early 40-year-olds who had money to burn.

Both Ivar and Roman fit in this category. They came from money and have mothers who spoil them rotten. You’ve had to deal with their rich kid syndrome at times, but for the most part, Roman is the worst about it. Ivar, despite his family name and background, is the more down-to-earth of the two, but he has his moment too.

Even with the frustrations, and coming from different backgrounds, you loved them. Unlike the boys, you worked hard for what you had. Your family did okay, but you still needed a loan for college, thankfully, you got a scholarship too and it took some of the pressure off. You even worked the entirety of your college years at one of the popular cafes within walking distance of campus. It was how you met the guys during your freshman year.

While you made coffees, heated pasties, and in the evening hours served wine or beer, the boys were partying, still never lifting a finger for anything. College, like this luxury apartment you sit in right now, all paid for by their parents.

The first time you saw them, it was your 5th week of work. You were switched to the evening shift after someone called out. It was busy all day in that cafe, but at night even more so. It wasn’t as rowdy as a bar, since they didn’t serve hard liquor, but enough beer and wine can still have a very - noticeable effect on people.

Your boss was pretty strict about his ID policy, and since you weren’t 21 yet, you just served the drinks. Your supervisor kept a pretty close eye on you too, so sneaking drinks never happened at work.

With a full class schedule and a job, you didn’t have a lot of time for fun things. Even though you lived on campus. The most fun you had involved simpler yet fulfilling things like spending time with your friends, live shows, and things like that.

You didn’t know it at the time, but your life would change drastically when those two showed up that night. You were clearing empty glasses from a table when they walked by, you noticed them instantly and to your surprise, their eyes were on you too.

Everyone knew or heard stories about these two, Ivar and Roman, trouble makers, ladies men, party animals - you’ve heard quite a bit about them yourself and would spot them around campus from time to time.

The duo was, is, impossible to ignore. Tall, lean, well-dressed Roman who strolled into every room as if he owned it. He loved all the attention he got, he ate it all up. There were three kinds of girls on campus when it came to Roman, the ones he hooked up with and now hated his guts, the ones he hooked up with and though he never got serious with them, they keep coming back, and third the ones he hasn’t hooked up with, yet.

In contrast to Roman's golden boy looks, Ivar has more of a mysterious, dark, sultry vibe to him, he’s also stronger, and more muscular. Ivar is shorter than Romans 6’4, but not by much, just 4 inches. Both guys have chocolate brown hair and light eyes, but their eyes couldn't be any more different.

Ivar’s eyes you noticed first, something about them drew you in, you found yourself hypnotized by those enigmatic, breathtaking blue eyes. The sinister smirk he flashes at you from across the room didn’t help your racing heartbeat any.

Roman’s eyes are a beautiful green, like precious gems in the sunlight. Big chartreuse eyes that hold innocent almost puppy dog-like energy as easily as they hold desire and mystery. When you first saw Roman, his attractiveness aside, you also noticed his lips, his beautiful, full lips.

When the guys arrived, they went to the bar area which had the nighttime look now. You noticed the way the bartender, a senior, checks them out and you don’t blame her, the two of them were walking heartbreaks waiting to happen.

Throughout the night, you worked your section and went to the bar as needed, each time you and the guys stole a glance, each glance sent your pulse through the roof.

You never expected them to say anything, you had confidence, it wasn’t that. You just didn’t look like the type of girl the two usually had on their arm or hanging around, you were quite different. So an hour after they arrived, when the guys ended up moving to your section, it took you by surprise.

It was Roman who spoke first as both men observed you, you never felt more visible, more seen than under their hungry curious stares. As Roman spoke, Ivar leaned back in his chair, watching you. It felt like your skin was on fire, having just one of them look at you was exciting enough, but both?

When you returned with their drinks, Ivar finally spoke, in a very casual way, he asked what time you were getting off of work. And that’s how it started, the complicated, warm, exciting, streamy three-way (relationship?) you ended up in.

Late night drinks, all-day hangs, and crashing in each other's beds soon led to the friendship lines being blurred between you and both men. Any jealousy at the start, and it was there, was long gone by now.

As far as your heart was concerned, you loved them both, not that you were ready to admit it in the beginning. Falling for two playboys? Not you. But it happened, it happened fast.

As time went on, your longing for something more serious grew. Unofficially you had two boyfriends, but officially, all three of you were single and free to do as you choose. Though you never strayed outside of your little triple love nest, there was no reason to. Together, Ivar and Roman make your perfect guy.

…

Now, with college in your rear view mirrors, Ivar and Roman still living in their fancy apartment, the three of you continue your unconventional story. You share Ivar and Roman. They share with you. Amazingly, there was never an official conversation stating labels, it just happened. Somehow, even though it’s crazy, it mostly works- or has been minus some hiccups.

Your non-traditional relationship has hit its fair share of hiccups and issues lately, even though you love them dearly, it seems like more bad times than good. It’s been weighing heavily on your heart and making you question if this was right for you or if they were right for you .

This was the very thing that drove you to take the test . The one that’s been causing all the rage lately. You can still remember when you saw the commercial. You were sitting on the couch, snuggled between Ivar and Roman as when it came on.

- Flashback -

The person on Tv: No more guessing. No more dating apps. Find your soulmate today.

You don’t know why at the time, but you held your breath as you watched. You even noticed Roman, who perpetually had his phone in his hand look up and raise a brow. When your eyes drifted to Ivar, he was staring at the TV wearing that amused expression he gets.

You diverted your eyes before either guy could see how closely you were watching the commercial. You reach for your phone and look at a random message. When your eyes were downcast, you heard Roman comment.

“What the fuck? I bet that's just some scam to get ass.” He shakes his head, eyes going back to his phone, “could you imagine? You’re my soulmate, let’s fuck.” He snickers.

Ivar chuckles to your left, “do you think that thing works?”

“Dude, of course, it doesn't. There’s no such thing.” Roman replied.

Ivar shrugged and looked at you. You felt his eyes burning into you.

“What do you think, hmm? Maybe it is bullshit. Maybe it’s real.”

“I don’t know.” You shrugged, pretending not to care.

“It’s bullshit, probably invented in the old days to get into a chic’s 10 layers of underwear,” Roman tossed his phone aside, and it landed on the cushion. With a yawn, he stretched his arms over his head, “I’m hungry. Let’s get food.”

- Flashback over -

You’ve become so lost in your thoughts, and the memory, that it takes you a moment to realize Ivar is recording you. Normally, you didn’t mind the camera, but right now, you feel too overwhelmed by it. Your mind is heavy with the test, the recent issues you’ve been having, and the last two times you tried to get a serious answer out of the guys about what this is.

Sure, it was fun for a long time just going with the flow. But as of late, you’ve been craving more stability, and hearing the words “were just having fun”, “don’t be so serious just enjoy it” or “we’re exploring” was no longer fun or exciting, it was depressing.

Returning to the present moment, you lower your head and take the camera from Ivar, turning it on him. “No, let me play director.”

“Oh come on, I was getting the good stuff. You were so - reflective…silent…” He grins.

“It’s your turn.” You grin back at him as you zoom in on his face, focusing on those beautiful blue eyes. Those magical eyes that still pull you in, still hypnotize you years later.

The sweet moment is short-lived. You think about the test again. You officially received the results last night, but you’ve been too terrified to read them. They sat in an envelope in your backpack. As for the digital version, you hid the app in a ‘don’t open’ folder on your phone and avoided the email account you used.

The guys didn’t know you took it. You’d have to tell them. You had to tell them before they found out.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you focus on Ivar again. He makes silly faces at the camera, it gives you a much-needed laugh. You savor this light moment and make faces back at Ivar.

In the background, you hear Roman rummaging through the room for something, followed by a clicking sound.

“Stupid shit, “ Roman curses under his breath, “I need a lighter. Mine is dead.”

“You know I hate when you smoke in here, both of you.” You wag a finger at Ivar who flashes his puppy dog eyes at you.

Yes, it was technically their apartment, but you spent so much time here, you lived here too. The 4 bedrooms were way too excessive for just two guys. In college, Ivar turned one room into his photography room and the remaining room was just used by friends or when Ivar’s brothers visited until you came along.

Ever since, that last room, in between Roman's room and Ivar’s has become yours. It’s personalized and everything. But you did try to split your time between here and your actual apartment. You worked hard to have a place of your own and weren't ready to give it up yet.

After keeping it to yourself when you all first started dating, you eventually grew more vocal about the smoking thing and the guys eventually agreed to smoke on the balcony outside only. Except when they were feeling rebellious.

Roman walks by the couch and imitates your words in your voice before stealing a quick kiss. You watch as he continues his search for a working lighter. Across from you, Ivar puts the camera down carefully and grabs your hand, “Come here.”

He pulls you closer. You sit next to him and rest your head on his strong broad shoulder. It feels nice. A much-needed comfort for the storm brewing inside of you.

You and Ivar sit in blissful silence as he wraps one arm around your body. You loved cuddling both of them, each guy has something special about his touch and the way he holds you.

The silence is soon cut by a cold feeling. You feel the air shift in the room as a rock sinks in your gut, nervousness suddenly washing over you. It’s not until Roman storms into the room, holding the envelope, do you know why you feel this way.

Roman throws the envelope down on the table before you. You flinch and sit up, and so does Ivar.

“What the shit is this?!” Roman barks, his green eyes burning with anger. He leans over the table, lays his hands flat on it, and stares at you dead on.

Confused, Ivar’s eyes move between you and Roman before he grabs the envelope himself. He looks at you once more before opening it.

Your heart sinks. You hold your breath.

“What the fuck is that!” Roman points at it, still yelling.

Your eyes jump from him to Ivar. Sweat beads on your forehead as anxiety washed over you. You know the answer, of course, you do , but it doesn’t meet your lips. You just look at Ivar, then Roman, then at the contents of the envelope as Ivar examines them.

Ignoring Roman for now, because his anger makes you freeze, you watch Ivar. He slowly shakes his head. When his eyes meet yours, they’re heavy with disappointment.

“I - “ you inch closer to Ivar as he waves the papers, anger seeps into his eyes, “I uh - “

Roman aggressively lights a cigarette and shoves it between his lips.

“Your name is on it. It’s yours,” he takes a long drag and looks at Ivar, “it's yours. Why do you have that?!”

You swallow and cross your arms defensively. You practiced this conversation in your mind a dozen times, but right now you can’t even form words.

Roman forces a laugh, “ I’ll tell you why, shes’ fucking leaving us!”

Ivar looks up at him. The loving soft expression from earlier is not gone, his face is cold, still, dark.

“Roman I didn’t - “

Ivar carefully places everything back inside the packet and places it in your lap, “did you do this?” He asks, but you know, he knows you did.

You stand, moving away from both of them. Feeling overwhelmed, you head to the balcony and slide the door open, a fresh breeze rolls in and hits your hot face.

“I was going to tell you guys, I just...you weren’t supposed to find that.”

Roman responds, Ivar is still silent, “I was just looking for a lighter. You always have candles and shit, I knew you had one somewhere.”

You press your lips together in a tight line, still watching them over your shoulder, your body facing the balcony. You take a deep breath, then turn to face them, “yes. I took the test. I was curious. And no, I wasn't leaving you, either of you, I just wanted to know.”

“So what are we then? Are you bored already?” Roman grows increasingly hostile by the second, his tone more aggressive.

You glance at Ivar who takes a cigarette from Roman's pack on the table. He doesn't say anything to you, doesn't even look at you, and that somehow hurts more than Romans yelling.

Ivar walks over to the balcony, right past you, and steps outside to smoke. His back is toward you now. He feels cold, so far away. You step back into the apartment and lower your head. This is bad, this is bad.

Behind you, Roman continues to go off. Each word from his lips increases your stress and anxiety.

“Ivar, “ Roman stands in front of you, his eyes locked on yours as you stare back at him, “I wonder what else we don’t know about her. Lies. Secrets - “

“Roman just, shut up!” You yell, surprising yourself. The room goes so still, that you could hear a pin drop. Ivar turns around.

Roman does a double-take before sitting on the couch. He continues to smoke, his eyes on you the whole time. The anger in his face starts to melt into something else, if you look close enough, you can see a small pout on his lips.

Pacing, you push through the tightening in your chest and speak up, “I asked you, both of you, what this was,” you move your finger between you and Roman then you and Ivar.

Ivar puts out his cigarette, walks past you, and sits on the couch next to Roman.

You continue, “I know we’ve been having fun but I never know if one day it's just going to end, or if one of you will decide you’re bored with me and move on. So yeah, I took the fucking soulmate test.”

Ivar shakes his head, not saying anything, Roman continues to smoke his cigarette. The tension in the room, mixed with cigarette smoke, is making you feel dizzy.

It could also be a panic attack.

You push the thought back and walk over to the table.

“You both never take me seriously when I ask. I have a right to ask what this is and if it's sustainable.”

Neither one responds, they just stare at you. Needing to get out of the apartment, you snatch the envelope and retrieve your backpack. You can hear Roman shout from the living room.

“Going to meet your soulmate now?”

Rolling your eyes, you pause and look at the envelope again. The name of the test is right on the cover. You look over the items Ivar reviewed and notice inside is a single sealed envelope. The results. Ivar didn’t open it.

Your heart is beating so fast now, it feels like you can’t breathe. You shove the envelope in your bag, grab your charger, and zip it up. Tossing the bag over one shoulder, you grab the jacket on the hook and head for the front door, passing the living room in the process.

“You gonna fuck him? Or will he have to wait?” Roman hisses.

You spin around and charge into the living room,

“You are an asshole!” You say through gritted teeth. ”We’ll talk about this later when you've calmed down.”

Roman stares at you. Ivar sits back and crosses his arms. For the first time, you don’t feel welcome here. You don’t even want to be here.

Turning around, you head to the door, open it, and leave. Letting it slam behind you.

….

This is the longest you’ve gone without talking to the boys, your boys. You didn’t text them, they didn’t text you. You haven’t stepped foot into your second home for 4 whole days, almost 5.

You miss them.

You’re also pissed at them.

You kick yourself for taking the test and regret doing so. At the same time, you don't regret it. Even in the face of the test, you still didn’t get an answer. They just - stared at you like angry children.

Is it wrong you don’t want to “go with the flow” your whole life? Is it wrong to want no one else involved in your special little relationship? Your questions are valid. Upset or not, hurt or not, if they couldn’t give you answers, maybe a little break is needed before any of this is discussed further. After leaving that apartment you shoved the envelope in a drawer and continued to ignore the app.

It’s Thursday night now.

After a couple of hours at the bar with the girls, your frustration leads you to the fancy apartment, three rounds of drinks coursing through your veins.

Standing in front of the door, you knocked a few times, but no one answers. When you pressed your ear against the door, you hear a tv, a game on. Someone is in there.

“Roman! Ivar! Open the door, or I’ll use my key.”

No one answers.

Sighing, you dig in your pocket and retrieve your keys. You flip to the key with a purple sticker and unlock the door.

Once it’s open, you step inside the apartment hallway. It’s long, dim, the only light is coming from down the hall, to the left, where the living room is. You pass the kitchen, it’s semi-illuminated via the moonlight peeking through the window. You can see dishes piled up in the sink, take-out containers, and empty beer bottles.

Walking past the bathroom, you stand in the living room threshold. Ivars on the couch, laying back, playing a video game. It’s loud, most of the lights are off and he’s in his underwear, the couch blanket draped across his legs.

Ivar’s eyes stay glued on the screen for a second longer before he looks at you. He pauses the game and puts the controller down.

“Can we talk?” You ask, nervously shoving your hands in your pockets. The angry courage you had seconds ago is fading.

Ivar stares at you and takes his time responding. “Yeah.”

Taking your one word in, you enter the room fully and sit on the loveseat left of the long couch.

Ivar watches you sit and rolls his shoulders before asking, “Why’d you do it?”

You break eye contact and stare at the floor, “I would have loved to explain the other day. But Roman was being a brat and you just, you checked the fuck out.”

Ivar lifts his chin and crosses his arm, “you dropped a bomb on us.”

You sigh, “what happened the last time I tried to ask you both, seriously, what we are doing?” Your eyes meet his again.

Ivar sits back, arms still crossed, “I remember.”

“Neither of you took it seriously. You made fuck buddy jokes, Both of you.”

“You never got upset before.” He shrugs.

“Yeah, when I was 20, 21 - we’re not in college anymore. We are in our adult lives, Ivar. I’m a more mature version of that girl you saw in the cafe that day. You guys mean so much to me but I can’t lie to myself anymore. I realized I need more. Yes, you are my best friends, yes we have a lot of fun and good times, more good times than bad. But - “ you pause and take a breath, “I want…commitment. Real commitment and not feel silly when I want to talk about this stuff with you guys. Or like I’m killing the mood. I did try to bring all this up and you two brushed me off.”

You stop, trying to read Ivar’s expression. He’s still silent. Still holding your gaze with his intense stare.

“Ivar - I took it because I am frustrated. Because I’m not getting everything I need. My efforts to have an open honest conversation with you two was treated as a joke. So I was pissed and hurt. And angry. Plus, we just got over that two-month rough patch where shit was just - weird, with all of us. Put yourself in my shoes…sure, I should have tried to talk about the test with you all first but I have my reasons. I took it because I needed to know one of two things. Is there someone out there for me who can check all the boxes and if that person is one of you two, or not?”

“If it’s not one of us?” Ivar asked. “Then what?”

You start to reply then pause. As you think over your reply, Ivar’s blue eyes stay fixed on you.

“I have thought about that possibility. A lot actually - I mean, statistically neither of you have taken it right? So if it is one of you, I won’t have a match at all -”

“Who is it then?” Ivar asks before you can finish.

“I don’t - I didn’t open it,” you answer honestly, “I’ve been too afraid to see it.”

The answer seems to surprise Ivar. Readjusting on the couch, he kicks one leg up on the table and uncrosses his arms.

“Well, what are you waiting for. Check.”

He suggests this huge act in his usual calm tone, his unique accent always sounding sweet to your ears. But you can see he’s still upset with you, his walls are up. Even with barely any clothing on, he feels guarded.

The idea of opening the letter, or the app puts a sour taste in your mouth. Dropping your gaze, you break eye contact with Ivar a second time.

“Go ahead. Open it.” Ivar presses on.

“But you didn’t take it - “

“I know that,” he raises his brows as he says your name, “open it.”

Though it was fun downing those drinks, they feel anything but now, settling uncomfortably in the pit of your stomach. You glance at Ivar once more before pulling out your phone.

Once the screen is unlocked, you dig up the app and open it. As the main page loads, a chill moves over your body. Your phone feels empty in your hands. Following the prompts, you reach the results scene, mouthing the words as you read them;

“No match at this time.”

5 words. One sentence.

It’s enough to help you breathe easier for the time being. You take a deep cleansing breath, your eyes drift to Ivar’s.

Feeling slightly better, you continue one of your earlier thoughts, “I was planning on telling you guys. I just needed time but Roman found it and freaked out. I wasn’t going to keep it secret and I wasn’t planning on leaving you guys.”

Ivar’s hard gaze starts to soften, he lowers his leg from the table. As he moves his arms to rest on his thighs, you watch his stomach and arm muscles flex. If it wasn’t for the tense situation, you’d be throwing yourself on top of him right now.

It was a treat whenever you found him like this, nearly naked, reclining on the couch, his delicious sculpted body on display. You calm the rising sexual thoughts in your mind and shift back to the more emotional subject at hand. The fact that you’ve been fighting back tears since laying eyes on him helps you temper your desires.

“Test or not, I can’t just…leave you two behind, you both are part of me,” you say softly, speaking in a lower tone, “and if It was some random person, I wasn't going to just run off with them. I would have talked to you guys first.”

Ivar sighs, looks you over, then pats the cushion next to him. You stand and sit beside him, facing him. Ivar leans forward, staring deep into your eyes, and says, “I believe you.”

A smile slowly builds on your lips. You cup his face with your hands. “Thank you,” you whisper.

Lowering your head slightly, you blink away oncoming tears. They weren’t entirely sad ones, you feel relief too. Ivar gently wipes the tears from your cheeks, his eyes never leaving you.

With every passing second, you feel more relaxed, you feel the tension leave your muscles. You didn’t know what you were expecting when you charged over here.

Even with your anger, you were afraid of losing them, especially Ivar.

Roman isn’t the only one with a temper, Ivar has one too. Ivar could hold epic grudges. In a way, his anger is the worst. Roman's anger is hot, fast, and explosive; like lightning, firecrackers, or a storm. Even if it lingered, it didn’t go bone-deep for Roman. But Ivar, Ivar’s is like poisonous roots of a tree, seeping down into the soil, to the foundations of the earth and gripping the very core with a death grip.

In your mind, you figured all of you would be upset for a bit but you’d mend fences with Roman first. Then, hopefully in this century, Ivar. So, it’s a nice surprise he’s being so gentle with you, so understanding. He hasn’t raised his voice at all, not once. Unlike Roman. As soon as your other love returns to your mind, you feel sadness and a sense of loss.

At least, you try to remind yourself, Ivar believes you. You still have Ivar.

As Ivar’s eyes move over your face, the remaining stress in your body melts away. Thoughts of Roman drift to the background as you focus on Ivar. The way he looks at you still takes your breath away, you find yourself under his spell in seconds.

Your gaze falls to his lips as he smiles at you and says, “I'm sorry," he pauses, "I love you.”

When your eyes meet him again, Ivar grins and draws you closer with his steamy gaze. You find your body inching forward, same as his. When Ivar rests his right hand on the side of your neck and gently yet firmly holds it, an intense warmth moves through your body, your cheeks grow hot. Desire floods in, taking hold of you as his lips meet yours in a kiss.

Ivar’s kisses always leave you breathless, and this one is extra special. Maybe because you’ve been apart for 5 days, or maybe because he was afraid of losing you too - Ivar spells you with his lips, his touch, the way his hands move over your body. As the kiss intensifies, you feel your hearts reconnecting; you feel the broken connecting mending, becoming stronger than before.

When the heated kiss breaks, you and Ivar stay close, holding each other as you catch your breath. Stimulated and breathless, you run your hands up and down his arms while gazing lustfully at his beautiful face, “I love you too Ivar.”

The way Ivar’s eyes light up at your words makes you smile and before you know it, he’s kissing you again, pulling your body beneath his on the couch. The second kiss leads to an ever-heavier make-out on the couch. Your hands explore each other bodies as you lose yourselves to passion.

With emotions high, and the two of you longing for each other, Ivar wastes no time taking you back to his bedroom. Being with Ivar again, though it’s only been 5 days, feels like the first time. It feels like a cure for your sad heart, it feels like heaven.

Ivar is the perfect blend of rough and sweet with you, with your body. From the very start, he’s always been an intuitive lover and he worked your body and awakened all your spots like no one else could. In his large soft but firm bed, your body pressed beneath his, you happily and excitedly give yourself to him.

Ivar’s kiss, his touch, the way he fills you - it's like a drug, you’re utterly and completely intoxicated by him. As you look up at him, your hips moving together, you can barely believe this is real, that Ivar is real. Ivar feels the same way.

He has to remind himself to go slow, to take his time, to show you how much he loves and appreciates you. But he slips, speeding up, going harder, it's impossible not to when you feel the way you feel, smell the way you smell, when you look at him with those eyes - the most beautiful eyes he’s ever seen.

To Ivar, you are perfect, a goddess, a dream come to life. Clothed or unclothed you are a work of art and he needs you to know it, to believe it, to feel it. Ivar tells you with his kiss, his hands, his lips, by the way, he fucks you and looks you in the eye. Each purr, each moan, each breath that leaves your perfect lips makes him fall harder for you, makes him love you more than he already does. Your name is signed on his heart, now and forever.

Needing more of you, needing to be deeper inside of you, Ivar changes positions, guiding you where he wants you. The moan that leaves your lips is sweet music to your ears.

He loves you

He's sorry

He should have listened

He loves you

He loves everything you do

He loves every sound and word that leaves your lips

Ivar already has your heart, you already love him and when you fall asleep in his arms, your bodies warm, sweaty, and buzzing with euphoric bliss, you love him even more.

…

When you wake next, the room is pitch black except for the moonlight streaming through the window. You let your eyes settle in the dim room before crawling out of bed.

Though Ivar’s room has a half-bathroom, you don’t use it, you don’t want to wake him. He’s sleeping peacefully, so you decide to quietly leave the room and use the one in the hall, closer to your room.

Roman found this apartment first, he chose it for the view, which to be fair is fucking amazing, and he liked that it’s the deluxe top-floor apartment of the building. Roman loved feeling like a king and this ridiculous apartment gave off that vibe.

Naturally, Roman took the gigantic master bedroom and its attached full bathroom for himself. Ivar was living with his brothers Hvitserk and Ubbe at the time, then moved here, taking the 2nd largest room. When negotiating one of the rooms as his studio, Ivar used the whole “you have a full bathroom I don't" thing in his favor.

Your room is the smallest of the three (well, it's not that small really) and doesn't have a bathroom, but you didn’t mind. It was nice having your own cozy nook here, even if it was small. Besides, most of the time you were sleeping in either Ivars or Romans bed anyway or falling asleep on that massive wrap-around couch they have in the living room.

Thinking about both guys, you finish up in the bathroom and consider peaking into Roman's room. Letting curiosity take over, you do so quietly and find it empty, he wasn’t there.

Your heart sinks a little. Where is Roman? And was he coming home? He hated to guess what a sad angry Roman could be up to; he was the most self-destructive of the two. He was better with you two in his life, less reckless but who could say he wasn’t doing something stupid right now.

Closing the door quietly, you return to Ivars' room and climb into bed. He wraps his arms around you, pulling your body close to his. In no time you fall asleep again in his arms.

…

3 Days Later

Finishing up at work, you put the last of your things in your bag. One of your coworkers peeks her head into the room,

“Hey I meant to tell you, your boyfriend was hanging around but didn’t come in.”

You crook a brow and look back at her.

She laughs, “oh, yeah, I should clarify, the really tall one who likes to wear black….Roman.” She smiles at you.

“When was that?”

“About an hour ago, sorry I got swamped and thought you may have seen him yourself.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“No problem…” she lingers in the doorway, “what's the secret? I wish someone could tell me they saw my boyfriend out front and I could ask, which one.” She chuckles.

“None of it was planned, I can tell you that.” You respond, slinging your bag over your shoulder. Normally you would laugh at something like this too, but only one-half of you was happy right now.

You still haven’t spoken to Roman. You gave in and texted, then called, and got nothing in return. Just dead silence. Top-tier cold shoulder treatment. So right now you can’t find it in you to laugh about it with her.

You’ve mostly been at the boy's apartment, a mix of making up with Ivar and hoping to see Roman walk through the front door. But he still hasn’t come home and is ignoring Ivar’s texts too.

In the back of your mind, you feared, for a fleeting moment, Roman was in trouble somewhere. He did drive fast when he was upset and got in the habit of getting in fights when he had steam to blow off. Maybe he pissed off the wrong person? Or got a DUI?

It was one of the reasons you were late to work today, you were looking up arrest records and news reports, hoping to not find his name. Ivar did try to calm you, he had a valid point, if Roman Godfrey got in trouble it would A, be all over the place, public news or B Oliva would get him out of it in 5 seconds and he would have come home. Ivar guessed Roman was out self-medicating and would come home in a day or so.

Hearing Roman was outside like a stalker instead of responding to your texts was pretty on character for him. It also confirmed Ivar’s suspicions were right. By the time you say your goodbyes and head outside, Roman is nowhere in sight, not his very loud, very ‘Roman’ car. This likely means Roman is finally back at home.

Instead of going 20 minutes south back to your place, you head to the guy's apartment. On the elevator ride up, you stare at your phone. The Soulmate service has been sending you emails, but you don’t open them. You swipe and delete, just like you have with the other ones.

You decided to not worry about that right now. You wanted to fix things with Roman before anything else could happen. The last few days with Ivar have been great, but it still feels like your other half is missing, you need Roman too, you want Roman too.

Shoving your phone back in your pocket, you get off on the last floor and walk to the door. Taking a deep breath, you lift the key and slip it into the lock. Before you can turn the key, the door swings open, nearly taking you with it.

“Look who it is.” Roman hisses, he crosses his arms, blocking the doorway.

“Roman.” You regain your footing and look up at him.

He frowns, “how's your new boyfriend? Is he good fuck? Better than us?”

Cursing under your breath, you throw your hands in the air, “Roman please, can you just stop? I don't want to fight with you!”

You and Roman lock eyes, staring each other down. Roman takes a step back first, then shrugs. “You're the one keeping secrets.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, take a breath, then push your way inside, knocking past him as you do.

“What the shit?”

“I need this cleared up, now. I don’t care if you’re in a bad mood, hungover, still drunk whatever. Just sit down, shut up, and listen.” You toss your bag on the floor.

Roman’s brows come together as he watches you. He closes the door and walks past you, then sits on the couch. The expression he’s wearing now is like a little kid who just got yelled at.

“What were you doing at my job?” You ask hands on your hips.

Roman reclines back, a defiant look in his eyes. “ I can go anywhere I want.”

“You’re such a fucking brat.” You stay stern, rooted in place. You and he are having this talk now, whether he likes it or not.

Roman breaks eye contact first and digs in his pocket for his cigarettes. Just as he’s about to pull it out, and you’re using every ounce of control you have to not go off on him just yet, he grabs his phone as it makes a sound.

“Can you put that way for a bit, we need to talk Roman.” You sit on the couch a few inches away from him.

Roman’s green eyes meet yours briefly before he looks at the phone again. He’s sulking. He’s still very pissed. Annoyed. you watch as he swipes something open and his eyes grow wide at what he’s seeing.

“What?” you ask curiously.

“Shit, I fucking matched.” He lowers the phone, bringing his eyes to yours.

“What?” You ask again, not sure you heard what you heard.

Roman rubs the back of his neck, his eye darting to the phone, then to you again, “I took the stupid test today...” he trails off, watching the emotion in your eyes, “I was so mad at you I -”

You break eye contact and looks down at the phone in his hands. Sadness washes over you.

What kind of pandora's box did you open by taking this fucking thing?

You wish you never took it.

You hate that commercial.

You want to erase it from your memory.

Now Roman would be gone forever, your Roman.

You feel your spirit, your sense of hope, your assertive energy you walked in here with all melting away. Clearing your throat, you stand up and move away from Roman.

“I’ll leave you to that then.” You barely get the words out, your throat feels dry. A numbness starts to mix with the sadness, slowly reducing it until you no longer know how you feel.

Roman lowers the phone, confusion on his face as he watches you walk away. When he calls your name, you stop and look back at him.

“Where are you going?”

“Home.” You say.

Roman stands too, “I only took the stupid thing because…” he pauses, thinking about something, “did you look, who is it?”

“I don’t have a match.” You say the words are ever sadder out loud than in your head. You feel your shoulders curving forward like your body is making itself smaller.

“Shit, I’m sorry, fuck,” he scales the distance between you in no time with his long legs and cups your left cheek with his free hand. His eyes search yours.

You shrug, pretending not to care, “it’s fine.”

“Hey, “ Roman whispers your name so tenderly you feel your chest expand, “don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not. It’s fine. It’s not the end of the world.”

Roman shakes his head, “ you know what, fuck this stupid test, the whole thing is - fuck it, I’ll delete it right now - “ Roman swipes at the phone with one hand, while caressing your cheek with the other.

When his eyes drop to the phone, he mutters under his breath and goes still. He opened the results instead of deleting them.

Not wanting to see who this person is, you take a step back and divert your eyes.

“I took it, I won’t rob you of knowing so just - look, it’s okay.” You cross your arms, fixing your eyes on a painting on the wall.

When you hear nothing but silence, you bring your eyes back to Roman who is staring at you.

“Don’t be a brat, come here.” He grins and presents the phone.

“No, I don’t want to see it.” You wave your hand in the air before you.

Roman walks over to you, “just look at the godamn phone will you.” He shoves it closer and you grab it reluctantly.

Even when the phone is in your hands, your eyes stay locked on Romans. He urges you once more to look at the phone.

“Fine.” You drop your gaze and read the email, your eyes freeze on the name. The phone nearly slips out of your hand, Roman catches it.

When you look at him again, his smile fades, “you wish it was Ivar?”

“Why would you say that?” You ask, still processing what you saw.

Roman starts to make a joke, then stops. He radiated confidence and to those who didn't know him, they would never guess how insecure he actually is. He had his moment, and this is one of them.

“Hey, look at me,” you grab his arm, his eyes meet yours, “listen to me closely okay, don’t say shit like that.”

Roman just nods, but you can tell he’s still feeling doubtful.

You pull out your phone and find the deleted emails, quickly opening one you see you have a match. You open the email and hold it up to Roman's face.

“Do you see that?” You point at the name and photo, his name, his face. Then at his phone where your name and photo appear.

Roman forces a smile, “so, you’re not… disappointed it’s me?”

You shove your phone back in your pocket with a sigh and drag Roman over to the couch. Once you are both sitting, you hold his hands in yours.

“I know you and I have more fights than me and Ivar. And you know there are things you do that I don’t - agree with but it does not, at all make me love you less. I love you, and I love Ivar. You are part of me, same as he. I feared not seeing either of you as my match, that scared me the most. I don’t want some stranger or some new person.”

Roman relaxes as you speak, you can see a light returning to his eyes.

“I’m not leaving you, I wasn't secretly planning to break up with you. You just didn’t give me a chance to speak, to explain. I love you so much but you have to do better, okay? We need to be able to talk about things without you freaking out.”

Roman nods, hearing everything you are saying. Roman wraps his arms around you, holding you tight in his arms. He takes a deep savoring breath and buries his head in the nook of your neck.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers against your skin. You rub his back and close your eyes. You missed him, you missed his scent, the way he feels.

The two of you sit there quietly, just holding each other and breathing. There's so much to say, you two have so much to talk about but right now it just feels so good to be held by him, and hold him back.

Roman moves first, leaning back so he can look at you, “ I miss you. I love you.”

“I love you too, Roman.”

Roman smiles wide, it reaches his eyes. You missed that face, the look of happiness illuminating his handsome features. Roman strokes your cheek as he inches closer. Your heart is pounding in your chest, your eyes locked on his.

You watch as Roman stares at your lips, strands of his hair fall into his face, and you gently smooth them back. Roman's eyes close at your touch, he loved when you touched his hair. He would often lay in your lap and request it.

You feel butterflies in your stomach as your foreheads and noses touch. A tingly feeling moves over your body. Roman locks eyes with you again while grabbing your hips, he pulls your body closer to his until you’re nearly in his lap.

“I was afraid - “ he starts, stops, then starts again, “I was afraid I lost you.”

“You didn’t lose me,” you brush your lips against his, “I’m right here Rom-”

Before you can say his name, Roman's lips meet yours. You move your hand to his shoulders as the kiss deepens. The taste of his lips mixed with his scent and his hands on your body is dizzying. You feel a tingle down your spine mixed with nervous excitement.

As you kiss, you feel love blossom in your body, you feel the threads of your heart repair themselves. Roman wasn’t an easy man to love, but you do, you love him completely, endlessly, fully. You heard once that some soul mate connections weren't easy, maybe there’s some truth in that.

As you part for air, Roman stands and offers you his hand. He walks you back to his bedroom, body pressed against yours as he plants kisses on your neck, the sides of your face, and on your shoulders.

The moment you step foot in his bedroom, you’re kissing again and pulling clothes off each other. When your naked bodies meet the mattress, Roman takes his time tasting you, worshipping you, devouring you.

He makes sure he leaves no part of you neglected, no area of skin devoid of kisses - everything disappears as you lock your legs around him, his cock deep inside of you, his perfect thrusts sending you closer and closer to your peak.

As your bodies move as one, in a rhythmic sensual dance, Roman whispers praise against your hot skin and declare his love for you in between heated kisses. Each time you pull his hair and run your nails down his back he groans, losing himself further in you.

The sweet release comes as reach your apex of desire. Roman continues to fuck you through it until he comes. Catching your breath, the two of you lay still, savoring the wave of ecstatic pleasure as he moves through your bodies.

Roman gazes at you with heavy lids. He needs you. He loves you. He's going to try his best to be better, for you.

…

Your body is utterly but blissfully exhausted, you rest your head on Roman’s naked chest and drape your arm across his body. You feel him hum contently under you.

Roman skims his fingertips over your skin, following the length of your arm. Under the tangled sheet your legs are wrapped around each other. You don’t know how long you’ve been in this room, or how much sex you’ve had at this point, you just know that this is exactly where you want to be.

“In the beginning,” as Roman starts speaking, you lift yourself so you can see his face, “ I did see other people, sometimes, not a lot. But over the years it’s just been you, “ his eyes are clear, honest, “I only want you - since you have Ivar too I thought maybe I’m not enough so I tried seeing other people. I can't. They’re not you.”

Touched by his confession, you move up his chest to get closer to his face, and you plant a kiss on his lips, “I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t tell you, I should have told you. I guess the jokes were my way of…dealing with it. I know I fuck up, I fuck up a lot. I’m sorry. I’m trying. I’ll keep trying to do better.”

“Good,” you and kiss his lips again, “ I believe in you. I know you can. Since I’ve known you, you have grown as a person, I’m really fucking proud of you Roman.”

He smiles and touches your face, his other hands still lingering on your ass under the cover. He loved praise, he lit up each time.

“We gotta tell Ivar.” A worried look flashed on his face.

“I know, we will. The sooner the better, I think. Tonight?”

Roman nods and shifts his head on the pillow, his eyes still on yours. Your mind starts to drift as you think about Ivar. It feels like one big problem was just resolved but now you had to tell Ivar about the test, about Roman being your match. It would crush him, even if he denied it or joked about it. You didn’t want to hurt him, you didn’t want to hurt any of them.

“I’ll just go out there and tell him I win. End of conversation.” Roman boasts with a grin.

“Are you crazy, he’ll stab you. Or throw a knife at you,” You were joking, half-joking. But you also know Roman loves Ivar, they joked around a lot and gave each other shit, but still, Roman wouldn’t want to hurt Ivar either. He was a lonely rich kid with no real friends before Ivar. Roman is just as attached to their little triangle as you are.

You continue, “we talk to him at the same time, and give him all the space he needs to digest it all. Yeah? And make it clear that I’m not going anywhere, you either. It’s the three of us, just as it's always been, just… a better version.”

Roman grins, “sorry I was distracted by your perfect tits. What was that?”

“Oh god,” you roll over on your back and laugh.

“No, I was actually listening though, and looking at your tits, “ Roman lays on his side too, his eyes full of adoration as he studies you, “it’s a plan.”

As you start to rise, Roman pulls you back to bed.

“I want more cuddles.” He demands.

“Okay, you can have all the cuddles you want.” You melt against him and close your eyes.

After a few minutes, he speaks again, “you know you don’t have to work that job. I’ll take care of you. I mean it. Anything you want. You don’t have to work again.”

“I don’t want to be a kept woman,” You run your fingers through his hair, “but thank you for the offer.”

“No don't think of it like that. Let me take care of you. I’ll do it. Ivar too. Between the both of us, you’ll have anything you ever need.” Roman rests his head against your chest. “Think about it.”

…

When the two of you finally leave the room, Ivar still isn't home. After checking the fridge, you settle on take-out. Since Roman needs more cigarettes, he offers to pick them up and get his smokes at the same time.

After Roman leaves, you sit on the couch and look for a movie to watch. When the door opens again, you lower the remote,

“That was fast.”

Ivar comes into the room and you feel your heart sink, it must show on your face because the way he looks at you changes from excitement to confusion. Ivar’s observant, he’s always been and you know he knows something is wrong.

He drops his gym bag on the floor and walks over to you.

“What is it?”

You sit up and frantically search for anything to say in your mind, anything but the test.

As Ivar sits next to you, you crumble under his gaze and spill the beans, you spill everything telling him about the test and Roman being your match. You’ve never talked so fast in your life and when the last words leave your lips you don’t feel lighter or relieved, you feel worried, and scared.

Ivar reclines back, his eyes focusing on the tv absentmindedly.

“Ivar, say something.”

He smirks, but nothing about it is warm, “something.”

“Ivar, don’t shut down on me, please,” you grab his face, making him look at you, “I know taking the test started a lot of shit but I can’t take that back now. All we can do is move forward okay. You know how much I love you, love isn’t even a big enough word. I’m not going anywhere. You still have me, I still have you.”

He takes a slow breath, eyes locked on yours.

“You, me, Roman. That’s all I want. It’s the three of us, and no one else. If you want that too, if you are okay with that, then let’s just move past this test okay and go back to our normal.”

Ivar presses his lips together in a tight line, and his jaw tightens. You can tell he’s battling with himself. Part of him is upset and jealous. The other part is okay with all this and happy to move forward.

“The three of us, “ you repeat softly, “the test gives you one person, yeah? Well the way I see it, and their research out there to back this up, a person has more than one soul mate so the test, in a way is only half the story. I have two soul mates, I know it, you and Roman. I don’t need a test to tell me that.”

Ivar smiles. He caresses the side of your arm.

You move closer to him, “tell me what you want, Ivar. Please?”

Ivar takes a moment to think.

He loves you.

He loves you more than he ever thought he could love a woman

Before you, Ivar didn’t think he could fall in love or have a relationship, but you changed all that. In fact, Ivar fell for you hard and fast and stopped seeing anyone else within the first year.

You made Ivar better, whole, you softened him up in good ways. You made him realize aspects of life he was missing and now can’t live without.

Learning to share you wasn’t easy for him, but one day it clicked and it just - worked. Ivar made a choice years ago that he would rather share you than lose you, and now, as he stares into your eyes and feels your soft hand against his skin he knows his mind remains unchanged.

Ivar suddenly pulls you beneath him on the couch and litters kisses on your neck and face.

“You’re not getting rid of me that fast.” He smiles against your skin before planting another kiss.

“Good, “ you wrap your legs around him and rub his back, you can feel the sweat under this shirt, “you are very wet and stinky.”

“And you smell like hot sweaty sex, so we’re even, “ he sits up, still pinning you beneath him, “well, almost. Romans had you all day, you’re mine tonight.”

Turned on by his words, you grab his collar and pull him down into a kiss. The front door opens and closes. Caring a bag of food, Roman peaks inside of the living room and laughs, finding you and Ivar making out on the couch.

“I guess the talk went well.”

Ivar breaks away, looking at his friend, “very. I know about the test. It’s cool. But she’s mine tonight, and tomorrow. And the day after." You quirk a brow as you listen to Ivar.

Roman chuckles, “we’ll see about that” he winks at you and heads to the kitchen.

Ivar stands and helps you off the couch, “ come on let's eat.”

“I’m starving.” You wrap your arms around him, walking behind him to the kitchen.

Over dinner any tension is gone, the three of you talk and laugh. Ivar and Roman make jokes and take verbal jabs at each other. It’s perfect, it's just as it should be. You feel happy. You feel at peace.

After dinner, the three of you watch a movie on the couch. You take turns cuddling with each of them during the movie, with stolen kisses in between scenes. After dinner, Ivar takes you into the bathroom where you share a very steamy shower before settling in his room for the night.

You fall asleep like a baby that night and look forward to tomorrow and the rest of your life with the two men you love.

...

Thanks for reading😁 @walkxthexmoon maybe? @punkrocknpearls @youbloodymadgenius

#modern ivar #modern ivar x f reader #Roman Godfrey #Roman x f reader #ivar x roman x f reader fic: the three of us

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Rose Tinted.

Pairing: Yandere!Kuroo/Reader, Yandere!Kenma/Reader, Yandere!Akaashi/Reader & Yandere!Bokuto/Reader.

Word Count: 3.9k.

Synopsis: Life is stressful. It was stressful when you were your own person, when you were free, and it is now, when you’re relegated to a captivity spent in the arms of your four captors. It’s only natural that you adapt to your current life by modifying the details of your old one.

TW: Prolonged Imprisonment, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Mentions of Physical Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Gaslighting, Mentions of Past Toxic Relationships, and Implied Non-Con.

Kuroo reminds you of your old roommate, sometimes.

It’s a sickening comparison to draw, but you can’t help yourself, not when you’re with him, not when he’s acts so much like her. Kuroo’s a morning person, and with his busy schedule and all the time he spends traveling, he tries to steal every minute he can with you, every second you’re not wrapped in Bokuto’s arms or sitting on Kozume’s lap or doing whatever Akaashi does, after he forces those little white pills down your throat and your mind gets too fuzzy to form memories, even if that means he has to fish you out of bed before sunrise, deposit you on the countertop, and mutter one of his favorite threats in your ear, just to ensure you won’t make another lunge at the knife block. You’re almost grateful for that last step. It gives you an excuse not to strain yourself, so early in the day.

It’s a vague link, but it’s there. In the way he hums to himself as he cooks, how absent-mindedly he moves around the kitchen as he puts together the meal you’ve watched him make a thousand times. He’s more rushed than she used to be, though. Whereas your roommate would still have one eye shut as she cracked an egg over a sizzling pan, Kuroo’s already fully dressed, even if his shirt’s slightly unbuttoned, his tie loosened and his blazer draped over your shoulders despite your attempts to subtly shrug it off. That was something she’d done, too, but differently, more innocently. She’d ruffle your hair as you collapsed on the kitchen island, commenting on ‘another late night’ or how helpless you’d be without her help. Kuroo doesn’t have to ask. He knows where you are, where you were, all the time, every day, and if there’s a lapse in your schedule he isn’t sure how to fill in, then you wouldn’t be watching him cook.

You’d be locked in a closet, left without food or water or warmth for however long it took for you to swallow your pride and admit that you’d spent two hours trying to break the deadbolt on your bedroom’s window yesterday, all while Kuroo sat on the other side of the door and congratulated you on finally being honest.

You almost don’t notice when the humming stops, Kuroo turning the stove off before he shifts, his eyes flickering in your direction while a soft grin tugs at the corner of his lips, more patronizing than endearing. You can almost bring yourself to hate him for it. In the moment, you think you do. “You’ve been awful quiet,” He starts, once you fail to say anything on your own. “Something on your mind?”

Lying to Kuroo is useless. Bokuto never catches it and Kozume doesn’t care, but Kuroo doesn’t allow it. He thinks it’s a sign of disobedience. He thinks it means you’re falling into old habits. “Just my roommate,” You mutter, hoping you sound disinterested enough for Kuroo to drop the topic. “She used to cook a lot, too.”

There’s a hum of acknowledgement, a collision of wood on wood as he opens the nearest drawer. Idly, you wonder if Kuroo can do anything without making noise. “Blonde hair, brown eyes? The same girl who always skipped out on rent?”

“She couldn’t keep a job.” You almost glance towards him, if only to smirk and tell him that, whatever he’s making, she would’ve made it better, but you stop yourself before you can. He wouldn’t like that, and as bland as Kuroo’s cooking is, your roommate probably would’ve burnt the pan beyond repair and left the mess for you to find, hours later. “It wasn’t her fault. She always got stuck with strict bosses, and she wasn’t good with schedules. She was really nice, though.”

Kuroo chuckles, taking a second to prod at your side. “C’mon, sweetheart, nicer than me?”

You don’t answer, but Kuroo doesn’t seem to mind. There’s another laugh, another prod, and he steps in front of you, positioning himself between your open legs and supporting himself against the cabinets lining the wall, caging you in. It’s probably supposed to be a playful gesture. It’s probably supposed to be, he probably wants it to be, but somehow, you can’t find it in yourself to feel so light-hearted.

When he raises a hand, you don’t flinch, but you have to fight the urge to recoil as he cups your jaw, tracing his thumb over your cheek. You don’t want him to touch you, but you know better than to push him away. “We’re in a good mood today, alright?” The question is soft, well-meaning, but you frown regardless, tightening your grip on the edge of the countertop. “No fighting, no tantrums, and no trying to get away while I’m gone. I know the others go easy on you, but when I come home, I don’t want to hear a word about your behavior.”

They don’t go easy on you. No one goes easy on you. Kuroo’s just too harsh.

Kuroo’s strict, but… he makes good on his promises. If there’s anything about him you like, it’s that.

Apparently, you take a little too long to respond. Again, you're forced to think about your roommate when he sighs, the same way she used to when you had to tell her you wouldn't be able to pick her up from that bar or go to this party, that you were too tired, that you didn’t want to see her face after working yourself to the bone so the two of you could afford to feed yourselves. Like she was disappointed. Like she had the right to be disappointed.

“I know you’re still getting used to this, but try to give it time. The guys and me, all of us love you, and none of us want to see you sulk. I’m not asking you to cheer every time I walk through the door, just…” There’s a pause, another sigh. Kuroo straightens his back, pressing a long, lingering kiss into the top of your head. “Just try to smile a little more, alright? I promise, I’ll make it worth the effort.”

Your answer is short, but you can still feel Kuroo’s smile against your skin. And, just for a moment, you think you might be grateful he bothered to ask.

“I’ll try.”

Bokuto reminds you of your boyfriend, in a certain way.

Out of all of your captors, his intentions are the most unquestionably romantic. Akaashi and Kuroo seem to think of you as more of a pet than a partner, and you’ve never been able to figure out what Kozume wants from you, but Bokuto’s straight-forward, Bokuto doesn’t feel the need to hide his intentions behind pretty words and selfish gifts and mantras about how much he loves you, even if the last still comes naturally. You don’t appreciate him for it. You don’t like him for it, but it makes Bokuto bearable. If you had the luxury of choosing a favorite, he’d probably be your first pick.

It helps that he’s still so convinced your relationship is normal. When he’s the one to wake you up, he lets you decide what you want to wear, and when he kisses you, you don't have to kiss back. You’re allowed to say no, with Bokuto. You’re allowed to refuse, and he won’t push you to change your mind.

Tonight’s an exception to that rule, obviously.

You think you’re in Akaashi’s bed. The sheets are white, tucked in a little too tightly at the corners, and the lighting is dimmer than it would be, if Bokuto’d had the patience to carry you somewhere more private. You don’t remember falling asleep, but you don’t have time to forget waking up. The jarring dip of the mattress, the strong hand on your shoulder, barely bothering to shake for a second before pushing you onto your back and pinning you down, thighs straddling your waist and his chest pressing against yours before you can do so much as open your eyes. You only realize it’s him, realize that it’s Bokuto when he kisses you, taking advantage of your stupor in that messy, clumsy way that always leaves you breathless and gagging. That leaves you hurt, more so than you would be if any of the others treated you so roughly.

He’s smiling, when he pulls away. It’s not soft and it’s not subtle, and it hasn’t faded by the time he finds your neck, latching onto the sensitive spot just above your jugular. If he had been your boyfriend, you might’ve laughed as his teeth graze against your skin, you might’ve found it exciting when he bite down. But, it isn’t. Your boyfriend would’ve asked, and Bokuto isn’t your boyfriend.

“I asked,” He cuts in, not waiting for you to finish. That’s fine. It’s expected, honestly. Bokuto’s like a puppy, too eager for his own good, a trait that borders on endearing at times, but only manages to come off as frustrating, now. “He’s always really busy, and you just looked so sweet, I didn’t know of I could leave you all alone.” There’s a laugh, abrupt and bright, the sound soon muffled against the crook of your shoulder. “Just an hour, alright? Then you can go back to sleep.”

“Kotaro,” You try, pushing lightly on his chest. It’s a futile effort, one that only results in a groan against your skin and an arm around your waist, but you try regardless. You’re not sure you’d be able to forgive yourself if you stopped. “It’s supposed to be Keiji’s turn and… I don’t know if he’d be alright with--”

That sounds like something your boyfriend would’ve said, too. Just an hour. Just an hour, then you’d be able to go back to sleep, or back to work, or back to whatever you did to pass time when you didn’t have any time to pass. And when you didn’t have an hour, when you tried to explain that, you two would spend an hour fighting, instead. At least you didn’t have to fight with Bokuto. He made that part easy, with his willingness to pout and cry and fuck you into the mattress with tears in his eyes because, although you could say no, he doesn’t care if you do. It just makes things easier when you don’t.

“I-” Again, you’re interrupted, the words fading into a small, high-pitched shriek as his canines sink into your shoulder. And you’d just gotten your hopes up that he might let his last set of love-bites heal without interruption. “I don’t want to do this.”

Now, that makes him pull away. It’s almost surprising, how little relief there is to accompany the gesture, how much guilt comes with having to meet those wide, glassy eyes and swallow the apology playing on your tongue. You didn't apologize to your boyfriend, not the last time, not the most important time. Or, your ex-boyfriend, you guess. You’re pretty sure you broke up with him, or he broke up with you, or someone said something that made you angry enough to storm out of his apartment and into Bokuto’s waiting arms, Akaashi beside him with a length of rope and a needle full of sedatives.

His voice shakes when he speaks. ”Are you… Are you mad at me, again?”

You aren’t. It’s hard to be mad at Bokuto, and you’re so tired of always doing the hard thing.

“Wouldn it matter if I was?” You mumble, falling back onto Akaashi’s bed. “It’s not like you’d listen to me.”

You’re looking at the ceiling, now, but there’s a shift, a slight change. Soon, you can’t feel his weight on your chest, and you have to suppress the urge to mourn his stifling presense. “I’d try to.”

You almost wish it was Akaashi on top of you. At least then, you might be able to believe he knows he’s lying. “You wouldn’t,” You sigh, trying to sound exasperated. Trying to sound genuine. “If you listened to me, you would’ve let me go, by now. If you really loved me, I wouldn’t still have to tell you how much I hate it here.”

Less than a month ago, you’d yelled the same words. Screamed them, repeated them, told Bokuto how much you hated him and his friends and everything they’d forced onto you. Now, it’s all you can do to say them with enough strength not to crack under the pressure, not to give into the temptation to throw yourself at his chest and claw until he’s the villain again and you’re helpless, just an uninvolved bystander in your own suffering.

To your credit, it’s a fleeting urge, one that’s gone by the time you roll onto your side, away from Bokuto, curling into yourself as he settles against your back. There’s a heavy sigh, another gentle kiss to the nape of your neck. His arm wraps around your waist, but there’s no attempt to drag you closer, no attempt to go any further. You almost wish he would.

It’d be easier to cry yourself to sleep, if you could blame him for forcing you to.

Akaashi reminds you of your co-workers, all the time.

He spends so much time working, it’d be impossible not to draw the connection. He smells like an office, like ink and metal and more chemicals than an editor should use, and he feels like one, too, his skin always cold and his hands always quick to clamp down around anything warm and kicking and alive. It reminds you of the receptionist who used to give you a hug every morning, a sourceless gesture that was always a little too tight to be comfortable. Of Kuroo’s handshake, when you were first called back after your initial interview. You suppose he has more right to the position than Akaashi, you must’ve worked under him for months, but Kuroo invited you out for drinks, he made small talk, he could take off his suit and defrost when he wanted to.

Akaashi couldn’t. Akaashi can’t.

That, or he won’t, and you don’t know which option scares you more.

It doesn’t help that he works so often, either, even when he’s home. You can try to block it out, try to ignore the constant click of his keyboard, the occasional creak of his chair whenever Akaashi tries to reposition himself, but there’s only so much you can do on his lap, your arms strung over his shoulders and your face buried in his chest, your sleep-deprived mind momentarily forgetting its distaste in favor of seeking out as much comfort as it could.

That might be what drives you to speak, to break the silence as Akaashi bows his head, his lips brushing against the dip of your shoulder while his hands fall from his laptop to your hips. As always, his touch is cold, unnerving, the shirt he’d forced you to borrow doing little to protect you from the chill. “I hate you.”

There’s a tap to your side, a noise of acknowledgement. “I know, angel. You’ve mentioned it before.”

“So much,” You go on, your voice muffled by his sweatshirt. “More than the others. Every night I fantasize about slitting your throat and stuffing one of your stupid toys in the wound. I still have a scar from that fucking collar.”

This time, you get a hum, low and absent-minded. “A small one,” He adds. “Kenma’s done worse, and I’ve already apologized.”

He has. This is an old argument, one you’re still mad about, but one you know you’ll never resolve, not with someone so apathetic. So, you try a different approach. Not something more honorable, but something different. Something that wouldn’t leave a coat of ash on your tongue, hopefully. “My friends probably think I’m dead by now, my family too.” It feels good to say, but it feels awful, at the same time. Like you’re admitting defeat. Like you’re submitting to the same man who's been whispering those very same words to you since your first night spent in his loving care. “Even if I get out, you’ve already ruined my life. I won’t have anywhere to go back to, not a job, no place to--”

“That’s a good thing, right?” It’s an innocent question, judging by his tone. You try not to take it as one. “You always hated your job.”

It’s almost a reflex to defend yourself. “I never--”

“Yes, you did.” If it was Bokuto, you could’ve told yourself he’d been fed a lie, or pushed into a delusion that featured you as a damsel in distress and him as your big, strong, brave hero. If it was Kuroo, you could’ve told yourself that he wanted you to believe you hated your job, your old life, everything he was kind enough to rip you away from. Kozume would’ve been uninterested enough to stop the conversation before you started to spiral, but you’re not talking to Kozume, or Kuroo, or Bokuto. You’re talking to Akaashi, and Akaashi doesn’t care whether or not you’re happy. He doesn’t have a reason to lie to you, not about something so mundane. “That’s why we had to take you home. You were too stressed, I was getting worried.” He pauses, his hands moving to your sides, pulling you away from his chest. You don’t resist, but you don’t look up, either, not until he cups your cheeks in his palms, his voice suddenly going from sterile to soft in the space between one breath and another. “It was painful to watch, it was painful for all of us. I know it’s hard to see from your perspective, but you used to cry so much, and you were so close to falling apart. We just did what we thought would help.”

“So you decided to kidnap me?” It’s the harshest you’ve been in weeks, even if you barely manage to raise your voice. You grab his wrists, but you don’t try to jerk him away. Instead, you settle on digging your nails into his skin, and in return, Akaashi ignores your minor show of rebellion. “You’re not doing me a favor. You’ll never convince me I want this, because I don’t. If you have to tell me I’m happy, it’s only because you know I’m not.”

“You’re not happy, but you’re happier than you used to be.” He doesn’t try to make light of the revelation, but his neutral expression still cracks, leaving the smallest smile in its place. Not amused, but not sympathetic, either. Not malicious, but certainly not kind enough to spare your feelings. “It’s easier, and I think you know that. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You just couldn’t handle life without a little help.”

You pull away, jerking your head out of his hands and crossing your arms in front of you, putting as much distance between you and Akaashi as you can. “You’re lying. You’re lying, and you’re not even doing it well.”

You can feel him let out a breath of a laugh, leaning forward just enough to push a kiss into your temple before drawing back, content to admire the long-awaited results of his work.

“Of course I am, angel.”

Kozume doesn’t remind you of anything, and it’s unbearable.

You’d worked with Kuroo, intimately. He’d introduced you to Bokuto, and you’d met Akaashi at his games, even if the two of you never shared more than a few polite niceties about the match at-hand. Kozume’s the only one who’s new to you, he’s the only one who’s just your kidnapper, even if he fit the role well. You can’t sympathize with him, because there’s nothing to sympathize with. You can’t understand his irrational connection with you, because he’s never bothered to offer an explanation. It shouldn’t upset you as much as it does. It shouldn’t be as awful as it is. He shouldn’t make you feel as disgusting as you do, but he does. You don’t know why, but he does, and you can’t forgive him because of it.

It’s almost a relief when you wake up alone on the edge of Kozume’s bed, tucked under heavy black sheets with sunlight already spilling through the open window. You consider rolling over, trying to go back to sleep, but you can already hear a lock clicking in the distance, light footsteps moving over wood as Kozume steps in, leaning against the doorway as he watches you start to stir. You’re purposefully lethargic, taking the time to sit up and rub your eyes until it doesn’t hurt to blink, but Kozume’s content to stare on. Part of you hopes you’ll get used to it, soon. The rest of you tries to smother the idea before it can spread.

“Mornin’,” He calls, when you make it clear you’re awake. He’s dressed, not formally, just jeans and a hoodie, but it’s more than you’ve come to expect from Kozume. Somehow, it only makes him seem more alien. “I’ve got few meetings today, Tetsuro’s out of town, Bokuto’s training, and Akaashi doesn’t get off until this afternoon, so you should have the house to yourself until sunset, at least.” There’s a glance to the floor, a quiet laugh. Despite everything, he can still seem shy when he wants to. “If you promise not to break anything, I could forget to lock you up before I leave. It’s not like you’d try to get out, anyway.”

“I would.” It’d be a damning confession with anyone else, but Kozume doesn’t blink twice. He’s already made up his mind, which means nothing you say matters. “I hate it here, and all of you know that.”

“Maybe, but you wouldn’t leave.” His voice is calm, his tone playful, but Kozume’s eyes narrow as he steps forward, and you square your shoulders, trying to glaring at the sheets rather than him. Still, you can feel him hovering over you, making you squirm as he goes on. “I mean, why would you want to? It’s not like have anything to go back to. Hell, from the way it looks, we might’ve been the only ones who stil pretend to miss you.”

“Of course I’d want to,” You snap, trying not to ball his sheets in your fists, trying not to acknowledge how reasonable he sounds, trying to ignore the part of your brain screaming for you to calm down before you make things worse for yourself. “I have a family. I have friends. I have a life outside of lying down, closing my eyes, and letting you live out whatever sick, perverted fantasy you’re trying to--”

“That’s not what I asked.” He doesn’t try to talk over you. He doesn’t have to, not when there’s already so little strength behind your argument. “You should want to escape, but…” Finally, his smile falters, but the unbothered frown that takes its place is no less comforting. He shrugs as he speaks, and you have to fight the urge to shrink into yourself. “Do you?”

You open your mouth. You open your mouth, then you close it again, then you close your eyes and drag your knees up to your chest, glaring childishly at the mattress, behaving exactly how they want you to. Kozume doesn’t try to push you any further. He doesn’t ask another question, he doesn’t force you to anwer, only sighing as he drapes an arm over your shoulder, slotting himself against your side, holding you. It’s cruel of him to do. It’s a small mercy. It’s nothing, it means nothing, but he’s mocking you, at the same time, belittling you, humiliating you. You hate him for it, but at the same time, you’re not sure you can. You’re so tired. You’re so, so tired, and you’re not sure you can be anything else, anymore.

You’re not sure you know if he’s wrong, anymore.

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hongjoongtrasher · 4 years ago

Text

the beauty and the beast (chapter 1)

word count: 2k461

angst

series masterlist

Synopsis:

When you move to a new city due to your father's job, you don't expect to stay for a long and so decided not to get attached to the world around you.

But still, you are "the new girl", unwillingly attracting people's attention because of your family's background. Your strict father expects a lot from you, not to say perfection. And when you are sit next to a certain Jung Yunho, you didn't expect your life to take a radical turn

You don’t even remember when you stayed more than a year in the same city. It probably started around the age of 3, when your father got his promotion he wanted for so long. That’s how your family used to move every year, or even shorter than this. You don’t remember having a childhood friend, and worst, have you ever had friends ?

The unfamiliar view of the busy city at your window made you remember that once again, you had to unpack the few items you owned. You quickly discovered it was more a burden to drag along unnecessary things that would later be a pain in the ass to unpack and pack forever. Only school books, clothes and some other accessories were keeping you company in this new room. So impersonal, cold. But it would stay this way, since you knew you’d probably move on again in few months. While tidying your room, you heard a knock on your door, making you look at it to see your father.

« Y/N ? Can we talk for a bit ? » he asked, a poker face on.

« Yes father. »

Father. From the moment you could speak, he always told you to call him father. No dad, or affectionate pet names. It was just showing the gap that have been created so far between you both. Your mom ? You don’t even remember her face. You learnt from your grand-mother a long time ago that your parents got divorced when you were just a newborn. The reasons to this separation are staying difficult to know, but your father never talked about her in your presence. You always thought that somehow she didn’t want you, that was probably the best reason you could thought due to the lack of her tries to contact you for 17 years. So instead of a mom, you grew up with a nanny who was still living with you and your father. She was a sweet and caring person, always making sure you weren’t lacking anything. You owed her a lot, knowing she was the one who was basically raising you up, of course with the directions of your father.

You soon arrived in the large living room, as impersonal as the rest of the luxurious apartment your father got from his work. It was neutral as possible, but still anybody could notice the taste for luxury he acquired with the time. Trophies, some modern canvas you couldn’t even interpret, a large TV with home cinema etc. Your father was sitting in his black leather armchair, in his usual white shirt and black suit. And you just sat down on the white sofa, waiting patiently for him to start.

« I got you a place in a school from a friend of mine. » he began, and you felt your body being rigid.

Studies were his obsession when it comes to you. You always had to be first, having the best grades, the best in every field you could reach. That was probably also the main reason of why you never got close friends. Because you were « Miss Perfect Brain » and the only child from a wealthy family, most of people thought you were just like one of those entitled kids who would think they are the one ruling in this world. But you were not. Actually, you never wanted any of those thing. How many times you wanted to go to clubs after class ? Just hanging out with kids from your age, sharing hobbies etc…But you never could because your father would always send you to study classes after your school schedules.

« The school ranking is pretty good, so I think you are able to reach 1st place right ? » he continued, his cold glare piercing your body, making you tighten your fists on your knees.

It would be a disaster for you to be 2nd. Actually not really for you, but for your father. With him, it was first or nothing, and nothing would results as punishment for you. Even since elementary school, he would force you to copy the mistakes you’d done until 2 in the morning, « to make you remember not to do the same mistakes again ». Sometimes depriving you from eating until you would perfectly recite the lesson. As a child, you had spent nights crying in your pillow, hating your father for being so mean to you, and today, you just gave up. As long as you were doing as told, everything would be fine, right ?

You nodded as an answer, finding the courage to finally look at his strict face.

« Y/N, this year is going to be a decisional one for you. After graduation, you’ll go to Korea University and study international business. Don’t deceive me » he announced, making you gulp at the end of his sentence.

Of course it wasn’t what you wanted. But what did you want in the first place ? You didn’t know. You couldn’t find any perspectives for yourself. And of course, you didn’t have a word to say.

« Yes Father… »

And without adding any words, he stood up and left for his office, leaving you alone in the living room. You wanted to cry, to yell how unfair it was for letting someone decide for yourself. You throat was dry and your fists were trembling from madness until you felt a comforting hand on your shoulder. It was Sookja, your nanny and the housekeeper. She probably heard the whole conversation, and was knowing perfectly how you felt at this moment.

« This is so unfair… » you mumbled into your breath, trying to hold back your tears of pure rage.

« I know sweetie… » the old woman sighed. « Maybe he will let you do what you want later » she tried to soften your mood, but it was already ruined.

You sighed and stood up, just shrugging to join your bedroom again, head dipping first into your pillow. You didn’t feel like unpacking, so you just stayed in your bed, until your nanny came to inform you dinner was ready. As usual, you were eating alone. Your father never ate with you, because of his schedules. How funny it was to see that even on your birthday he would be absent, justifying himself to be busy but that he would « make it up for the next year ». Weariness eventually took over sadness. This was your daily life, and you didn’t expect it to change now…Unless.

It was your first day at your new high school. You were so nervous that you had barely eaten on the morning. You were apprehending people. Of course you were used to see new faces all the time, but this time was different. You were arriving in the middle of the first semester in a school where everyone from your prom was knowing each other’s, and to crowned everything, your father was accompanying you this morning to greet his friend, the principal for this year. The more the black Audi was entering the school yard, the more you wanted to become a mouse. You hated so much those looks of curiosity, or full of judgment. Your father intimated you to get off the car, which you did, looking at the floor while the Principal was waiting at the main entrance. You didn’t hear the following conversation, your heart beating too fast and in your ear. Some students stopped to watch the scene, and some of them at the windows were taking pictures. How embarrassing. Little did you know a group of boys were also watching from the first floor.

« Heh, is this the new girl everyone’s talking about ? » hummed a blonde boy, his chin in the palm of his hand while he was leaning on the window sill.

« Seems like it » answered a tall boy, a lollipop in his mouth. « Dude, she looks hot »

« Mingi, you even haven’t seen her face yet » groaned the little blonde again.

Mingi shrugged and said. « Hongjoong, she’s rich, so she’s hot »

« You’re an idiot » sighed the said Hongjoong, rolling his eyes in exasperation. « What d'you think Yunho ? »

Yunho stayed silent during the whole conversation, hands in his pockets as he was watching the scenery before scoffing. « She’s just a little rich bitch » he mumbled before turning from this, going to his classroom.

You had to stay at the professor’s room, so that the Principal could introduce you to your homeroom teacher. Strangely enough, all the teachers seemed too nice. Of course they were. The shadow of your father must be planning around. « Let’s go introducing you to your new comrade » said your teacher enthusiastically which made you forced a smile. You silently followed him to the door where he made a sign for you to wait. Your heart was about to explode, as you could hear the sounds for chairs and people chatting in the classroom. You didn’t know how much you waited in this hallway, but your teacher appeared again, calling your name. You jumped a little, not expecting this time to come…so quickly. Gulping again, you slowly passed the door to present you in front of everyone, your eyes scanning the room. « Can you please introduce you ? » Asked your teacher, everyone’s waiting to hear the sound of your voice for the first time. You really wanted to run away and never come back, but you couldn’t. Your father would definitely kill you.

« H-hi, my name is Y/N, nice to meet you » you said, quite unsure of yourself.

Some kids applauded, which made you blush from embarrassment.

« Alright, Y/N you can go sit next to Yunho there » said your teacher, pointing at the front row at the very left of the room, not to say the corner.

Your eyes landed for the first time on the boy called Yunho. His black wavy hair were hiding his forehead and also his eyes, but you could definitely feel he was glaring at you. Not staring, but glaring as if you did something wrong. But what could you have done wrong ? Was sitting next to him a crime ? You awkwardly sat down next to him, feeling the cold tension radiating from the silent boy next to you. At some point, you really felt uncomfortable, to the point you didn’t dare looking at him a single time. You tried your best to focus on the class, nervously holding your pen. Surprisingly, the first two hours of class went by fast, but you still haven’t talked with Yunho, and he seemed not trying to neither. When the bell ranged, announcing the first break of the day, you gathered your things before you heard his deep voice for the first time.

« Move. » he ordered in an annoyed tone, his tall figure dominating your frail one.

Your heart stopped beating for a second, suddenly scared. He seemed mad at you for God knew which reason, but you quickly moved to let him pass, looking at your feet while you could hear a « Tsch… » from him.

What the hell was happening ? Why this boy was hating you from the start ? You took your phone and went to the girls toilet, to regain composure, but still, you felt a dark aura from him. While you were thinking about this, you heard girls gossiping outside the cabinet you were occupying.

« Did you see that ? She is next to Yunho ! »

« The poor girl, I bet she won’t stay next to him for a long time » said another girl, in a mocking way.

« She doesn’t know he’s a total douchebag tho. »

« Hey ! He’s still hot. But yeah, a douchebag »

And they laughed before exiting the place. What does this mean ? You began to get really worried about this Yunho. He seemed to be a bad guy, but was he really ? You inhaled deeply again before going back to your classroom, expecting to see Yunho again, but he wasn’t here anymore.

Class started again, and you couldn’t help but wonder where Yunho went and why he left. Your new Korean literature teacher didn’t seem surprised when doing roll call. « Ditching classes again huh ? » he mumbled before going on.

At lunch time, you searched for a place to eat alone. You didn’t feel like going to the cafeteria or stayed in class to eat, so you went to the rooftop, surprisingly empty. You expected to see at least one or two people…But anyway, it was better for you. Leaning against the wall of the staircase, you took out the lunch box Sookja made for you with your favorite food inside as a good luck charm for your first day. It slightly made you smile and brought you some comfort. You didn’t want to think to anything, just having some peace until you heard loud laughs from the stairs, making you panicking and quickly packed your lunch to see a group of boys who seemed as surprised as you to find you here.

« Oh, isn’t the « New girl » ? » smirked the small blonde guy.

You quickly looked away, mumbling a « sorry » before trying to pass over them, but an arm blocked your route.

« Hey, you could at least say hi when someone’s talking to you » groaned the tallest from the pack.

You felt intimidated. You just wanted to leave, without creating any problems. You looked up at the tall guy, scared about what he was about to do next until you noticed wavy black hair. Yunho was here also, and he didn’t seem to pay attention.

« I-I’m sorry, I just want to go p-please » you said weakly, the panic gaining your body each second passing by.

« Tss, is that how rich bitch like you are behaving huh ? »

This was escalating quickly. You were too scared to do anything, when you saw the tall guy’s hand reaching out for you too rapidly, making you flinch.

« Mingi. Stop. »

It was Yunho’s voice. As you shut your eyes tight, you slowly opened them to see an annoyed Mingi, rubbing his nape in frustration while the blonde guy was shocked. Yunho looked at his friends.

« Hongjoong, let’s go somewhere else » he added to the blonde guy.

Hongjoong nodded and slighlty pushed Mingi away to the stairs, only Yunho staying still, his dark orbs fixed on you in silence.

« Hey, I really hate people like you, but I didn’t want Mingi to do something bad, so you better go now. » he warned, giving you a cold shiver in your back.

Why was this always like this ? No matter where you go, people always hate you, or fake to be friendly to you because of your status. You felt tears filling your eyes, but you with the few pride left in you, you left Yunho alone on this rooftop, running away from him until next class. You were certain of a thing, Yunho hated you and you're far to know he'd soon take advantage of you.

chapter 2 coming soon ! please let me know what you think about this first chapter <3

taglist: @palegardenrebel @mirror-juliet @twancingyunhoe @yeosangmystar @dreamer95 @tinyteenieateez @yunsangoveryonder @tenebrisirae

Couldn’t tag : @nz-pichbg (comment to be added in the taglist)

#ateez angst #ateez smut #ateez fluff #ateez fanfic #yunho imagines #yunho fanfic #yunho angst #yunho series #ateez series #yunho fluff

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specterchasing-a · 4 years ago

Photo

Eddie Carridine & Dani Edwards

A first attempt at analyzing Eddie’s relationships.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Depression, suicidal ideations (in the form of disregard for their own lives), and generally heavy topics such as loneliness and death.

At first glance, Eddie and Dani don’t seem to have much in common. She’s a dedicated slayer with a strict code, someone who values the importance of supernatural secrecy above almost all else. He’s a loose-lipped kid with a camera, preaching about how wonderful supernatural beings are. Needless to say, they clash—hard, but dig a little deeper than surface level and these two have more in common than they might ever know.

SOCIAL LIVES

Dan’s moms kept her on a rigid training schedule with little room for interpersonal relationships to develop. Eddie’s parents, albeit with vastly different motivations behind their actions, tried their best to keep him quiet and obedient. As one would assume, this kinda fucked them both up in a major way. Neither is particularly well-versed in navigating social situations, though that disadvantage presents itself in different ways between them. Dani keeps her emotions to herself and prefers to keep people at arm’s length while Eddie throws himself at whoever shows him an ounce of kindness. Different, yet alike, you feel me?

VIEWS ON DEATH

As a slayer, Dani’s gift is death (sorry, not sorry, for the Buffy reference) and Eddie, being a medium, has been surrounded by death since childhood. They cope with grief in different ways but both view death as something inevitable, maybe they even think that’s a good thing. Dani’s purpose is to die for the sake of humanity. If she doesn’t, she’s a failure. Eddie believes he doesn’t have a purpose outside of shepherding the dead and exposing the truth. Beyond that, he’s just a corpse waiting to happen. Neither Dani or Eddie view death as something to be afraid of. It is what it is, and it’ll probably come sooner rather than later.

STUBBORNNESS

Yes, Eddie and Dani hold directly opposing views on the subject of supernatural secrecy but, more than that, they’re both assholes about it in the same way. When they first reunited at the grocery store and Dani saved Eddie’s life, Eddie blew up at her. He told her exactly what he thought and didn’t pull punches. It was not the first time Dani had been assaulted with narrow-minded stupidity and probably wouldn’t be the last. Initially, she bit back as she asserted her own views. Neither listened to the other, not really. Both of them were dead-set on believing the other was wrong, leaving no room for growth or understanding. They were like two unfortunately similar magnets pushing each other away.

IDEALS

Another instance of Dani and Eddie being alike, yet different can be seen in what motivates their actions. Clearly, they go about things with oppositional methods, but they are both driven by a need to make the world a safer place. Dani, rough-n-tough slayer that she is, is more interested in protecting humans and ridding the world of supernatural threats. By doing her job, she literally makes the streets of White Crest safer for its squishy, mortal inhabitants. Eddie, on the other hand, wants the world to be safer for supernatural beings. He sees them as outcasts with targets on their backs, bogged down by unwarranted prejudices and falsely spun bad reputations. In his idea of utopia we’d all hold hands while we sing ‘We Are The World’ and outgrow things like murder and human sacrifice. If you ask me, neither of them have realistic expectations for how the world should treat supernaturals, but what matters is that they firmly believe they’ve got it all figured out and that the rest of the population needs to catch up with their massive brains. I realize this echoes a lot of what I said about their stubbornness but this is my impassioned rant about two idiots and I’ll be redundant if I want to.

ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIPS

Dani, considering she was raised to be a murder machine with a quickly approaching expiration date, doesn’t see love as a possibility for herself. For other people? Sure, but such luxuries shouldn’t be wasted on someone with a terminal birthright. Eddie, though this is quickly changing in lieu of his budding relationship with Alfie, never saw himself as someone who would fall in love either. Because of repression and guilt, he wanted to be right, too. Romantic love, whatever shape it took, was wonderful for everyone else. Let them fall into each other’s arms and make five-year plans together, Eddie would keep himself busy memorizing gravestones. Love scared him, so he left it alone. From what I can tell, Dani’s not scared of love—it’s just inconceivable to think she might experience it. Still, recent growth on Eddie’s part aside, they used to both be resigned to going through life alone.

LONELINESS

Okay, yeah, they’re resigned to going through life alone but, unfortunately for them, human beings are social creatures. Dani, I believe, might not always be aware of how much she needs other people but, at times, she reads as an exceptionally lonely character. On dash, characters have reached out to her after crises and her initial responses were always heartfelt and, most importantly, crossed out. Her first instinct is to show affection and concern because she does, in fact, know on some level that she needs people in her life but… that’s not supposed to be in the cards for her. Dani shelves her unfeigned distress in favor of lukewarm receptions. Some exceptions might be with Athena or a few other characters at times but, for the most part, Dani tends to isolate herself.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, we have Eddie. If someone says so much as one nice thing about him, he’s prepared to commit atrocities in their name. He’s not shy about it, either. He loves deeply and without prejudice. Recently, people have shown up in his life that give him countless chances to show-off how much devotion spills out of his heart on a daily basis. But it wasn’t always like that. For most of Eddie’s life, the majority of people he met made him feel like a freak. High school was hell for him, not that he’s unique for that. His fellow students tormented and ostracized him, his parents wanted nothing to do with him, and he struggled for a long-time trying to figure out how to love himself when no one else seemed to. That particular obstacle is still an issue but it’s thankfully becoming more manageable. However, even with new friends and old relationships being galvanized, it’s hard for him to believe the past won’t infect the present and future. Yesterday’s heartache comes back to him in aftershocks of loneliness and fear. No matter what, Eddie cannot completely escape feeling alone. So, he and Dani sadly have that in common as well.

#c: dani #wickedscontent #// LMFAO did i write an essay about eddie and dani? yeah pretty much #it's not my fault ci's amazing and their child has a vice grip on my heart #plus i plan to do these for a few of the other major players in eddie's life #so stay tuned #suicidal ideations tw

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a-gorgeous-george · 4 years ago

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Basic Questions

First name? Georgette

Surname? Foxworth

Middle names? Luciana

Nicknames? Gigi (by her mother)

Date of birth? August 7th

Age? 22

Physical / Appearance

Type of clothes?

Georgette’s style is all about femineity and luxury. She wears a lot of dresses, a lot of skirts, but even her workout clothes are designer. She swears “cheap” clothes give her a rash – and who would want to mar her perfect skin like that.

How do they wear their clothes? Tight and tailored.

What are their feet like? (type of shoes, state of shoes, socks, feet, pristine, dirty, worn, etc)

Georgette is rarely seen without heels on, and thanks to regular pedicures and lack of abuse, her feet are soft and pretty always.

Race / Ethnicity? Spanish and Indonesian

Are they in good health? Oh yes, she has a strict workout schedule and diet she sticks to… well, actually, perhaps not, because alongside that she also lives a life of high stress and nicotine.

Personality

Are they more optimistic or pessimistic?

It really depends on the source of power in a situation. If it is something she has control over, she is optimistic, can’t see how something would ever not work out, but if someone else is in control, her view changes considerably and she is usually fairly certain it will fail.

Do they ever put on airs?

When is she not putting on airs?

What bad habits do they have? She has a serious nicotine problem.

What makes them laugh out loud?

She isn’t really a laugh out loud type of person. She might chuckle or smile in amusement, but laughing out loud indicates a level of ease that she just does not feel around people. Also Al.

How do they display affection?

She is very physically affectionate… I think. She has never been in a position where she felt comfortable being affectionate with a person in that way. Besides that, she shares her wealth in ways that benefit that people she cares about, shares her privilege with them. She is happy to be her friends’ sugar mama.

How do they want to be seen by others? Beautiful and in control.

How do they see themselves?

She very much sees herself as a lone wolf. She knows she’s beautiful, smart, capable, hardworking, but she’s alone and absolutely terrified someone will recognize it. She is also very much aware of her inner rage.

· How are they seen by others?

Because of her past with her family and the lack of ties it provided her, Georgette was left defending herself. Her arrogance and obsessive need to believe in her own importance is directly tied to the lack of importance anyone else gave her.

Strongest character trait?

For all her bravado and arrogance, Georgette is 100% unafraid of hard work. From her work on her blog and marketing it, her history as a beauty queen, her strict adherence to her diet and exercise routine, every aspect of her life, she has no issue knuckling down and putting in the time and effort to succeed.

Weakest character trait?

She is incapable of asking for help, as if it somehow undermines her own achievements if someone else must assist her.

How competitive are they?

Extremely. If you want to manipulate Georgette into doing something, make it a contest. She’ll probably even know what you’re doing and still be unable to resist.

Do they make snap judgements or take time to consider?

Snap judgements all the way, baby!!

How do they react to praise?

Smug agreement.

How do they react to criticism?

Strong commitment to your character’s delusion that she is anything other than amazing.

What is their greatest fear?

Dying without ever achieving anything of substance.

What are their biggest secrets?

Georgette is crushingly lonely. Her whole life has been spent pushing people away, trying to protect herself and prove herself, full of anger, and it has left her without anyone she can be close to.

What will they stand up for?

Once her blog is up and running and successful, once the magazine starts to take off, she will have real issues with people saying she’s self-made. She is fully aware that even without her father’s money, her name alone carries a certain currency most people do not have. She is well aware of her own privilege in that area and will stand up against anyone who compares her achievements against someone who didn’t have that head start.

Who do they quote?

She’s a closet book nerd and might not quote directly but will frequently make allusions to literature.

Are they indoorsy or outdoorsy? Indoorsy.

What is their sinful little habit? Cigarettes.

What sense do they most rely on?

Sight – how someone/something looks dictates more of her life than it should.

How do they treat people better than them?

What people better than them?

How do they treat people worse than them?

That seems like an unfair question when everyone is worse than them.

What quality do they most value in a friend? She wouldn’t know.

What do they consider an overrated virtue? Niceness.

If they could change one thing about themselves, what would it be?

She would have people who cared about her.

What is their obsession? Herself?

Friends and Family

Is their family big or small? Who does it consist of?

Her mother and stepfather, father and stepmother, Jenny and Oliver (Yes, she considers Oliver as part of her family)

What is their perception of family?

When she was barely cognizant of life, her father had an affair, had a baby, split up her family, quickly destroying the idea in her head. It is an outdated concept made to make people feel like belong to a group, no loyalty or love.

Describe their best friend.

………. Let me get her just a friend first.

Ideal best friend?

Someone who understands her hustle. Someone she can see the inherent importance in. Someone that can still pull her out of her head and get her to have fun.

Describe their acquaintances.

She is jealous of the closeness of Dodger’s gang, watching as an outsider and wishing desperately to be a part of it all.

Do they have any pets?

She is a massive dog person! (Get it?) But yes, she has a little doggo, Valentina.

Past and Future

What was your character like as a baby? As a child?

Awful? Spoiled? She was raised spoiled, but after her father’s betrayal, she sought to teach him a lesson. Even as a child, she would blackmail and torture him, threatening to reveal his dirty secret to the world. She was worse to Jenny even, more easily able to take out her anger over the affair and her birth on the younger girl than the truly guilty adults.

Did they grow up nurtured or neglected?

Neglected – but that is partly her own fault. She is as much at fault due to her reaction and actively hurting her family and her father. She lashed out and did truly awful things and crushed what bond there might have possibly been.

What is the most offensive thing they ever said?

Oh, I don’t know… in my head, I feel like she can be a very problematic person. Add that in with her natural meanness, I am sure she has said some awful stuff.

What was their first kiss like?

It was awful. Some other 7th grader when she was in 7th grade. Too wet. Thought he was trying to drown her.

What is the worst thing they did to someone they loved?

Repeatedly blackmailing her father for her own benefit.

What are their ambitions?

She wants to outshine her father, claim their last name as her own and not the sullied version her father left in the wake of his controversy. That is why her blog and future magazine is named after her.

What advice would they give their younger self? It’s not Jenny’s fault.

What smells remind them of their childhood? Perfume and peppermints.

What was their childhood ambition?

Growing up, her mind stayed on the pageant world. Her ambitions usually stayed just one pageant ahead of her.

What is their best childhood memory?

She doesn’t know if it’s real or not, just this soft memory of her father grinning and spinning around the living room with her, dressed in his coat and tails.

What is their worst childhood memory?

Listening in from the hall as his father confessed everything to her mother, hearing her mother sobbing as he threw clothes into a suitcase.

When was the last time they were crushed with disappointment?

The last one? She still hasn’t got over her first one.

Love

Do they believe in love at first sight?

She only barely believes in love in any form.

· How do they behave in a relationship?

Georgette really doesn’t do relationships, thanks to that whole “love isn’t real” thing. They usually last a month or so, but she gets bored and has no issue telling him to get lost after that point.

When did you character last have sex? Perhaps a couple weeks ago.

What sort of sex do they have?

She is looking for something hot, passionate, and with someone she doesn’t have to worry about calling back.

Conflict

How do they respond to a threat?

Georgette doesn’t back down from a threat, though her means for fighting usually involves $$$ instead of doing any sort of fighting herself.

Are they most likely to fight with their fists or their tongue? Tongue.

What is your character’s kryptonite? Point out her lack of backup.

If your character could only save one thing from their burning house, what would it be? Say it with me… diamonds.

How do they perceive strangers?

Her trust or lack of trust in them is based solely on how they look.

What do they love to hate? Oh, that is way too long a list to put here.

What are their phobias? Bugs of any sort.

What is their choice of weapon? Poison.

What living person do they most despise? Her father.

Have they ever been bullied or teased? That would not go well for that person.

Where do they go when they’re angry? Home, to seethe and plot.

Work, Education and Hobbies

What is their current job? Blogger.

What do they think about their current job?

She has dreams of something bigger, more substantial, but she’s thankful for the success the gossip blog has had and excited to grow it.

What are their hobbies? Painting, reading, dancing.

Educational background? Some college.

Intelligence level?

I believe she is fairly smart, but her work ethic covers a lot of distance for her.

Favorites

What is their favorite animal? Doggies.

What is the most beautiful thing they’ve ever seen? Her face in the mirror.

What is their favorite song? Ego by Beyonce

Music, art, reading preferred? Ooooooh… probably reading

What is their favorite color? Gold

What is their password?

Honestly it is probably a secure combination of letters put together by a professional.

Favorite food: Lasagna

What is their favorite work of art? Judith and the Head of Holofornes

Who is their favorite artist? Gustav Klimt

What is their favorite day of the week? Saturday

Possessions

What is in their fridge? A lot of water, veggies, meal prepped chicken

What is on their bedside table? The current book she is reading, a bouquet of pink and white roses, a gold lamp, a rose gold silk eye mask

Spirituality

Who or what is your character’s guardian angel?

If she has a guardian angel, she would really like a word with it.

Do they believe in the afterlife? I mean, she now knows Hades, so yeah

What are their religious views?

Once you meet a god, you kinda realize which system of beliefs is the right one

· How would they like to die? Painless and pretty

What is their zodiac sign? Leo

Values

What do they think is the worst thing that can be done to a person? Abandonment

What is their view of ‘freedom’?

Able to make your way through life on your own two feet without having to rely on anyone else to support you.

When did they last lie? Probably an hour ago

What’s their view of lying? It definitely can make things easier.

When did they last make a promise?

She doesn’t really bother. You either do things or you don’t. The rest is just extra words.

Daily life

What are their eating habits? Healthy food prepared by a chef.

Describe their home.

Luxurious home in a gated community bought by her father.

Are they minimalist or a clutter hoarder? Minimalist.

What do they do first thing on a weekday morning? Drink a glass of cold water.

What do they do on a Sunday afternoon?

She can be found putting the finishing touches on her blog post for the week.

What do they do on a Friday night?

She can just as easily be found out dancing as home alone working.

What is the soft drink of choice? She doesn’t drink soda.

What is their alcoholic drink of choice? Merlot.

Miscellaneous

What or who would your character dress up as for Halloween? Anything sexy.

Are they comfortable with technology? She can do basic things.

If they could save one person, who would it be? Jenny.

If they could call one person for help, who would it be? Over her dead body.

What is their greatest extravagance? Jewelry

What is their perception of redemption? She hopes it’s real.

What would they do if they won the lottery? It would change her life 0%.

What is their favourite fairytale?

She isn’t really big on fairytales, but definitely prefers the darker original versions. So much more realistic than that happily ever after in love bullshit.

Do they believe in happy endings?

She believes in the ability of a person to make their own damn happy ending.

What is their idea of perfect happiness?

Surrounded by a family that loves her

If your character could travel through time, where would they go?

She has it on good authority that life gets more uncivilized the farther back you go, so she’s good, thanks.

If they could have a superpower, what would they choose?

Full on mind control. She’ll make you do what she wants and feel no guilt.

#watasks #{beauty for the beholder}

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dino-nugget7 · 4 years ago

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A Manifesto Against The School System

As of writing this I am a second year Public High School Teacher. I won’t be able to live with myself if I spend another year at it. Literally, I feel like a bit of a monster for deciding to finish out this school year rather than quitting right now. But we do what we must to survive, my students won’t be less oppressed because I left, and if nothing else, it gives me an opportunity to strategize about what I can do to aid in revolutionizing school because authentic alternatives to public school exist but none I have found have been intersectional enough to replace public education without excluding the kids who would most benefit from escaping the main school system here in America.

Some of the reasons I did not understand how oppressive school actually is, are that my interests and hobbies happened to align very neatly with the “core” classes, and that even though I grew up very poor and moved around a lot as a kid, we eventually settled and I went to a well funded high school that had just about any elective and/or after school club that I might be interested in trying and then some. During that time, I came to see school as a place where I could explore my passions and escape my home situation. So I figured I would love to pay it forward and go be a teacher.

I recognized at least, the privileged position I came from and decided I wanted to go learn how to teach in settings as different from my high school as possible. Which is why I went and got special permission for most of my classroom placements throughout the teaching program to be at alternative schools. In Colorado at least, alternative schools are small public schools which primarily serve students identified as “at risk”, which is shorthand for “Statistically more likely to drop out than the general population for one reason or another.”

I did not know when I asked to be placed in one, but learned within days of being there that most people that even know alternative schools exist, think of them as the places where “the bad kids” go. I realized very quickly that they are actually places filled with kids who have experienced a lot of trauma in and out of school and don’t respond to that trauma the way adults want them to respond. I came to adore kids at alternative schools because they remind me of my younger siblings.

Like my oldest brother, many of them find school mind numbingly easy and boring and have much more pressing matters to devote their mental energy to.

Like my middle brother, many of them have spent so much time around teachers who do not understand neurodivergence that have been convinced of the lie that they are weird, dumb and/or lazy and because of that, trying to participate in school is like hitting their head on a brick wall.

Like all of my brothers and my sisters, they have a ton of skills that they are brilliant at, but that are not prioritized by the school system, so they never pursue them, such as construction, music, makeup and programming.

Many, if not most of them come from living situations full of abuse and neglect and/or poverty so they don’t have the mental or emotional space to worry about much beyond survival, and not only haven’t learned how to make and achieve long term goals, but have never had the luxury of a stable enough environment for that kind of planning to be worthwhile.

All that being said, something that you only realize if you actually work in a few public alternative schools, as I have done through college and my current job, is that the name is actually an oxymoron.

What started me down the path of considering and researching all the ways school is an oppressive system, was a conversation I had with a student in my first year teaching. He was learning about chemical reactions and safety and asked me the infamous question, “Why do I have to learn about this?” to which I said “Because everything is chemicals and understanding how they can interact with one another and ways they can harm you can keep you safe when you do things like clean or cook.” To which he replied, “Well no offense but I have no idea how this shit relates to cooking and please don’t tell me because its not like I’m actually going to remember it when I am cooking, and I already know how to clean safely because of work. But you’re still going to make me learn this boring shit anyways so seriously, why do we have to learn about this?”

I paused to consider what he was asking. I had interpreted, as the system trained me to, that the question he was asking was, “what value does this knowledge hold?” But what he actually meant was “Why are you making me waste my time learning about this thing that I never asked to learn about?” So I replied, as a sort of test of my new understanding, “It’s part of the physical science curriculum the Education Department thinks is important for high schoolers to learn.” He was taken aback, “Wait, you don’t decide what stuff we learn about? What’s even the point of teachers then? Why don’t they just give us a list of all their stupid stuff they think we should know so we can get on with our lives?” He had a point and I have spent a lot of time reflecting on and growing from that conversation.

Sure, there are some key differences that make alternative schools slightly more tolerable than your standard 800-4,000 kid high school. Class sizes are smaller so students get more individualized help. We get funding to help students access things such as food, clothes, hygiene products, and healthcare and know students well enough that we actually know which kids are lacking these resources. We have slightly more leeway than traditional schools to create innovative lessons. We don’t give out homework.

But public alternative schools are still oppressive in most of the ways that the big schools are. I’m sure none of this will be a surprise to most readers, but I want you to really consider how restricted kids in public school are, how restricted you probably were in school as you read through this.

School starts early in the morning and students have to constantly shift mental gears throughout the day due to a tight schedule of constantly rotating classes and a very short lunch break. Throughout the day, bells tell students when they can’t or must move around or eat. Students have to ask when they need to go to the bathroom or get water and teachers cannot go at all outside of their plan period because students are not trusted to be in the classroom without an adult even for a few minutes. They have no control over who they share space with and very little control over their ability to leave that space if it conflicts with their needs. There is a strict dress code which disproportionately targets marginalized students. Students are expected to be sociable but not given nearly enough opportunities to actually socialize. The school keeps records of everything the student has ever gotten in trouble for, every class the student has taken, every grade they have received, their “class rank,” and every intervention program the student is part of. And like every public school, alternative schools must follow state curriculum standards and by extension, grading, data collection, and required testing. On the surface it might not seem like it, but that last point is actually the most insidious one and its the one that has followed students into remote learning during the pandemic.

According to the people who decide how schools work, there are four factors of student choice: These factors are Time, Place, Pace, and Path. For example, if I am running a unit on plate tectonics, rather than giving students a worksheet and telling them to work on it as we go through a slideshow and turn it in at the end of class, I could put them in groups, give them an online choice board of three different but roughly equivalent projects relating to plate tectonics to choose from, each with different rubrics for completion and tell them they can turn it in at any time in the next two weeks. And then instead of devoting class time to direct instruction, I would give them a variety of resources to peruse and teach them how to research more and let them choose what aspects of plate tectonics to focus on and how to present their information. Now, this is certainly a few steps in the right direction away from making kids sit in rows and listen to the teacher drone on about plate tectonics while they take notes. But it misses the most important factors of choice in my eyes, the things that I would be fired for if I actually gave them the choice about: How students spend their time and what they are allowed to prioritze.

None of this is to say that expecting kids to learn is inherently fucked up or that teaching inherently makes one an oppressive person. On the contrary, authentic teaching and learning are vital to our ability to solve our problems and grow as people. If all students were given the opportunities to spend their childhoods learning things that they were actually interested in, to explore the full breadth of knowledge that humans have compiled at their leisure without timelines or milestones except the ones they set for themselves, to socialize with people of all ages, to authentically participate in society both as learners and as educators, as leaders and as team members, the world wouldn’t be perfect, but it would be a lot less soul crushing.

Now, I mentioned at the beginning of this piece that authentic alternatives do exist. To get you started on researching what’s out there, I recommend starting with Sudbury schools and the unschooling movement.

But unless these models somehow miraculously become a large and accepted enough presence to get government funding, or money ceases its hold on us all, the public school system will be the only one that most students, especially impoverished students, transient students, english language learners, and disabled students (especially those with profound disabilities) will have access to. Which is a damn shame and a problem I am committed to trying to figure out how to contribute to solving because those are the students whose lives would be most radically transformed for the better if they got the opportunities that these models provide.

#school #anti school #oppression #manifesto #youth liberation #I am aware that this severely pushes how long people are willing to read for on Tumblr #but I needed to get it out there into the void

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rosaetae · 5 years ago

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the chrysanthemum effect | 3

[this chapter is apart of the chrysanthemum effect]

☇ “Keeping your flowers, keeping your pain— it’s already everything you need to move on. How do you move on from things if you’re not willing to accept them?“

➣ pairing: taehyung x reader

➣ genre: hanahaki!au, model!taehyung, weddingplanner(ish)!au

➣ word count: 3.9k

➣ summary: the hanahaki disease has become a stigma in this world where if you had it, you are looked down upon. her flowers were white chrysanthemums and they have been for the past two years. she was in love with someone who obviously didn’t feel the same way, and this was her way of moving on— along with the people in her life who had to conform around the hanahaki disease.

You open the door to Kang Eunmi's building, greeting Yuna at the front desk. She gives her usual friendly wave at you as you smile at her, walking towards the elevator to reach the tenth floor.

Out of the elevator, you walk past Eunmi's partners in their assigned cubicles into Eunmi's office. Eunmi, as one of the best wedding planners known, is an always busy person, and you were lucky to even be able to work alongside her as her assistant. You had your own little desk area in the same office as her because she used to hate making a call just to get you to come into the office.

"You're early," Eunmi remarks as she removes her reading glasses to give you an eyebrow raise. You give her a small smile as you glance at how she had her hands interlocked underneath her chin.

"Class cancelled," you explain. "Is it alright if I just do some homework here before my shift starts?"

She nods. "Without a doubt. As long as you finished the assignment I gave you."

Kang Eunmi may be a frightening figure in the building, but you know she's only doing it for respect. She lives with the mindset of "better to be feared than loved" although you are sure that she is capable of both, if she could only just feign a smile or two.

"I did," you say as you scurry to grab the anniversary book and paperwork you put in your bag, walking over to hand her the assignments. "The paperwork is filed in alphabetical order by last name and the anniversaries are organized by expenses. Mr. Rettner wanted to prioritize the anniversaries by price."

Eunmi gives you a smug curl of her lip. "You always make my job easier."

"I try."

Eunmi begins to look at the anniversary book as you walk back to your desk, the nerve wracking feeling of having to ask Eunmi a favor building up. It's not that you were scared of Eunmi (partially), but it was because it seemed something out of place of your work area.

"Hey, Eunmi," you began after the taunting voice became too much. You hear her hum in response. Hoseok, you owe me a lot. "I know how busy you are."

"As so."

"But, I have a friend," you began, fidgeting with your fingers. "He's Jung Hoseok. The son of the Jungs'. He invited you to his charity event tomorrow night and he was wondering if you're going."

Eunmi looks up with piercing gaze and it struck you cold. "Ah, yes. Jung Hoseok? I saw the invitation in the mail. I wasn't planning to go, but seeing that he's so curious as to my presence, this is quite interesting. Why is he wondering?"

"Well, you never really RSVP'd to his event, and he knows I work for you, so he was wondering—"

"No, I don't go to those events anymore," you hear her say, having your blood run cold at the sharpness of her tone. "No personal opposition to the purpose of them, but every time I go to one, another thirsty rich couple with cocky close minds come after me and ask me to plan their weddings. As if I should be grateful to plan their wedding."

As you hear her scoff, you slowly nod your head, only for her to continue. "And they always happen to be the couples that get engaged for two months and break it off. You know me, I plan people's weddings when I know the relationship is going to last."

Nodding, you hum in agreement, biting your lower lip from saying anything else to her. She then looks up from her laptop and blinks at you. "Why? Does Jung Hoseok need me there for some reason?"

"Yes...." Your voice trails off as you began to fidget with your fingers.

"What for?"

"He may have mentioned your presence at the event in the process of trying to convince someone else to be there," you state vaguely.

Her sharp eyes were filled with confusion, and you were silently wishing she would just say no so you didn't have to go through her questioning. "Ah, so he needs me there for someone else."

"Pretty much."

"And who is this someone else?"

"Jeon Jungkook and Annie Yu."

"Ah," Eunmi says, already catching on. It was quite frightening as to how she can make sense of a situation in just a click. "So Jung Hoseok wants me to plan their weddings?"

"Yes?" You shrug . "Maybe?"

Eunmi raises an eyebrow, before she looks down at her own paperwork. "How long have they been engaged?"

"Two months, I'd say."

She snorts. "I'm sure they can find someone else."

"But, you are one of the best."

"And I'm also strict on which weddings I plan for. If it's for the sole purpose for the sake of publicity, I don't want anything to do with it."

You nod, not wanting to push any further. The sharp tone in her voice already made you feel small. "It's alright, I told Hoseok that you'd wouldn't go."

"That's not what I said," Eunmi says after a momentary pause. "Will you be attending this event?"

"No, I have— uhm...."

"Nothing," Eunmi finishes for you, with a smirk. "Clear up your schedule for that night. We're going to the event together."

Your eyes widen. "What? You'll actually go?"

"I'll only attend if you are my plus one. Doesn't mean I'm going to plan their weddings, though."

Staring at her in awe, you purse your lips.

"Not that I'm disagreeing, but why me?"

"Because you don't have any fun anymore," Eunmi rolls her eyes as if it were obvious. "You're either studying or working with me or both. Usually I don't take note of these type of things, but it's quite sad, ___." The way she looked at you with sympathy makes you furrow your eyebrows at her assumption that how you keep your priorities straight was considered 'sad'. "Not that I'm against your work ethic, but darling, I think you should have more fun. You can't possibly say that working and studying is considered 'fun'."

Lips pressed together, you marvel at her, as if she was looking straight through you.

"Am I wrong?" Eunmi asks, to which you could shake your head at. "Great, we're on the same page. You're going to the event with me."

"Do I have to?"

"You're my assistant. I need you to make sure that this couple isn't as whack as the ones for publicity."

"I don't—"

"It's alright if you don't want to go. I have better things to do on a Saturday night anyways."

You sigh, staring at her in awe as she sent you a wink that made you want to groan loudly. Instead, you give in. "Fine."

"Brilliant," she chuckles triumphantly.

And so, here you are. Eunmi was already fitting in with the luxuries. You marvel from right next to her to see her being recognized by others, some she claims to have met at weddings or have already planned their wedding, but even then, you felt misplaced in the sea of riches and the privileged.

"You really need to socialize," Eunmi mutters to you the minute the person she was engaging in a conversation with has met with another person.

You were clutching your bag, wearing something a bit more formal than you're used to, and all these faces were unfamiliar and that little part of you just hoped that there were celebrities on their way knowing how close Hoseok is to most of them just to have some excitement to the event.

"I would, but talks about the economy and government isn't really my style," you retort back with a sarcastic smile to which Eunmi gives you a look.

"___?"

Turning around to hear your name, your eyes light up when you see that it was Hoseok who called for you. Seeing that his expression was in confusion, you immediately remember that you forgot to tell him that you were attending as Eunmi's plus one.

"Hi, Hoseok," you smile and his face goes from a sort of confused look to a sudden realization that almost seemed like he wished you didn't come, but you shrug it off, thinking you were looking too deep into it.

"What are you doing here?" He sounds worried and confused.

"I forgot to mention that I'm here as Eunmi's plus one."

Perking his ears to the sudden name of Eunmi, you point your finger at the elegant and chin high figure that is your boss, already amidst in a conversation about organization or business to a man in a grey suit.

"No way," Hoseok gapes, his mood completely making a turn. "You actually convinced her?"

"To come— only the exception that I come with her," you confirm. "So, I'm still on the hour."

"You really pulled through," he smirks as you nudge at him. Chuckling, he pats your arm thankfully. "Let me buy you a drink, yeah?"

"I'm on the hour, Hoseok. I shouldn't even be talking to you," you smugly say, but he lets out a half-hearted laugh.

"Right, but at least let me buy you a drink for being the best sugartits out there for helping me out on this?"

You question at his sudden urgency, moving his hand gently from your arm. "Hoseok, are you alright?"

"___–"

He was cut off by the sound of your name being called. As so, you peer over at Eunmi who had waved you over. Apologetically, you look up at Hoseok who was awaiting your answer that he hoped was a yes. "Maybe later. Duty calls."

You smile at him as you leave to find Kang Eunmi talking to someone as you stand beside her.

"Perfect timing. Here is my business card. If you ever need a wedding designer, give me a call and I can link you up with him," Eunmi says with a smile that you can already tell was fake, and following suit, you reach into your bag with a nicely decorated business card you helped designed for Eunmi.

The man in the grey suit nodded. "Thank you, my fiancé has been dying to find a wedding designer, but too many things on our plates right now. Thank you again."

And soon enough, the man in the grey has departed and so has Eunmi's smile as she looks at you. "I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted."

"You and me both," you respond.

"You should be having fun," Eunmi nudges. You give her an odd look, at the way she was giving you a some sort of 'encouraging' look. "You're not just here on the job, you know. If I just showed up here to just pass around my business card, I could've easily done that myself."

"Then why am I here giving out your business card?"

"Just that one, and now you don't have to anymore," Eunmi laughs as you furrow your eyebrows at her. "You're my plus one. Go. Have a drink or something, I won't get mad. I'll call you when I need you."

You blink at her— this new side of persona that was figurative to an older sister was something wholly foreign. She tilts her head to the side, her arms crossed. In that moment as you were trying to comprehend this unfamiliarity, you suddenly felt your stomach tighten.

Not a good time to throw up flowers, right now.

"What are you waiting for?" She enunciates. "Here, how about this. Go and grab both of us a drink. Sparkling chardonnay, white wine, whatever. Just none of that hard liquor stuff that—"

"Kang Eunmi!"

The sudden sound of your boss's name startles both of you from Eunmi's litany of preferred alcohol. What you suspected was someone who Eunmi probably knew considering the way the stranger had said her name, but when Eunmi turns her head, you see her eyes light up in familiarization.

You follow her line of sight, only to wish you hadn't.

"Kim Taehyung," she declares. "What a pleasant surprise."

Though for you, this was a surprise anything but pleasant. Your eyes immediately widen at the sight of him and you found yourself looking away hastily before he could take a good look at you.

"I didn't think I would see you here," he says as you silently curse yourself for not recognizing his voice in the beginning. It's almost been two years and his voice hasn't changed the slightest.

"I'd say the same for you," Eunmi replies followed by a chuckle.

And then in the midst of their interaction, you hear Hoseok yell out Taehyung's name, a sudden relief waving over your body when you notice that Taehyung turns around to find the origin of who called his name. Seeing that Taehyung's attention was somewhere else, you took that time to nudge at Eunmi.

"I'm gonna have that drink," you offer before you're forcing yourself to get lost within the crowd, not forgetting the face she made before you did.

Your mind was all over the place as you ungracefully dance around the rich and the known, eliciting sloppy excuse me's and sorry's to get your way to the blurry part of the room which you thankfully found was the bar.

Finally, you found yourself sat on one of the tall black chairs with a bartender behind the marble counter tending to other people as you begrudgingly plop your elbows on it, needing some water to clear your throat. You bring your hands to your temple, feeling the need to shield yourself before he somehow gets near you again.

You silently curse at how idiotic you are to not consider the option that of course, he would be at the event! He's Hoseok's friend! He's now a model! He's considered a well-known figure! Why couldn't you have known that he would be at the event?

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

Just then, in the corner of your eye, you see someone sitting beside you.

Shutting off your degrading thoughts, you quickly guard your face and turn your body the opposite direction.

"Just a water and a glass of champagne," the person says, automatically recognizing that voice to be Hoseok.

You remove your hands from guarding your face as you turn over to see just who thought it was beside you, a sheepish look on his face as you narrow your eyes at him.

"I didn't warn you," Hoseok immediately starts, knowing exactly what you were going to say. He must have saw the sheer fear on your face as you saw Taehyung right in front of you again.

"Yeah, no shit."

Hoseok puts his hands up in defense at your passive aggression. "I didn't think you were coming! A little heads up would've been nice."

Suppose if you gave a little heads up, it would've been better. But seeing as to that wasn't helping your current situation, you turn away from Hoseok, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath.

"It's fine," you tell yourself as you see the bartender put the drinks in front of you. You grab at the glass of water and gulp it down. "I was just taken aback, that's all."

"I'm sorry, ___. If anything, I can call my chauffeur to give you a ride home," Hoseok offers as he flinches at the sound of you slamming the glass onto the marble counter, almost as if he was sure you were to break it.

The idea of leaving sounded marvelous.

"What about Eunmi?" You were considering it. Hell, you were going to take his offer if it meant you weren't going to be at the event any longer.

"I can tell her that you needed to go home. A roommate emergency, maybe?"

You shook your head. "It's fine, I'll let her know. Thanks, Hoseok."

"Mmhmm," he hums as he immediately pulls out his phone, making a phone call to which you turn to the bartender, asking for a refill.

As the bartender in the suit pours you another glass of water, you turn back at Hoseok who gave you a thumbs up and hung up his phone. "Mr. Lee should be outside in a few. I'll walk you out."

"No, it's alright," you shake your head, not wanting to have any attention towards you when you're being escorted by the host of the event himself. "I'll be fine. Black Porsche?"

He scoffs, as if offended. "Bentley. You sure you'll be okay?"

You wave him off as you get off of the stool. "I'm sure."

Finding your own way out, you were relieved to feel the crisp breeze of the autumn air land on your face, an escape from the stuffy room that became too hard to breathe in. You step down the marble stairs onto the sidewalk, sending a quick text to Eunmi about a vague roommate emergency you had to tend to.

Walking towards the loading zone, you shove the phone back into your back pocket while waiting outside for the car that was black and a Bentley. You hug the blazer you were wearing tighter to your body, your mind rewinding to the moment in which you saw him for split moment up close.

You notice that your feelings for him didn't seem to change a bit as he still had a way of making your heart beat faster.

Closing your eyes to the sound of the cars driving by, you let out a sigh, wondering how on earth the days will be like knowing that he's there. You were bound to run into him any day, you just weren't sure which day you were ready for that to happen—

"I thought I saw you."

Startled, you open your eyes to the voice of the stranger, your eyes trying to focus under the night sky only to realize that the stranger was anyone but a stranger, but the star that shine so bright under your night sky.

Kim Taehyung was approaching slowly, hand in pocket and a calm expression and you swore the reason that you couldn't breathe weren't the chrysanthemums.

His lips had curled very slightly at the sight of you as he stood beside you, your whole body immediately freezing over.

"It's been awhile," you hear him say. Your eyes meet his again as he looks over to you, the silent one who ran out of words when before there were thousands of things you could've said to him. There was a sort of nuance— that odd aura in the atmosphere that was wistful in terms of familiarity, but lacking in comfortability.

What do you say to him? A simple 'hello'? A friendly 'how are you'?

What do you say as a proper greeting that's not yelling at his face for closure or even asking the usual why? Why was he talking to you? Why was 'it's been awhile' the only thing that comes to his mind? Why was it so hard to breathe— so hard to think? And why, oh why was it that every time you try to get angry with him, you can't?

Two years, and you still can't even answer why you couldn't be angry at him. And why you couldn't yell at him. Two years, and you still can't properly move on from him.

What do you say to someone you couldn't get over in two years and counting?

"Shouldn't you be inside?"

His eyes wander over to the building that held the big charity event, letting it linger before they make it settles back onto your form, a little smirk playing on his lips that you can even tell under the city night.

"Not when I saw a familiar face leave. I thought it was you talking to Eunmi."

Pursing your lips, you nod, hugging your blazer tighter. "Did you just come outside to see if it was me or not?"

He nods.

"Well, it is. And it has been awhile," you say rather quietly, not knowing what to say to the first time you have seen him in almost two years. "I heard you got signed under an agency."

"I did, yeah."

"I'm really happy for you," you state, eyes searching for the Bentley. "I remember you used to talk about working your way into the fashion industry."

You saw him shift his position to face you entirely in the corner of your eye. "You remember that?"

Arching an eyebrow at him, you turn to look at him with a skeptical look. "Of course. It was your dream, wasn't it?" And just before he opened his mouth to answer in subtle surprise, you finally saw the familiar black Bentley drive up front. You give him a small smile before walking over to the car where Hoseok's chauffeur spun around to open the door for you. "That's me. It was nice to see you, Taehyung."

You didn't miss the look on his face— the same look that he gives when you cut him off too early, as if he had more to say to you. You sit inside the Bentley, catching the way Taehyung waves at you, you release a breath you didn't realize you were holding, sinking down on the leather chair as you close your eyes and clench your stomach.

"Mr. Lee, do you, by chance, have a paper bag?"

"So... you saw him?"

You nod. "More like he saw me," you sigh, repeating the usual— removing your jacket to let Doctor Wren hear your heartbeat. It was the next morning, and you had to e-mail your professor that you weren't going to his two hour lecture because you had an emergency. "Though, it was partially my fault. I went to event when I should've known he would've been there."

"Don't blame yourself for not knowing things you should've known."

"Still," you sigh as you exhale. "It could've been avoided. And I wouldn't have to be throwing up in my friend's Bentley."

"And what type of friends do you know that owns a Bentley?"

"Ones that know Kim Taehyung, apparently," you make a face to which Doctor Wren chuckles quietly. "And I should've known better that if he was back in town then he would've shown up to his friend's event."

"There's nothing you can do from where you stand in this situation, ___. It was just an unfortunate event that you got wrapped up in," he says as he removes the stethoscope from his ears. "I remember when I saw her while I was out with Sungjae. It was slightly awkward and I blamed myself for putting me and my husband in that situation."

He writes down something and looks at you through his glasses. "But the thing is, ___, I couldn't blame myself for that unfortunate situation that, of course, would happen to me."

"But you didn't know she would be there," you point out but he snorts.

"Neither did you," he retorts, referring towards Taehyung. "That's the difference between what you already know and what you should've known. You didn't know he was going to be there until you saw him."

Pouting at him, you narrow your eyes at his genius brains. It's these situations that you knew he was right, and he also knew he was right.

"You know, you could use this way as a mechanism to fully move on," he suggests, your eyes lighting up to the idea of that. "Find some closure and properly move on in your life, I guess you may say."

"Doctor Wren, that's not... bad," you ponder at the thought.

"Ya, I know," he chuckles. "And it looks like your vitals are fine. I'll run some tests, though, just in case— since you haven't thrown up for awhile, but for now you're all good."

"Thanks, Doctor Wren," you say begrudgingly as you hop off the tall bed.

"Mhm," he hums, writing something down on the clipboard. "Words of advice. Don't keep blaming yourself for all the could have's, especially when series of events unfold to where you do have to see him again. Happens for a reason, right?"

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5-falsehoods-phonated · 4 years ago

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Overgrown Metal

Series Summary - Almost two decades ago, the fae rose up from beyond the veil with technology far surpassing the human race, quickly taking over after laying waste to nearly everything in their wake. Now eight paths cross to right the wrongs on both ends, working to uncover secrets that would have rather stayed hidden.

Chapter 3 - Keep Moving

The spacious barn creaked lazily as the sounds of swearing and hammering overflowed its weather worn walls. It had been repurposed years ago, the old owners either long dead or moved out once the forest began to take over. As it was now it had been cleared of the twisting roots and oddly growing branches that had once threatened to consume it completely, now standing in a small clearing with a house beside it sitting just as pristine. The barn, though repaired, leaned slightly to the side, braced on an extension that housed a lab of sorts with one other room branching out that acted as cold storage.

The main room itself was currently where loud banging could be heard with the occasional swear sprinkled in as the owner tried valiantly to seperate pieces of plate metal from the skull of a fallen beast, eyes vacant and jaw slack as it sat on the table surrounded by already disassembled parts of itself scattered about and repurposed to varying degrees. Jars of different colored oily substances sat on a cart nearby, with empty ones still waiting to be filled. The hammer was thrown down suddenly, its owners pointed ears twitching in irritation as he dragged a hand down his face and took a breath. Sighing loudly, Logan turned and stalked off to the other end of the room to get a crow bar off the rack in hopes that his new method would work.

As he began trying to pry between plates he felt more than heard the halting footsteps outside the barn, though who it was was clearly trying his best to be quiet. Rolling his eyes Logan slammed the crowbar in a weak spot and pulled hard enough to bend the plate and send the bar snapping back to narrowly miss his face. He scowled as sweat dripped into his eyes, rolling his shoulders and gripping the tool with a white knuckled grip.

"It truly is a wonder you haven't killed yourself yet. To think of all that education going to waste with a cracked skull in an old barn, it's almost enough to make me care to check in more."

"The only reason you come in here is because I'm the only thing within a hundred mile radius who doesn't wish you dead on sight."

"How you wound me. It's at least two hundred when I'm far enough away from the coast." Logan smirked as he heard the irritated tap of the others cane punctuating his statement.

Sighing, he placed the crowbar on the bench and turned to face the intruder, leaning against it while crossing his arms. "Hyden."

"Logan." The other greeted mutually. Though he was typically a bit more put together his thick caplet lay crookedly across his tense shoulders, arms taunt as he leaned heavily on his cane with both hands resting on the top. His long hair curled in the afternoon humidity and Logan definitely didn't miss the slight furrow of his brows, though he knew he would be loathe to admit he was in any sort of pain.

Letting out a heavier sigh Logan pushed away from the bench and gestured for the other to follow him. "Join me, I need a break anyway."

Hyden gasped. "The head scientist admitting he needs a break? Who's hand do I need to shake for downloading an once of self preservation into that thick skull?"

"I'll have you know I take breaks on a regular basis, something you clearly need to be reminded of."

"The audacity! I walk all the way here to visit a long time friend-"

"You walked?" Logan shot him a sharp glance as he held the door, gesturing the other into the old farmhouse.

Waving away the concern, Hyden continued. "I flew most of the way don't worry. I only ducked below the treeline the last few miles so I wouldn't be followed, you're welcome for the concern and forethought."

Snorting, Logan pulled out a chair and moved to collect containers of herbs and thr kettle, sighing for the fourth time as it was blatantly ignored for the refrigerator. As the kettle heated he carefully measured out the proper ingredients, glancing over every now and again to try and catch what his guest was poking at.

"Are those by any chance agarose gels?"

Walking past the fridge to put things away he caught sight of what the other was observing, humming his confirmation.

"Logan, why do you have DNA gels next to leftover chicken salad in your refrigerator?"

"The chicken salad seems irrelevant." The kettle whistled to give him an excuse to avoid the question, carefully pouring out the boiling water.

"Logan."

"Hyden." The name slipped out easily despite his annoyance, making him wonder for a brief moment if he would struggle when he was finally told his real name.

The mans cane taps were heavier than normal as he made his way over to the table and flopped down without his usual show. Giving Logan a quiet thank you he proceeded to wrap his hands around the steaming mug, frowning in concentration. "Are you trying to find them again?"

"I fail to comprehend what you could possibly-"

"Because they're trying to find you. And they're getting close."

Logan was quiet as he sat, his wrapped hands folding somewhat painfully around his own drink. Pursing his lips he avoided looking at Hyden for a long moment, nevertheless feeling his gaze attempting to pick him apart. Arranging his expression to be carefully neutral he took a drink, smiling as the other did so as well.

"Make sure to drink all of it, it'll help with pain."

"Did you even listen to what I said?!" Throwing his hands up in exasperation he fixed Logan with his best glare.

"Hard not to with that grating tone."

"Well this grating tone," he growled out. "Is telling you to get your head out of your ass and maybe make sure you're safe before telling someone else to take care of themselves."

Logan dragged a hand down his face, suddenly tired. "Where exactly do you expect me to go? I'm so close to figuring out what they're using to power those things, if I move now I won't have any access to the equipment I need, no studies will be concluded, and nearly all of my experiments will be left behind to rot! I need more time."

"Time isn't exactly a luxury here. You're being stubborn and ignorant, as usual, and if you would just listen-" he stopped short as he caught the look the other was giving him, letting out a breath of defeat and softening his tone. "It doesn't have to be today. But it does have to be soon. I'll even come with you, help you scout out a new location if you'd like. I'm sure there's plenty to be found with a little digging."

Mugs empty save for the dregs silence rang between them as they lost themselves in thought. Distantly Logan was aware of the old grandfather clock ticking, suddenly thinking what a shame it would be to leave the sound behind. He knew the other was right even before he fully decided to voice it. Instead he quietly looked over at him, the scales that freckled his face gleaming with the last rays of the evening sunlight. If they were truly leaving, they would have to be careful. Though he knew Hyden was loathe to do so he could easily shift his appearance to hide his scales. Logan wouldn't be so lucky, his slightly off colored skin and pointed ears a dead give away to what his heritage was, even if he had defected from it when the war broke out. He was obviously fae, and that would do him no favors outside of the protection of his remote location.

But he really couldn't stay. If the guard was truly zeroing in on his location he would much rather abandon his research and try to pick it up wherever he could than even think about getting caught and wondering whether he could escape before he was undoubtedly punished for his crimes against his people. He shuddered uneasily as he stood, carefully avoiding eye contact as he took the mugs to the sink and began to wash them. He stared out the window towards the treeline as he did, having to squint to make out the weak protective barrier set around the perimeter by Hyden years ago. Beyond that lay dense forest only a madman would dare trek through.

Or fae guards with strict orders.

Squaring his shoulders before they could droop in defeat he turned to face his companion with a level stare.

"Give me two days."

-------

"Two more days? I thought the town was closer than that." Virgil irritably kicked a stone into the water, splattering the bottom of Roman's pants. They huffed in response, their frustration easily matching Virgil's as they shifted the pack on their shoulders.

"I said at most two more days, it might be sooner than that. We've never really been this far out before, which is a good thing but it means guessing the distance. Pouting isn't going to make it be any closer."

"Not pouting." Virgil pouted, crossing his arms before realizing what he was doing and angrily shoving them in his hoodie pockets.

Snorting with amusement Roman shifted the pack again before grunting and heaving it up and off their shoulder, immediately sagging in relief. Their burden was lifted further as Virgil tugged it out of their grasp and shouldered it easily, walking ahead while adjusting to the weight.

"Thank you."

"You were slowing us down. Somebody's gotta make sure we stay on schedule."

Roman squawked with indignation, jogging a bit to catch up with the emos longer gait. Their mouth thinned as they thought of how to bring up a concern they'd been thinking about for a while, gripping the straps of their pack tightly in apprehension.

"Alright. Spill it." They blinked as Virgil stopped, dropping both the packs and plopping down in the dirt.

"What?"

"Being anxious is my job and right now you're forcing me into unemployment. So either talk or I'm throwing you in the river."

"You do and I'm eating the last two cans of spaghettios tonight while you get nothing but croutons."

Virgil narrowed his eyes. "I fucking dare you to go through with that threat. You do not come between a man and the last can of shitty microwave pasta."

"I have the food pack."

"And I have the flint and steel so start talking before I decide to set you on fire instead of drowning you."

Unceremoniously flopping to the ground they let out an annoyed huff while shrugging off the back pack. "Fine. I've been thinking....that with this next town..maaaaybe finding another person or two to travel with would be in our best interests?"

The last half of the thought came out rushed and nearly incomprehensible but Roman could tell Virgil had heard them clearly as his face adopted a carefully neutral expression, hands twisting tightly in his lap.

"Roman..."

"I know! I know, I definitely get it. But, it would be easier to carry supplies and we could have more! We wouldn't have to stop in towns so much-"

"Roman."

"And it might be safer! More people means more weapons means more protection right?"

"Roman."

They shut their mouth in worry at the defeated tone Virgil had adopted. He twisted his hands tighter, hesitant to continue now that he actually could.

"Am I not....do you not feel safe enough with me?"

Roman sucked in a breath as they realized how Virgil had taken their concerns, rushing to try and fix it. "It's definitely not that! I-Virgil I'm so sorry that isn't what I meant at all!"

They leaned forward and began gently detangling his fingers from each other, holding them tightly once they finally managed it. "Anx it isn't like that. I honestly worry that you aren't safe enough with me. And once our load gets heavier with trading supplies we slow down and it never seems like we're on the road long enough before what little supplies we can carry run out. It was only a thought I wanted to discuss, not an attack on your skill as a fighter."

Their eyes met Virgil's and they breathed a sigh of relief when they were met with understanding, nonetheless continuing to rub soothing circles across his knuckles until he pulled away.

"I guess..." he glanced over at the near overflowing pack of trading goods. "I guess I can see that yeah. But I don't-Roman how can we trust anyone?"

"We probably can't. But we'll look anyway and if we don't find anyone then we don't find anyone. Just, keep an open mind?"

Crossing his arms Virgil looked away to stare out at the water instead, face drawn with apprehension. After a minute he ducked his head in defeat, nodding slowly and standing up. "Yeah. We'll keep a look out. But if we do find someone and after a while they start to act shady we drop them alright? No debate."

"No debate." Roman readily agreed as they stood as well. They began walking again, the silence much less tense than it had been all afternoon. Grinning a bit, Roman smacked their lips in thought. "With that delay it might be two and a half days now."

"Oh come on!"

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victoirebisset · 4 years ago

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[ VICTOIRE ELISE BISSET. 28. CISFEMALE. SHE/HER] is here! They’ve lived in Silver Lake for [ SIX MONTHS ] and are originally from [ WELLESLEY, MASSACHUSETTS ]. They are a [ PUBLICIST ] and in their downtime love [ CATCHING A MOVIE AT CINEMA PARADISO ] and [ ENJOYING A NICE BOTTLE OF RED WINE ]. They look a lot like [ ELIZABETH OLSEN ] and live [ ON SILVERWOOD TERRACE ].

the basics

full name: victoire elise bisset.

nicknames: v or vic. never, and i do mean never, vicky.

birthplace: wellesley, massachusetts.

birthdate: january 9th, 1992.

zodiac sign: capricorn.

alignment: chaotic good.

personality type: estj.

personality traits: dogmatic, loquacious, reliable, patient, rancorous, affable, critical & forthright.

gender: cisfemale.

sexual / romantic orientation: heterosexual / heteroromantic.

the biography

the daughter to a (now) disgraced politician coming from old money and a disgruntled, yet loyal to a fault, housewife, there was never a time victoire didn’t know luxury — or chaos.

as a matter of fact, her entrance to the world was an example of both. the first — and what would ultimately be only — child to gabriel and nicolette bisset, there was no expense spared as they prepared for her arrival; hundreds of designer onesies she’d grow out of within weeks were purchased, an italian artist flown in and commissioned to hand paint a mural in her nursery and her mother only received the finest of prenatal care. for most, it was an ostentatious display that was NOT needed. but that has always been the bisset way. flamboyant and shameless flaunting of their wealth was the norm as it was, so of course they’d go all out when expecting a baby.

at the same time, there was a certain level of disappointment. as far as her father went, at least. he had been hoping for a son to follow in his footsteps. but, he’d tell his wife in an attempt to convince them both, a little girl wasn’t so bad — he’d love, cherish and spoil her regardless. and he did do at least two of those three things. but that son he’d been hoping for never came. once victoire was born, his wife refused to let him touch her. he assumed it was “baby hormones” but really it was because hours before her baby shower, nicolette had received a call from one of his mistresses confessing the affair because she felt “bad” knowing she was pregnant. nicolette never confronted her husband but their relationship was never the same.

growing up in the lapse of luxury, most would assume vic had nothing to complain about. while her material needs were always met, the emotional ones were often neglected. her mother, bless her heart, tried. but it wasn’t easy for her. nicolette was responsible for raising their child and presenting the bissets as the picture perfect family all while knowing her husband was fucking around on her. who wouldn’t become resentful dealing with that? snide comments were thrown across the dinner table, there were times she’d disappear in her room with a bottle of wine. she’d try to be there for her daughter as much as she could but she struggled. and her father, on the other hand, focused more on his career than his family. a lawyer turned politician, he campaigned, had frequent business meetings and a long list of secret lovers to split his time between. hard to be present with a schedule like that.

gabriel’s career choice was confusing for young victoire. there were those that publicly villainized him and thought he was the devil. there were those that put him on a pedestal. it was overwhelming... and alluring. her father was the mayor of wellesley her entire life and was even campaigning for senate when the “scandal” happened. it was always a part of her life and politics intrigued her. she’d dreamed of being the first woman president.

her father vowed to help her get into politics and the first step of that was hiring her to be his publicist as soon as she graduated from college. it was a blatant act of nepotism but at least she was really freakin’ good at her job. she gets word accusations of bribery would be hitting the local news and that same day there’s a press conference so shots of him shaking hands, kissing babies and making grand promises distracts from the news. his morality is called into question and he’s front and center campaigning for every local charity for six months. it was a bit grimey witnessing fully the seedy underbelly of politics and her idealistic view of it changed drastically. she no longer wanted to be president or a senator or anything else like that. she did, though, learn she really did like pr and enjoyed the role she had. at least until she was expected to pay off her father’s pregnant mistress who was threatening to spill the beans about their illicit affair.

while her mother had known about his infidelities for years, vic had no clue. she always assumed her father was working. that was why he couldn’t come to her recitals or presentations in school. that was why he was late to every single one of her birthday parties. she had convinced herself that her father wasn’t a scumbag but a highly ambitious politician and anyone else in his position would do the same.

to an extent, she had idolized her father — glorifying the parent who was never really there and whose approval she would have died to get. the version of him she had created was destroyed. she was furious, heartbroken and confused. she quit that very day and a week later, the news broke. that one woman speaking out opened the floodgates and years of affairs and other naughty behavior was broadcasted across the state. her mother would have made tammy wynette proud with how she stood by her man but victoire did not follow suit. she worked in public relations so she never outright spoke against him because no one would hire her after publicly blasting a former client in the press. even if it was her father. but she knew how to expertly throw shade. and she did. quite a few times, actually.

after she quit, victoire ended up in new york where she worked with a pr firm for a couple of years before getting a job with a more prestigious one in los angeles which prompted her move to silver lake. it’s been surprisingly difficult for her to adjust to life on the west coast. she’s a new england girl through and through and there’s just something about palm trees and sunshine that feels wrong. she also just really misses her family. well, just her mother really. they make do by facetiming twice a week and they’re even in the middle of discussing flying her out for the holidays. unfortunately, though, it’s unlikely to happen as her mother is insistent on bringing gabriel. victoire hasn’t seen or spoken to her father since the day she told him to go fuck himself and stormed out of his office. not because of any guilt from “abandoning” her father. — she’d add ‘essentially ruined my father’s political career’ to her resume if she thought it’d help her — but because she is still so damn angry. the closest thing to contact they have is him wiring her money every month. this “allowance” isn’t really needed, victoire makes a very good living without needing any of what she calls bisset blood money. but she allows it to continue because she considers it restitution for decades of lackluster parenting and lies.

where victoire really shines is her career. she’s relatively new to the scene — at least compared to most publicists in hollywood — with only seven years of experience under her belt but don’t confuse quantity with quality. if you are a public figure, you want vic on your team. she’s tenacious and, while some may view her methods as underhanded, there is no story she can’t get ahead of. and if she can’t distract from it entirely, she can turn it into a positive or at least paint her client as the victim. duis, public disagreements with significant others, leaked sex tapes. she’s seen it all. she’d dedicated to the cause and makes up her own rules, but also has a strict moral code so she won’t do something or work with someone that goes against that.

victoire thrives in social situations and really loves to hear herself talk. she also tends to assume she’s the smartest person in the room and just expects everyone to go along with what she says. and she doesn’t really handle it well when that doesn’t happen. some may say she’s stubborn, she says she’s a leader who likes to take charge and handle things. she’s a very honest and straightforward person who is clear about her intentions in a relationship whether it’s professional, platonic or romantic. she doesn’t play games, she’s not wishy-washy and she has a tendency to see the world in black and white.

coming from a long line of elitists, vic is proud to say that is at least one pattern she broke. she just isn’t one to parade around her wealth. yes, she has a nice house and she does tend to favor designer brands when it comes to clothing, but there really isn’t anything pretentious about her. the closest you’ll get is her having dinner at a five star restaurant or buying a ridiculously expensive bottle of wine. but that’s only because she likes good food and even better wine. she’s not one to show off and is just as likely to be seen at a fancy hollywood party mingling with clients as she is laying on her couch, wrapped up in blankets and watching golden girls reruns. she’s a combination of dorothy and blanche, by the way.

anyways, i think this is long enough so i’ll wrap it up and just say i am excited to be here and that i look forward to writing with you all. i’ll be reaching out to everyone regarding plots at some point (i say some point because i’m a slow typer with a small attention span who is currently working 60 hours a week so i’m easily distracted AND tired) but you can expedite the process by sending me a message or liking this and i’ll put you at the top of my list. in the meantime, though, feel free to just assume connections. we can go with the flow and i don’t require connections before interacting anyway. aaaand now i’m really stopping!

#slintro #oh my god this is a READ #i'm sorry this is so long #pls love me and her anyway

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boymeetsweevil · 6 years ago

Text

sleeping bags (and other unconventional cures for insomnia)

Grouping: Reader x Hoseok

Word Count: ~2.5k

Warnings: i think it makes the cut for PG-13, idk... Sort of enemies to lovers if you squint, cuddling!!! BUT also talk about money troubles and insomnia. Sorry for the weird title

Summary: This is my contribution for the @bangtan-bookclub holiday fic swap. This is based off the prompt “snowed in with your enemy at a ski resort” and this is for @hoseokiehopie. Hey Megan! Sorry for the wait, I hope you’re having a good holiday season!

A/N: also thank you to @b-angst-tan for reading my first 3 drafts and getting me to redirect my frustrations

“Get in the bed, please.”

“N-no.”

The sound of teeth chattering from the cold is just barely audible above the sound of the fire that Hoseok started earlier in the evening.

“Please get in the bed. They said the temperature’s gonna drop another 10 degrees before midnight.” “I’ll focus better if I’m at the table. Stop trying to sabotage me.”

“Who’s trying to sabotage you?”

Hoseok’s voice booms over the small space of the cabin, but you ignore him in favor of scanning through your 15th court case and scribbling on a notepad. The cold is starting to get to you, but you fight through it as best you can. Your fingers seem to have other plans, though. The pencil you were holding drops for the millionth time because the cold has made your fingers rigid. You bend down to grab the pencil and hear Hoseok sigh, followed by the sound of his approaching footsteps. He swipes up the pencil just before you can grab it. “Get in the bed or I’m shutting your computer down.”

“Stop! I’m on a strict schedule.”

He examines you further for a second before throwing his hands up. “Your lips are turning blue. That’s it, I’m taking your computer.” “If you so much as touch my computer, I’ll—” In that moment, your computer screen turns black and shuts off. You’d ignored the low battery warnings for too long, apparently. Hoseok laughs and shakes his head at the irony while you look on in horror. At this rate, you’d have no time for a power sleep if you wanted to finish all the cases before daybreak. “Serves you right.” The shock of your computer dying makes you pliant enough to allow Hoseok to maneuver you away from the table. He brings you to the side of the bed before getting in on his own side and quickly shimmying back into his sleeping bag. It seems to be professional grade from the logo emblazoned on the body of the bag. Not that it matters to you at all. Stubborn, you sit stiffly at the side of the bed, back ramrod straight and lap facing away from Hoseok. “Are you really going to just sit there all night? You might as well try and get some sleep since you can’t work.” “I can’t not work, Hoseok. If I don’t, I can’t prove to Professor Kim that I should be going with him to visit the client to gather testimonies.”

“Why can’t you just go with the flow,” he asks as you run to your bag to see if the printed copies of the cases are there. “Not all of us live a life where good things just fall into our laps. Some of us have to work for it.” He watches as you rifle through your bag several times. There are no printouts to be found and you walk back to the bed with a defeated slump in your shoulders. “I don’t understand why you work so hard, though. You’d probably do fine even if you weren’t first in line for everything. And you’d probably still get into a good firm even if you didn’t participate in all the law extracurriculars available on campus.” You flop down onto your back because there’s nothing else you can do. The wood grain on the ceiling makes an interesting pattern from this vantage point. Too bad it won't get you un-screwed. “I can’t do the bare minimum. I’m a scholarship student. Everyone already thinks I don’t belong at the school because I’m a freeloader.” You make air quotes to the ceiling. “I can’t not be rich and then not get good grades.” “That…makes sense, but does it have to be number one?” You nod. “Why?” You shrug, hopeless. “No one can say anything bad about you if you’re number one.” Hoseok tilts his head and looks at you. Really looks at you. You look a little more frazzled than usual after having the week that you’ve had. First, the toughest professor on campus tasked you to work with Hoseok for the rest of the school year as partners in his student research team. Only one person is ever ahead of you in terms of test scores, GPA, or being fast-tracked to the best internship positions and its Hoseok. Hoseok is, for all intents and purposes, your competition and he doesn’t even see it because he doesn’t ever have to try to earn his number one position. He’s rich and brilliant and chill and you hate it. Everything got slightly worse when the first task of the year was for the two of you to go spend 3 days in isolation at a ski resort. The original intent was so you could survey the suite your professor booked before he went there with an important potential client of his firm. But the peak of suckiness then came when you realized you were given the keys to the wrong lodging: an economy cabin for 1 instead of the luxury suite that could comfortably house 8. Things went further downhill when you couldn’t duck out of the resort to go do outside work at home because a sudden blizzard struck. And since you didn’t think you were staying, you didn’t even pack for the weather.

Now you are trying to meditate away the chill that was seeping into your bones. Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you knew when you were getting dressed this morning that just a sweat-suit and a windbreaker wouldn’t be enough for the weather at a ski resort, regardless of how long you were staying.

There’s nothing you can do now, as you wait for morning to come and hope the constant chattering doesn’t make your teeth fall out. “You didn’t pack a blanket or anything?” “No,” you sigh. Another large shiver wracks your body and Hoseok can’t help but feel something inside him reaching out to you. “I thought I would just stop by and get the inspection over with in a few hours and leave.” “And you don’t want try going to sleep?”

You lock eyes with him and immediately tense up. “I can’t,” you whisper. Your voice is muffled through your hands while you breathe onto them to warm them up.

Everything about the moment is oddly conflicting. You’re so frustrated and so cold, but Hoseok’s gaze is so sympathetic that it feels like its burning holes through your lame knitted beanie. Combined with the dull yellow firelight cast on his already bronzed skin and his coppery hair, he seems like warmth itself. No, he feels like the sun because you can’t bear to look at him. Briefly, you wonder if it’s possible to cry when your tears are frozen.

None of these feelings make any sense.

His brows raise slightly and he turns to you in his sleeping bag. You turn subconsciously towards him as well. “What do you mean ‘you can’t’?” “Oh, come on,” you snort. “You’ve never heard those rumors that people spread about me? Or heard the jokes about me never sleeping and being addicted to coffee?” “Those are true?” His mouth drops open at the prospect of you actually popping pills before zooming around the library at night like a sped-up ghost. “Well...no. I just can’t ever really sleep. I think it's insomnia, but I never got it officially checked out.” “Why not?” “Couldn’t pay the consultation fees even at Campus Health because I had to waive my health insurance. And I can’t get a job right now, otherwise I’ll jeopardize my scholarship.” You play with a loose thread on the bare mattress underneath you. The shame makes your hands itchy and restless. “Oh.” The sounds of the logs Hoseok put into the fireplace earlier getting eaten by the flames takes over for a while. It’s almost nice, but it doesn’t do much for you. For Hoseok, though, the sound is lulling him to sleep. He’s a natural early-riser and sleeps early as a result. Knowing that you’ll be up all night with nothing to do, trying not to freeze makes him feel awful. He unzips the side zipper on his sleeping back and scoots closer to you on the bed. “Get in.” “What? Hoseok, I can’t.”

“I’m not asking if you can. You’ll freeze if you don’t. You don’t have any other options, and the guilt will probably kill me faster than the cold will kill you.” When you don’t budge, he tries one more time. “Get. In.” “I won’t fit.” “Yes, you will. This is an extra-large. Get in.” “This is so inappropriate.”

Hoseok snorts in reply before tugging on the loose fabric of your shirt as a silent ‘hurry up’. Even still, you wait until he’s opened the bag up more and then wriggle your way in so there’s still enough room between you to be respectable. Given that he’s had some time in the bag by himself, it’s already significantly warmer than the air outside it. As soon as you’re fully in you realize the tapered shape of the bag means your feet have to touch Hoseok’s. Somehow that’s more intimate than the fact that your faces are less than a foot apart. You’re still shivering, though. Hoseok takes note and moves closer to you.

“What are you doing?”

His cheeks color. “I’m just—you seem like you’re still cold.” “R-right.” He presses closer and you instinctively look up to gauge his features. With the fire slowly dying, the light has changed. This soft red light still suits him and lends a subtle softness to his otherwise sharp bone structure. His hair also matches the flames crackling in the background. The sound of his breathing is deep and steady, but slow. His arm brushes yours as he shifts onto his side. Everything is very...cozy. You’re struck by a strange feeling. It’s a familiar one, but you can’t remember where you’ve felt it before. While you contemplate, Hoseok takes a moment to look you over as well. In all truth, he’s sad he hasn’t gotten to know this much about you until now. He didn’t want to believe the rumors that he had admittedly heard floating around since his first year in the law program. Part of it was because he knew what it was like to be the subject of jealous rumors. He knew what people said about him and his parents’ wealth and his accidental success both in school and outside of it. But he also just didn’t believe some of the stuff he’d heard about you. They called you the girl that never sleeps. He supposes that’s because, like him, you’re always in the top 1% of class. But he’d also heard people say that you’re the girl who breezes through the stacks late at night like the ghosts rumored to haunt the ancient school halls. The girl who allegedly has 4 different fake prescriptions for Adderall and extra-strength caffeine pills. The girl who is always the first one to show up for classes, for exams, for office hours, for the legal colloquium meetings. Perhaps the name is the only accurate thing attributed to you. He knows your pride wouldn’t let you take the easy way out and that, as a result, you could be found at any hour outside of class in the stacks, studying. But he can’t imagine you being as conniving as everyone makes you out to be. Just a little insecure and a little sleep-deprived. The dark circles under your eyes that are always there are a clear sign of the price you pay to keep your high spot in class among your cohorts. It’s a little sad.

Hoseok finds himself wondering what you look like when you’re carefree and smiling. He wants to know what you look like when you’re just lying in a patch of sunlight because you can and there’s nothing you want more. He wants to see what you look like when your eyes are drooping with contentedness. “You’re staring. Is there something on my face?” He snaps out of his musings and realizes he’s been spacing out while staring directly at your forehead for some time now. When he shakes his head, you only give him a suspicious look before you turn your back to him. “Let’s give the sleep thing a try, okay? If it works, tomorrow I’ll let you read all your cases unbothered.”

He sets his phone on airplane mode to conserve battery since the storm killed the power. He sets the phone alarm next and then gets up as carefully as he can without letting too much cold air in so he can extinguish the fire. By the time he comes back to the bed, you’re already missing his heat. You’re tempted to turn to face him again so you can seek the warmth out at the source, but the potential misunderstandings would be too much for you to deal with right now. So you settle for scooting back an inch or two until his body heat radiates more strongly against your back.

“I’m just cold. Don’t read into this too much.” You’re glad that he can’t see the mortified way your face heats up in embarrassment.

“I won’t,” he says to you before slinging an arm around your middle and bringing you closer. “As long as you don’t misinterpret this either.”

“You’re still cold?”

“Nope,” he says, popping the syllable.

Then, for the first time in months, you feel the cottony weight of sleep taking over your body. Suddenly you can’t seem to care that you haven’t finished reading the 30 court cases you brought with you to be prepared for the meeting next week. All you care about is letting the feeling wash over you until you end up somewhere else. The last thing you see before your eyes shut is Hoseok’s hand pulling the hood of the sleeping bag over both of your heads.

When you wake up, you’re cuddling Jung Hoseok like your life depends on it. Somehow you’ve migrated completely on top of him, with his chest pillowing your head and your leg thrown across his. His arm is still wrapped around your middle, though it’s more tightly holding you than before. You hold your breath and wait for the embarrassment to come rushing in, but it never does. Instead all you can focus on is the fact that your head feels clearer than it has in a long while. In fact, your whole body feels more refreshed.

Reluctantly, you try to pull away, but the arm Hoseok had thrown over you squeezes you lightly. You freeze up in his grip and he relaxes his hold a bit. “Sorry for, uh, getting in your space,” you mumble into the fabric of his thick sleep shirt. “Are you uncomfortable?” “Actually? No.” He shifts so he can roll over and rest his cheek on the top of your head. “Let’s sleep in, then.”

“But shouldn’t we talk about—”

“Do you wanna get dinner with me as soon as we’re not stranded here?”

You stammer for a second and Hoseok takes the moment to adjust the sleeping bag around the two of you once more. Under the cover of darkness, he probes again.

“So, dinner?”

#bbcexchange18 #bangtan bookclub #networkbangtan #hyunglinenetwork #JHOPENETWORK #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts fanfction #bangtan fanfic #bangtan scenarios #bangtan imagines #hoseok scenarios #hoseok imagines #hoseok fanfic

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blancheludis · 6 years ago

Link

A/N: @iron-man-bingo , square: Superfamily, Spider-Man ID Reveal

Fandom: Marvel, MCU, Avengers Words: 3.728 Characters: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Peter Parker Tags: Super Family, Iron Dad, Fluff, Identity Reveal

Summary: t is merely by coincidence that Steve and Tony find out that their son is Spider-Man. Once the initial yelling is over, they might even admit they are proud of him.

---

“We need to go home.”

Steve, who was just about to take a sip of his terribly complicated coffee, pauses and looks at Tony, confused. Their coffee dates are sacred and not to be interrupted by anything. Tony’s office has learned to not – under any circumstances – call him when he is out for lunch with Steve, and even Pepper keeps any emergencies for afterwards. One hour every Wednesday is their time, and they do not let it be ruined by anything.

Now, however Tony is staring at the screen hanging over the counter at the café they have chosen, unmoved and face grim. When Steve turns around to look at it, he almost expects another alien invasion or something of an equal attitude that would require their immediate attention, although the Avengers alarm should have gone off already in that case. What he sees does not help with his confusion at all.

The footage is from Central Park, where a reporter is talking in the foreground. Behind her, Spider-Man is visible, swinging merrily. There is no fight, not even a sign of any trouble brewing. Yet, Tony keeps staring as if they are witnessing the beginning of the apocalypse.

“That’s Spider-Man,” Steve says slowly, wondering what essential point he is missing. “It does not look like he’s in trouble. And he wasn’t exactly keen on our help the last time we tried.”

Steve has to admit that had stung a little. Spider-Man is young and, as far as they know, out there all alone. He might not be taking on any of the more dangerous villains haunting New York, but things can turn bad very quickly. It is always good to have some allies. Yet, the friendly neighbourhood hero had basically fled as soon as they attempted to speak to him, yelling something along the lines of not needing them. It might just be all right, but Steve cannot help that he is a worrier.

“Look at what he’s carrying,” Tony says through clenched teeth.

Steve does as he is bid. True enough, Spider-Man is carrying something, but it is just – “A bag. Tony,” Steve frowns, contemplating for a brief moment to sniff at the coffee in case someone is trying to poison them, “What’s gotten into you?”

“And what,” Tony says with rising tension, “is on the bag?”

The footage is not the best, but Steve has good eyesight, so he squints at the screen. Two colourful dots adorn the dark cloth. “Some kind of – oh,” Steve exclaims in realization. “These are an Iron Man and a Captain America badge.” He knows them because Peter has them too. Frowning, he inclines his head at Tony. “It looks pretty similar to –”

“Peter’s bag.” Tony nods as if this is what he has been trying to say all this time “Exactly.”

When Tony does not look any more satisfied at Steve having solved the riddle but is still uncharacteristically tense for their lunch break, Steve wonders what he is still missing.

“So what?” he asks. “It’s not like this is Peter’s bag. Spider-Man is a fan, that’s all.”

Which makes his reluctance to work with them or at least let them help out at times a little strange, but that could be simple shyness in the face of actually meeting them.

“I’m saying that it is a pretty strange coincidence that the young superhero with the familiar speech pattern and the strict four-to-eight patrol time is carrying our son’s bag around.”

Now it is Steve’s turn to stare. He wonders what Tony means with the familiar speech pattern but now that he is thinking about it, Spider-Man – on the one occasion they talked – sounded familiar. That he is apparently working on a schedule is not that strange either. Not everybody has the dubious luxury of being a hero full-time.

All of that, of course, would only be relevant if Steve would even consider that Tony’s words have a ring of truth to it. Peter is not Spider-Man. He is fifteen and their son. He knows better.

“He’s not Peter,” Steve says, surprised at the uncertainty in his own voice. “We would’ve noticed. Or he would have told us.”

Peter would not keep such a secret from them, surely. Considering their side jobs, they would understand better than any other parent in the city. When Tony’s face does not change and he just waits for Steve to cave, Steve adds, “Our son does not stick to things.”

“Well,” Tony declares and drowns the rest of his coffee in one go, “let’s go home and find out.”

He does not yet get up, though, but keeps staring at Steve, probably waiting for an argument that will allow him to calm down, something that will prove the ridiculousness of his sudden fear.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Steve thinks – but does not come up with anything. “We can’t just storm home and confront him with wild accusations,” he finally says after taking a deep breath. “We have to talk about this.”

Tony nods, knuckles turning white where he clenches his empty mug. “With Peter.”

This whole situation is going to resolve into a misunderstanding made by Tony after another all-nighter or two. There is no way their son is Spider-Man, and they will find out exactly that when they get home.

Still, Steve glances back up at the screen, which has long since changed to some commercial, and then at Tony. Doubt is pooling in his stomach.

Peter has changed – of course, he has, every child changes when it hits puberty, but Peter has gained muscles more than height and his appetite has tripled. In a household like theirs, with one supersoldier to feed and a steady flood of guests coming through, that has not been that obvious, but of course they would notice that Peter could suddenly eat two pizzas in one going and still ask for dessert. He had also begun to withdraw more, which might not be that unusual for a teenager too, but he is not moody, has not stopped talking to them. He is just making himself rare.

“If this is true,” Steve says, wondering how he can ever consider it, “you know it’s our fault.”

Tony’s eyes on him are heavy when he nods, jaw clenched and knuckles growing whiter. When Steve reaches out to pry Tony’s fingers off his mug, Tony clings to his hands for a minute.

“Only one way to find out,” Tony decides. “Take your coffee. We’re going home.”

What Steve has expected to find as they come home is an empty penthouse or perhaps Peter and Ned building another Lego monstrosity in their living room. It is silent when they get out of the elevator, but when Tony asks JARVIS where Peter is, the AI hesitates.

JARVIS never does that, he is programmed not to, especially when it comes to such a simple question. Steve and Tony share a look.

“The young Master is in his room, sir,” JARVIS finally answers. His tone is calm enough, but that does not keep Tony from marching down the hall.

Not bothering to knock, Tony pushes into Peter’s room, only to come to an abrupt stop in the doorway. He is pale and his hands are clenched again, but before Steve can ask, he reaches the room too and freezes.

There is Peter, their fifteen-year-old son, looking like he has just been caught stealing cookies directly out of the jar. His chest is bare, revealing some faint bruises that Steve’s eyes are immediately zeroing in on. Below that, pooling around his hips, is a red and blue suit that looks painfully familiar, considering they have just seen it on a news feed. Completing the picture is Peter’s bag sitting innocently at his feet, the two badges glinting traitorously up at them.

For a moment, none of them moves, much less says anything. The opportunity for Peter to pass this off as a coincidence – this could just be some very formfitting pyjamas – passes unused.

Instead, Peter swallows audibly, and says, “Hey, Dads.”

That breaks Tony out of his stillness. With a dangerously calm expression, he steps into the room, focused on nothing but Peter.

“And here I was hoping for a this isn’t what it looks like greeting,” he says, ignoring the fact that they would not have believed it.

Steve, on the other hand, is glad that Peter has not tried to lie – of course, they do not actually know anything yet. This could still be something easily explained away. At least until Peter opens his mouth again.

“Would you have believed me?”

That is as good as an admission of guilt. Steve closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them again, Peter is still standing before them in half of the Spider-Man suit.

No,” Tony snaps, taking another step forward until it looks like they are facing off. “But I have a heart condition, and finding out that my teenage son is running around New York in spandex fighting crime even though he should know better, and then hearing that he doesn’t feel even slightly guilty about it, doesn’t help.”

Tony delivers all of that in a breathless staccato. For once, his hands are very still, hanging by his side like he is not sure whether to clench them or to gesticulate.

Even before Peter speaks, Steve knows he should not have. There is a defiance on his face that Steve knows all too well from Tony, but that has never helped to solve a conflict.

“It’s more like swinging.” Peter sticks out his chin a little, looking from Tony to Steve and back.

“What?” Tony asks, dangerously low.

Steve thinks he should probably step in, but he is busy pushing down the urge to groan. This is escalating quickly. The only good thing about Peter’s forwardness is that it keeps their concentration on his words, not on the far more damning fact of him being Spider-Man in the first place.

“I’m not running,” Peter says slowly, “I’m swinging.”

Later, someone should reward him for his courage. Steve knows it is not going to be either him or Tony.

“You are so grounded until –” Tony begins, voice growing into a growl, but Steve cuts him off.

“How long?” he asks, feeling unnaturally calm. The panic and the fear will come later, he knows, but one of them has to hold onto his objectiveness for the time being.

“I was just getting to that,” Tony snaps, looking over his shoulder to glare at Steve.

Stepping forward, Steve shakes his head. “No, I mean Peter. How long?”

Peter looks much less certain in the face of Steve’s calm. “About a year,” he replies and pauses as if he expects the shouting to finally begin. Tony does bluster, but Steve gestures for Peter to continue. “It was an accident during a school trip to the Roxxon lab. I –” He shrugs, looking far younger than his fifteen years. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

That hits Steve hard. He thought they were the kind of family that could talk about everything. How afraid Peter must have been, coming home after an accident – whatever that means – and not feeling safe enough to talk about it.

“So you decided not to tell us at all,” Steve says. Mostly to himself he adds, “Great, I see where you got your common sense from.”

Immediately, Tony whirls around to him. “Don’t put this on me.”

That was not Steve’s intention at all, but the thoughts are racing through his mind and he can hardly imagine how much worse it must be for Tony, who is used to thinking in numbers and likely has already made a mental list of all the sightings, enemies and recorded wounds Spider-Man has gathered since he first appeared, all put in relation to the miniscule changes they did not notice happening with their own son. Or which they did notice and wrote off as normal.

“You were flying around as Iron Man too without telling anyone,” Steve argues. He does not put any heat into his voice, because he is not actually interested in arguing with Tony. It is better if he draws Tony’s anger for now, though, to give Peter some breathing space. They do need to talk about this, but not while everybody is agitated.

“Yes, but I wasn’t a teenager,” Tony emphasizes that as if it physically hurts him, “and I didn’t have parents who are the living examples that this life is dangerous.”

“But you did it with a heart condition, as you like to remind us.” They have had this argument before, several times, and it will soon burn out.

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve sees Peter beginning to move slowly towards the door. He does not think Peter is going to run away, so he lets him go.

“That is completely diff-” Tony cuts himself off when he realizes what is going on. “And where do you think you’re going?” He glares at the both of them, clearly knowing what Steve has been doing.

“Erm,” Peter splutters, looking at Steve for help, who simply shrugs. He is angry too, and disappointed. “Shower?”

To both their surprise, Tony nods. “Good idea. You’re reeking.” Then, with a sharpness that cuts, he adds, “Leave the suit.”

Time comes to a standstill as Peter first pales, wide-eyed and looking like he is going to start shaking any moment now, and then squares his shoulders. “I’m not going to do that.”

In the safety of his mind, Steve can admit that he is impressed. Few people stand before a livid Tony Stark and tell him no. Even fewer people can get away with it, of course.

“That wasn’t a request,” Tony snaps and holds out his hand as if he expects to receive the suit right now.

“If you take it away,” Peter says with deceptive calm, “I’ll be going out without it.”

And Steve, despite it being completely inappropriate, is proud of Peter. More so than with going out in the first place to help people, this answer proves that he definitely is Tony and his son. If someone dared to take Ton’s suits away, he would built something better and make them pay for it. If someone took Steve’s shield, he would not let that keep him from doing the right thing.

At his side, Tony’s tense form crumbles a bit, and Steve knows that he is thinking the same thing, even though he is not going to give in that easily.

“Not if you’re not ever going to leave your room again.”

Despite himself, Steve has to grin at Tony’s grumbling tone. There is still fury there, but also grudging respect.

“You can’t –”

“Peter,” Steve says firmly, interrupting before Tony’s mood sours again. “You’re fifteen. We need to talk about this.”

“What’s there to talk about?” Peter snaps and sounds more than ever like a teenager. “I have abilities. If you can do what I can but you don’t and then bad things happen, that’s on me.” That sounds practiced enough to betray that Peter actually has thought about telling them, has readied arguments for himself, and then has still not found the courage to actually talk to them. “That’s why you go out, right? Because you can and because it’s the right thing to do.”

Steve shares an uncomfortable look with Tony. Of course, they go out because it is right. They are the Avengers because the world was in danger and they were there to step up. Worse, Steve wanted to help before he had the ability to do so.

“Tony’s right,” Steve says calmly, “you’re still young. And we’re not going out on our own. We always have backup.” That is not working. Steve sees Peter’s frustration and therefore is willingness to argue increase further. With a silent sigh, he changes course. “What if you didn’t come home one night because you weren’t prepared enough?”

“I’m –” Peter protests immediately, but Steve cuts him off, needing to make his point first.

“Then because of an accident. Those happen, abilities have nothing to do with that.” He does not actually want to argue about Peter’s abilities, especially since he does not know much about them yet. “We might never know what happened to you or find out about you being Spider-Man only when they find your body.”

At this, Peter winces slightly, although his shoulders never lose their tension.

“You’re our son,” Steve intones with some pleading. “If something happens to you, that’s on us. And we’d never forgive ourselves if we lost you.”

Next to him, Tony nods firmly. For a long moment, Peter simply looks at them, face open and yet unreadable. Then, thankfully, he slumps, eyes dropping to the ground.

“I didn’t know how to tell you.”

That is another thing they have to talk about because Peter should not be too scared or nervous to come to them with anything. Before Steve can say anything, Tony sets them several steps back again, as he does.

“How about ‘hey dad, pops, I can stick to things now. What are we going to do about that?’”

Tony’s entire body is still thrumming with tension, but Steve does not dare to reach out and put an arm around his husband’s shoulders. He fears that would look too much like they are uniting against Peter. That is the last thing that is going to help.

“It’s not yours to do anything about,” Peter snaps, although he sounds much less agitated than just a few minutes ago. “These are my abilities. My responsibility.”

Just barely, Steve can keep himself from turning towards Tony. That sounds suspiciously like his husband reasoning why it has to be him going after the last of his weapons. They have a lot of good traits to pass on to their son. It would have been nice if their stubbornness would not have been one of them.

“And you’re ours,” Tony says, sounding like he does not expect another argument to come after this.

“You’re a good kid, Peter,” Steve hurriedly adds before those two can begin to lash out at each other. “We’re not saying you should stop being Spider-Man forever –”

“We aren’t?” Tony throws in, looking up at Steve incredulous.

“But talk to us,” Steve continues, ignoring Tony’s argument. “Don’t do this alone.”

Truth be told, Steve would prefer to keep Peter under close watch from now on, to make sure he is protected to the best of their ability when he is going out. Because he will be going out, there is no doubt about that. The best day can do, is offer Peter their help and sneak in some extra measures without appearing too overbearing. The parent in Steve, however, struggles to accept that.

After an eternity, Peter nods tersely, looking like he knows this is not yet over by far.

Taking a step forward, Tony holds out his hand. “Now, give me the suit.”

“No,” Peter all but yells and Steve silently echoes the word inside his head. This is still not the right way to go about this.

Then, though, Steve notices that Tony is drumming some pattern on his leg with his fingers instead of holding them still at his side. That is a good sign. It means that Tony is thinking the way he does about projects.

“Peter,” Steve says sternly, trusting Tony to do the right thing. “Do what your Dad says. He needs to have a look at the suit to see how he can make it safer for you.”

To his surprise, Tony does not even twitch. “Yes,” he says. Much quieter, he adds, “After I’ve locked it up and waited until you’re at least thirty to give it back.”

Peter obviously sees the same signs Steve does, because he looks uncertain but not like he is going to continue the fight.

“Dad,” he says slowly, half-pleading, half-warningly.

“Suit, then shower,” Tony orders. “Steve will cook us dinner and then we’ll talk.”

That means that Tony will go directly to the workshop and busy himself there for the next hours until it is dinnertime. Tony is prone to hiding himself away when he is upset, but Steve is going to let it slide this time. It will give all of them enough space to calm down. Perhaps it will give him the opportunity to catch Peter alone before dinner, just to reassure him that this is not something that will drive them apart.

With slow motions, Peter gets out of the suit and, even more reluctantly, hands it over to Tony, almost as if he is giving a part of his soul away. Steve can imagine how it feels, and does not think he would have given anyone his shield like this, not even if there are claiming to have only good intentions.

Pressing the fabric close to his chest, Tony whirls around and heads for the door. Before he leaves the room, though, he turns around again.

“Don’t ever do something like that to us again,” he says sternly, but then the scowl on his face softens. “But we’re proud of you.”

Not waiting for an answer, Tony disappears down the hallway, leaving Steve and Peter to look at each other in silence, unmoving until they hear the doors of the elevator close.

“Are you?” bursts over Peter’s lips, so quickly that it seems he is afraid he will not dare to ask it at all if he waits. “Is he?”

Feeling the conflicted feelings in his chest unknot, Steve steps forward and puts a hand on Peter’s arm. “Of course we are,” he says as firmly as he managed with how his throat constricts. “You know your dad. If at all possible, he’d keep you safely at home until you’re eighty and too old to pose much of a danger to yourself, special abilities or not.”

If at all possible, Steve would do the same. He also remembers how he himself was at that age, or every age really, always looking for the good fight.

“I know several eighty-year-olds who would protest that statement,” Peter says dryly. For the first time since they came into his room, he does not look one look word from jumping out the window and swinging away. “Remember old Stan from the comic book store?”

“You know what I mean,” Steve replies, but he is smiling. “We love you. Come to dinner when you’re ready.”

Steve has not yet managed to turn around, when Peter says, “Love you too.”

That, at least, is something they can always count on.

#iron man bingo 3000 #stony #iron dad #spiderson #identity reveal #protective tony stark #protective steve rogers #precious peter parker #ao3 #my writing #i swear a new chapter for the soulmate au is coming

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hejer-maomao · 6 years ago

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SUP BRO I READ UR FLUFF AND GOT HAPPY AND SQEALED RLLY LOUD MY MOM THOUGHT I WAS DEAD LOL ANYWAY CAN I HAVE CUDDLES WITH IKEMREV I DONT EVEN CARE WHO LOL BTW THAT COMFORTING A SAD MC THING MADE ME HAPPY CUZ EDGARS CUTE WITH THAT HUG HEHE OK BYE

Hey mate! I’m so glad that you’re enjoying my fluff to that point ❤ When I was writing the comforting HCs, all I had in mind was how I can manage to make my readers smile whenever they’re having a bad day. So I’m beyond happy that my writing managed to heal you even by a fraction ❤

Of course you can have as many cuddles as you want! Your ask made me smile like an idiot and brightened my entire day, so let me write as many suitors as I can for you!

Cuddles HCs:

Edgar:

When it comes to cuddling, Edgar Bright essentially has two moods. The first one is his teasing cuddles. He would patiently wait around for his prey (you) to come, until he spots the moment where you let down your guard, so he can tackle you into a tight back hug, eliciting a heartfelt laugh from you.

At other times, whenever you’re lying tranquilly in your shared bed, reading a book or simply enjoying the sunlight filtering through the window, Edgar would creep around you, throw his arms around your waist, before starting to mercilessly tickle your sides. He will not stop until you repeatedly beg him for mercy after exhausting all of your strength on trying to escape his strong hold on you, clumsily kissing his cheek in an attempt to distract him from his teasing.

Your kisses are the only escape route, and Edgar will happily stop his assault, contently pulling you to his chest, his carefree laughs echoing between the walls.

Edgar’s second mood, however, is much heavier than the first. These specific moments happen seemingly out of nowhere, in the middle of the night or in late evenings, Edgar will surely find his way to wherever you are, before wordlessly placing his head on your shoulder, a gesture you quickly learned to recognize as a silent cry for help. When his dark thoughts simply refuse to leave him alone, Edgar always opts to stay by your side, your soft presence chasing his inner demons even for just a short while.

Enveloped in your cuddles, your lover seems to let himself fall apart at last, his tense shoulders finally relaxing and his forced smile dropping away to allow his true feelings to surface for once. Edgar will let you hold him for hours without budging an inch, basking in your warmth, allowing your affection to seep through his bones, healing his very soul.

Jonah:

This one here, is undoubtedly the Queen of Cuddles.

Jonah does not only love cuddles, no no, he demands cuddles whenever he feels like it, and at any place he deems appropriate. Jonah doesn’t care for the book you’re reading, nor the appointment you have in five minutes, nor the party you promised you’ll attend with Blanc. If Jonah Clemence wants cuddles, cuddles he will surely get.

However, if he is ever faced with “Are you a cuddler?” type of question , don’t be too surprised when Jonah denies this statement as if his life depends on it. “I simply go along with your wishes!” Jonah would indignantly explain, a lovely blush spread on his cheeks. “It’s not as if I want to cuddle all the time because you smell heavenly and it feels so peaceful in your arms! Not at all!”. Sometimes, you really think it’s a good thing Jonah is too cute for you to get angry, or else you would have banned cuddles since a very long time.

Jonah’s cuddles are warm and soft. He likes to bury his face in the crook of your neck, breathe in your smell, close his eyes and enjoy the peace.

Jonah utterly despises it when someone interrupts your cuddling time. He will shout and complain at whoever knocked at your door, immediately dismissing them if he deems their words unimportant. If it’s a matter which cannot bear to await, Jonah, although very, VERY reluctantly, will eventually disentangle himself from you, a death glare engraved on his porcelain features, scaring everyone away from him, as he heads for his office.

Jonah, once finished settling his duties, will return to your side, quietly slip beside you, sighing in pure happiness as he wraps his arms around you, his silky voice barely a whisper as he says: “I’m home, darling.”

Harr:

This precious cinnamon roll never knew cuddles existed before he met you. The first time you tried to push yourself closer in his embrace, he immediately shifted away, asking you if having him this close is not utterly uncomfortable for you.

No matter how hard you keep on trying, your hugs barely last a minute, and every time you quietly attempt to shift close to him while you’re both lying on the bed or on the sofa, Harr will wear a troubled expression on his face, and put more distance between your two bodies, as if he is afraid he will hurt you just by touching you.

As your relationship slowly progress, and Harr gains confidence in himself, your cuddling sessions become more frequent. Step by step, you find Harr sticking closer to you, his hands further settling on your hips, embracing you from behind as you doze off to sleep.

And if ever Harr is in the mood for cuddles, he will shyly approach you, steal glances at your face until you pay him attention. Your lover is slowly getting addicted to cuddles, and you can’t be any happier. You noticed that the more closer you two get, the more often Harr smiles, his aura finally appearing more relaxed and less guarded than the day you two first met.

Harr simply adores laying his head on your chest, listen to your steady heartbeat, while you’re gently stroking his head. He will melt between your fingers, his well-crafted walls completely down, his eyes twinkling in pure satisfaction at the feeling of safety in his lover’s arms.

Lancelot:

To be honest, I do not particularly see Lancelot as they type to cuddle a lot. Due to his demanding job and extremely busy schedule, Lancelot do not exactly have the luxury to bask in your embrace and forget about the entire world. There is always papers to sign, meetings to attend and soldiers to supervise.

His strict upbringing is also another factor in his not-so-touchy attitude. He was never taught how to communicate through close touches, nor how to transmit his emotions by hugs. This explains his puzzlement when it came to cuddling.

This does not mean that he completely hates the intimate gesture. Far from it, Lancelot adores having you close by his side, wrapped in his arms, safe from all harm. It is just that his cuddles never extend beyond a certain time.

The warmth and passion in each of his embraces, however, compensate for this and more. Lancelot tend to tightly pull you against his chest, his hand coming up to caress your hair while the other is drawing relaxing patterns into your back, lulling you to a peaceful sleep.

At days where you notice that Lancelot is having a rough time, his stress building up to the point of torture, you will immediately suggest taking a break from work, before dragging him to your shared room away from other people’s eyes.

As you try your best to pull him into your embrace, Lancelot will start off a bit stiff, still not used to receive too much affection all at once. But as minutes ticks by, he will slowly but surely start to relax against your chest, his face buried in your neck, arms tightly secured around your waist.

The gentle smile and the soft peck on your lips you later on receive from him encourage you to further get your lover used to cuddles. After all, nothing is better than having Lancelot all to yourself, wrapped between your arms, protected from the world.

I thought about writing more Suitors, but I quickly run out of ideas >/w/

I chose to give you my top 4 Suitors in the game, since you did not specify any character! So this ask was also written for my own sake too!

I hope you enjoy these fluffy cuddles ❤

My Ask Box is re-opened for the moment, so make sure to make the most out of it! I’m looking forward to your Asks!

#ikemen revolution #cybrid ikemen series #edgar bright #Jonah Clemence #harr silver #lancelot kingsley #guys you have no idea how cold it is right now!!#I need these cuddles 😂

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indigoumbrella · 5 years ago

Text

So I’m having a lot of doubts and second thoughts about taking this new job, which I will rant about under the cut.

So I kind of had a panic attack today about this new job and just finally broke down. I’ve been reluctant to take this job from the start because I know I’m going to be miserable about it. I’ve been trying to look on the bright side. Which is all the money I’ll be making. But the thought of leaving the library just completely breaks my heart. Especially since I’m leaving it for a place that doesn’t give a single fuck about me or my child.

And today my son started his after-school program that he does every year and they asked me if I’d be willing to teach monthly art classes. This is a GREAT opportunity for me. Something I love doing and have done before. But if I take this job, I won’t be able to do that. I also won’t be able to take art classes at the college like I’ve been wanting to. I also won’t be able to take the mandatory divorce classes once I get that stuff underway. Because the strict schedule just won’t allow it.

And this job is just making me feel so uneasy. I know I need to make changes in my life, but I can’t shake the feeling that this is the wrong choice. I got an email from them this morning about the rules I’ll need to follow.

And it’s basically like, you need to have 100% attendance for at least the first six months or we can fire you. Under no circumstances can you accept personal phone calls. Under no circumstances are you allowed to have personal items on you, including cellphones. Surprise, outside of your normal schedule, you’ll have mandatory overtime whenever we damn well feel like forcing it on you.

I also just have no job security whatsoever. It’s very easy to get fired and part of me is worried I’ll be fired before my benefits can even kick in. The library won’t fire me unless I really really royally fuck up.

And idk, just all these things combined, I had this horrible flashback to when my son got hurt at school and had to go to the hospital. And I just imagined them trying to get ahold of me if this happened again. How long would it take for me to find out he got hurt? How long would it take for me to get out of there and go to him? Would I lose my job for choosing to leave in the middle of a shift? And the mandatory overtime thing? I’m already struggling to a way to get him from school on days I’m working. What’s going to happen if they throw overtime on me unexpectedly like my old job did? I don’t have that luxury.

And then I remembered when he got sick at school last year while I was working at the library. I got to him in less than 10 minutes. He was able to call me directly at the front desk. I told my boss he was sick and they didn’t even wait for an explanation or excuse. They just let me go to my boy and take care of him and let me make up the hours later. They were more concerned about him than who was going to pick up the slack. And they love him. I regularly bring him to work with me and they all love him.

And last week when I was sick? I texted my boss to tell him I couldn’t make it in and I was sorry and he said, “Don’t worry about work. Just focus on getting better.” They never asked me to make up any hours. They just let me take the time I needed to get better. That’s the kind of company I want to work for.

And really my only problem right now is that I just don’t have enough money for food. I make enough to cover my bills. Just not enough for both. I do have other options. I still have Doordash, even though I don’t want to do it in the winter. I still have plans to get my art going. And now I have people wanting me to teach classes outside of my job at the library. And yeah it’s only once a month. But it’s still something. Something that makes me happy. A way for me to bond with my son. A way for me to do what I love and potentially move myself into something more permanent.

I just don’t want to do this. I don’t want to say goodbye and leave this job for a place that treats me like a number and has such a high turnover rate that even managers only last a year or two. I need the money, yes. But have I really exhausted every option or was this just the easy way out?

I don’t know. I talked to my boss about it earlier and I dumped a lot of personal stuff on her (which I feel really bad about) but she was super understanding and said that they’ll let me stay if that’s what I want to do. And that she also has a lot of connections and is more than willing to help me find a second job that fits me better if I’m willing to accept it. She said she’d give me until Monday to make up my mind.

So that’s where I’m at right now. Technically I already put in my 2 weeks and accepted the other job. But nothing is set in stone yet. I just don’t know what to do. I need to do what’s best for my son, bottom line. Is staying at the library selfish? Or should I just suck it up and go to work at this awful place and miss out on time with my kid just so I can have more money?

I still need to make changes in my life, but those changes are already in progress. At the end of the day, I just need to make enough money to buy food. And once those changes start to manifest, I’ll have that. And once I have that security again, I can start focusing on other ways to make money. I have people helping me with branding and my art and publishing and all that. Will those get me lots of money? Absolutely not. But I’m not trying to get rich here. I just want to survive.

So now I’m stuck at a crossroads. My heart is telling me to stick with the library and push for those changes, deal with the fact that I’ll never have a lot of money, but I’ll have enough. But logically? I can go to work at this awful company where they can toss me aside at a moment’s notice, but in the meantime, they’ll pay me buttloads of money to be abused all day (gotta love call center work).

#*aggravated noises*

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bastionkeeper · 6 years ago

Text

I feel bad for my lack of updates lately so....

Here! I wrote this in @nonbinarydisaster ‘s dms because we were talking about an rk1k wedding, I neatened it up as much as my exhausted brain let me but it’s still very much a rough fic, regardless I offer it up to you readers for staying loyal during my hiatus <3 enjoy! Full story under read more! Warning for vague descriptions of coatroom sex ;)

EDIT: forgot to mention but Nathan is what we call Nines and Serenade is an old oc from a different fic

“So, you freaking out yet?”

Connor turned to Hank, stopping with his constant struggle against the bow-tie that won't sit straight and the mirror that shows off every flaw of his suit. His partner was leaning in the doorway with a glass in hand, eyeing him up with a smile. Connor decided to deflect.

"Drinking already?" he asked, turning back to the mirror and fussing over his bow-tie again. "I'm not even married yet and you're already celebrating."

"It's a coke," Hank said, rolling his eyes. "But I'll be hitting that open bar as soon as you say 'I do' make no mistake about that."

Connor smirked, trying to fall back into the classic Hank and Connor banter instead of thinking about saying 'I do.'

"You're definitely freaking out, stop that," Hank sighed, setting his glass aside and slapping Connor's hands away from his tie. He straightened it effortlessly, and moved on to the rest of Connor's suit running his hands over it to smooth it out. "You look fine, Connor."

"I'll be having words with the tailor," Connor huffed.

"And those words will be 'thank you for dealing with my constant pestering,'" Hank said. "You're just nervous, the suit is fine. Lay off it before you work it to shreds."

Connor sighed and took a seat in a nearby chair. He could hear North and the others setting up downstairs, the balcony hid none of the sound even if the curtains hid the reception hall from sight. Connor is tempted to pull back the curtains and watch everyone work, but North gave him strict orders to stop bossing them around and go relax before the ceremony. He was supposed to be having a drink and taking some deep breaths, instead he was staring at his reflection and trying not to bolt.

"What if he deserves better than me...?" Connor said, wringing his hands and looking up at Hank with hunched shoulders and an uncertain gaze.

"S'not about deserve," Hank said, taking a sip of his drink. "He's stuck with you now, and he's happier for it. If you're both happy then stop worrying about deserve and just get on with it."

"As always, your advice brings me relief and confusion," Connor replied dryly, causing Hank to laugh.

"Kid, you've got a good thing here," he said. "Don't ruin it with fear. Just remember, you two have known each other years now. This day isn't a big deal, it's not even 'making it official' it's just a party and some words..."

"And an open bar," Connor remarked, earning another laugh.

"You two are together already, and this day is nothing more than a celebration of the fact," Hank said. "Just ignore all of us and tell him how you feel, alright?"

Connor takes a deep breath, feeling his overworked systems cool as he nods. "Thanks, Hank."

"Hey, it's what a dad's supposed to do when his kid gets married."

Connor heard Hank get choked up at that, and looked at him curiously. He saw Hank quickly wipe at his eyes and the sight made Connor beam.

"Are you...?"

"No, fuck you," Hank sniffed. "I'm gonna go get another fucking soda. I'll see you down there."

Connor let him go express his feelings in private, feeling bolstered by the teary eyed paternal joy.

When North comes to get him, bring him to his place, his anxiety is greatly lessened. It's still there of course, it stays with him the whole while Hank leads him up the aisle to wait for Markus's approach. It only vanishes when he sees him.

Markus looked good in clothes he fished out of a junkyard, so of course he looks breathtaking in an eight hundred dollar tux. Connor forgot himself for a moment and rushed down to meet him halfway, and only realized what he was doing when the crowd rumbled with laughter at his hurried kiss to Markus's temple. He blushed, but Markus laughed and kissed his hand, and then it was just the two of them again.

Markus held Connor's hands and promised him his love, his attention, and to stop splattering him with paint when he's in his good clothes. Connor promised Markus his love, his protection, and to lay off the schedules. A little bit. A slight reduction of about 13%

. Markus laughed a lot, his mismatched eyes crinkling in mirth and everytime he laughed Connor lost himself a little to this man he was going to be with forever. When they're told to kiss, Connor doesn't need to be asked twice. He dips Markus, who is clearly surprised by the passion, but gets his revenge by dipping Connor right back. Connor hears Hank and North wolf-whistle and sees Simon crying and clapping when they pull apart.

"I love you... so much," Markus breathed into his ear, something just for them to share.

There's a lot of applause, and eventually the wedding party all trails out. Nathan took his best man duties very seriously. It didn't matter that Connor never assigned one best man, just asked Nathan and Hank to be there for him (Markus claimed North or else she'd be on his side too), in Nathan's mind it was his job to part the crowd of well-wishers and get Connor and Markus to their table. He might have stood there like a bodyguard all night if Simon hadn't dragged him off to their table.

"Would you like something to drink, Mr. Manfred?" Markus teased. Connor tilted his head.

"I think I would, Mr. Anderson."

They had never decided on abbreviating or just keeping things as they were. Considering last names were a novelty for androids anyway, they had the luxury of time to decide.

Markus, as it turns out, didn’t even need to go get drinks because North kept the champagne and thirium coming with dutiful attention to their empty glasses. Connor also spotted her and Hank making mixed drinks of their own invention whenever they thought Connor was not looking, dumping mini bottles into already potent glasses. Connor let them have their fun, maybe it was the champagne making him dizzy or maybe it was Markus's hand on his leg but he couldn't really seem to care about anything but the man at his side right now.

They dance, and it's all careful programmed steps and showing off for the crowd. When they're alone they let their bodies move as they will, but both Markus and Connor like the way people ooh and aah at how they can move with precision and grace so they put on a little show.

The dance floor quickly fills up, Hank takes North for a spin and Connor is surprised to see Nathan is convinced to dance at least three times by Simon, Markus, and Serenade. He shoots his brother a smile, and is pleased to see him scowl back with a faint blush as each dance partner makes him loosen up and have fun for once.

Hank managed to give a speech with minimal tears, though he did wave his glass around a lot. North cut in on his time, stealing the microphone and calling Connor "her main bitch" and Markus "the best ex turned friend a bot could ask for." Connor pretended to boo them away, pleased at the middle fingers they flashed him and embarrassing stories they told. Nathan gives a much more formal speech, but by the end of it he's crying a little and Connor has to come hug him until he's less overwhelmed. Nathan holds him tight and swears a Hankish amount of times.

Eventually, Markus's hand on his leg grew higher and higher, and both androids found themselves flush with alcohol and newlywed passion as they snuck off to be alone.

"And where do you think you two are going?" North asked, making them both jump with surprise in the nearly empty hallway.

"...breath of fresh air?" Markus says just as Connor says "looking for Hank."

"Hank's sobering up in the bathroom," North said, jerking her head in the direction of the coat closet.

"So, you better take that instead. I'll play lookout for exactly fifteen minutes and then I'm going back to drinking the old man under the table."

Connor doesn't care whose coats they're sending scattering to the floor when he pushes Markus up onto a counter. He pulls his husband's tie free with his teeth and... oh, his husband. He likes the sound of that.

They make love, Markus with a hand over Connor's mouth to keep him quiet, both of them grinning like idiots when they aren't pressing kisses to exposed skin or gasping for breath.

Connor remembers saying "mine now," a few times, much to Markus's delight. He's embarrassed post orgasm, but Markus just laughs and peppers his face in kisses.

"And you have the papers to prove it," he ribbed playfully while Connor covered his face.

"It's the champagne talking," he groaned.

"I sure hope it's not, Mr. Manfred," Markus said, kissing Connor deep.

"We've used up our fifteen minutes, Mr. Anderson," Connor reminded him as Markus pulled Connor's lip with his teeth.

They leave the coatroom wearing each others ties and tucking their shirts back in. Their first argument as a married couple is spent giggling as Connor demands Markus fix his sex mussed hair, as he is too wasted to do so properly. Markus refuses, says he looks cute and that he wants people to see. Connor says that's a terrible idea, but flushes proudly regardless.

"Connor!" Hank says when they come back to the party, throwing arms around both grooms. "Markus! I'm so fucking happy for you two."

"I'm pretty happy myself, sir," Markus laughs, before North drags Hank off again. Connor and Markus take their seats and watch as Nathan is mobbed by children who all want a turn riding on his shoulders.

"You think he's next?" Connor asked, gesturing to Nathan.

"He's good with kids, not long before someone snatches him up," Markus said with a chuckle. "I know a dozen or so androids begging for the chance."

"Well they'll have to get my approval first," Connor huffed. Markus kisses him, and Connor kisses him back and it's been minutes before they stop kissing and laughing so caught up in the moment.

"Eat your cake, you were so excited about it," Markus teased.

"No," Connor growled, nipping at Markus's ear.

"Eat your damn cake!" Markus laughed again, dabbing his finger in some icing and smearing it on Connor's lips. Connor licked it off, and pretended to scowl at Markus, all the while just taking him in. He was so beautiful, Connor just wanted to stare at him forever.

Connor’s not entirely sure how they got home when he wakes up the next morning. He’s dimly aware of him and Markus arguing over who got to carry who over the threshold, and the ensuing wrestling turned affection that came from it. Other than that the night has blurred into North’s loyal drink refilling and Markus’s beautiful eyes.

Connor turned in bed to look at the android in question, finding him slumbering peacefully in rest mode. He took note of the ring on the hand splayed across the pillow, pride and joy both rising in his chest as he eyed it over.

“You’re staring pretty hard,” Markus mumbled, not so asleep after all. Connor laughed sheepishly, snuggling closer to press a kiss to Markus’s nose.

“How do you know what I’m doing with your eyes closed like that?” he said.

“I’m your husband, I know everything,” Markus said back, yawning to cool biocomponents warmed from inaction under a warm blanket.

“That so, Mr. Anderson?”

“It is, Mr. Manfred.”

#dbh #rk1k #conkus #rk1000 #blatantbalderdash

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