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winterscaptain · 4 years ago

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spoiled.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: happy valentine’s day!

words: 2.1k warnings: language, over-the-top valentine’s day shenanigans

summary: “the best love is the kind that awakens the soul and makes us reach for more, that plants a fire in our hearts and brings peace to our minds.” - nicholas sparks. au!february 2012

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | taglist | what do you want to see next?

Aaron leaves rather early in the morning, leaving you in bed complaining with only a kiss for your trouble.

When you eventually get up, on track to be about fifteen minutes late to the federal building, you find a pair of post-its on the fridge.

Always the romantic.

+++

The evening rolls around and finds you on the couch with Jess and Jack.

“You gonna start getting ready?” Jess asks. “You’ve got a long night ahead of you.”

You look over at her. “Wait. He told you what we’re doing?”

She nods. “Yeah. You have no idea. He hasn’t done a big Valentine’s Day thing since he surprised Haley in her senior year of college. He’s been looking for an excuse.”

That’s terrifying.

“Guess I better get ready then.”

Jack’s got a funny little smile on his face, but you ignore it. You’re sure the Hotchner boys are in cahoots, but it’s not really worth it to try and wiggle anything out of him.

You head to the master bedroom to get dressed, throwing off your slouchy day-off clothes in favor of something that can take you to a fancy dinner and whatever else Aaron has planned for your evening.

+++

You walk out of the apartment, hearing Jess lock the door behind you. When you reach the front of the apartment complex, Aaron closes the car door as he hops out, meeting you halfway to the sidewalk.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he says, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

He’s wearing a black button-up, black slacks, and his favorite pair of black oxfords. It’s a sharp look and one he knows you love.

“You’re looking quite dapper yourself, sir.”

The boyish grin on his face melts your heart and you take the arm he offers. Like a real gentleman, he opens the door for you and makes sure you’re inside before closing you in.

+++

The drive is quiet. You ask about the office once or twice, but it’s clear there’s nothing significant to report.

“So...what are we doing tonight?”

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye. “Dinner. And a few other things.”

+++

When he says ‘dinner,’ he’s not joking. The restaurant is a high-end, no-prices-on-the-menu type of place. The lighting is low, the environment cozy and quiet.

He must have planned this months ago. Reservations are like gold on Valentine’s Day.

Aaron’s squinting at the menu across from you. It makes you laugh.

“Need a flashlight and your reading glasses?”

“Shut up.” It comes with his own laugh, but he’s still squinting.

You finally decide on something and order, trusting Aaron’s taste in wine. When the waiter leaves, Aaron reaches across the table for your hand.

“Okay,” he says. You recognize his tone - it’s professional, like he’s starting a press conference. “No work, no kids, no serial killers.”

You smile, waiting for him to give you a little more context.

“How are you?”

What a question.

How often does the answer to that question not include work, kids, or serial killers?

Not very.

“I’m good.” You mean it. “I’m really good.”

There’s a small smile on his face. “Why?”

Are you profiling me now, Hotch?

Deciding to give him shit, you ask, “Why am I good, or is that a more general existential question?”

He rolls his eyes and you relent.

“Alright. Well…” You take a breath. “There are a lot of things to be happy about. You, for one thing.”

“Me?” He asks. He looks genuinely surprised.

Fool.

“Yes, you.” You squeeze his hand. “You are my best friend and somehow - somehow - I’ve landed you as my partner. I am living out everything I dreamed of at twenty-five.”

That pulls another smile from him. “Really?” Again, he looks genuinely surprised.

Can’t believe I’ve never told this to him.

Ridiculous

“Oh yeah. I can’t believe you never noticed. I had a huge crush on you - instantly. Derek gave me nothing but hell once he figured it out.” You pause. “Do you remember that time on the plane, really early on, when I woke up and everyone thought I had a nightmare?”

Looking a little confused by your change in direction, and you don’t blame him.

“I think so? I remember we all felt so bad.” He shrugs. “We all get them, of course - still do - but we were worried about you.”

“Right. So -”

Aaron’s head tilts to the left as he interrupts you. “Did you say ‘everyone thought’ it was a nightmare?”

Your face gets hot and you suddenly regret bringing this up at all. “Yeah. I’m getting to that.”

With an embarrassed huff, you continue. “So, it wasn’t a nightmare.”

“No?” The question comes accompanied by a frown.

“No. It was a sex dream. About you.”

You can tell he’s doing his best to hide his smile for your benefit, but there’s a threatening dimple that gives him away and you’ve simply known him too long for him to get away with anything.

“Really?” His tone is neutral, polite, but you can hear the humor behind the apparently bland interest.

“Yep.”

“What - if I may ask - was it about? Specifically?”

You take a breath and adopt the same kind of ironic professionalism as Aaron. “Well, now it doesn’t seem so notable, because i’m more than familiar with your, um, technique.”

And it’s true. Though you hardly remember the details of the dream anymore - it's been years - you know that real life doesn’t even come close.

Aaron pulls his hand from yours and steeples his fingers under his chin. He’s the picture of interest, so you continue.

“The key points are as follows -”

He holds up a finger, and you stop. “On second thought,” he says. “I think this recollection would be better served by a demonstration.”

You nod. “You’re probably right.”

“I’ll pencil it in.”

You grin at each other for a moment, the back-and-forth of it so deeply on brand you can’t help but steep in it for a second.

“So,” he says, “as you were saying before…?”

“Right.”

Back to business.

“I had a huge crush on you and could swear you were the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.”

Never one to forgo an opportunity to compliment him when he’s not actively swatting at you, you continue.

“In the lecture you gave with Gideon and Derek, I knew you were in charge before you said anything. Even though Gideon had the years and experience on you, it was clear that everything came through you.” You attempt to explain the inarticulable. “There’s a kind of steadiness - one you still have - that radiates off of you.”

The two of you sit in that for a moment.

You continue. “And then, of course, when we met again I had to really focus on not making an ass of myself in front of Strauss.”

He laughs. His laughter makes you laugh, of course. It’s so much higher than his speaking register, so delightful in its unexpectedness.

“Okay, okay.” You stop, covering your face with your hands. “Okay this is cheesy. Promise not to laugh.”

His eyebrows rise and he forces his mouth into something that only threatens a dimple once more.

“When you shook my hand in Radner’s office, there was this crazy jolt of energy or something that just flew up my arm. It was wild. I’ve never been able to forget it, almost like a flashbulb memory.”

As promised, he doesn’t laugh. There is, however, a kind of wonder in his eyes when he replies, “You felt that, too?”

+++

After dinner (and dessert), Aaron takes your hand and ushers you into the car when you leave the lod. He doesn’t turn the way you expect.

“Where are we going?”

The dashboard casts a glow on his face. You can still spot a dimple in the dark. “You’ll see.”

+++

Your disbelief only grows when you go deeper into the city and pull up to the Hay-Adams. The valet opens the door for you, while Aaron hands over the keys to his SUV. Once all the details are covered, you take his arm again and let him guide you into the lobby.

It’s expansive. The Hay-Adams is, of course, one of the most historic buildings in the district and considered one of the best hotels on the East Coast by people who know of these things.

Aaron confirms the reservation and gets the room cards before promptly finding the elevator and swiping in for the seventh floor. You look down, remembering your attire at the last minute.

“Aaron, I don’t have my go bag.”

He shakes his head, still looking forward. “Don’t need it.”

You scoff.

He doubles down. “Do you trust me?”

Stupid question.

“Of course.”

“Go with it. I’m trying to spoil you.” He turns and presses his lips to yours, taking your face in his hand. Against your mouth, he says, “Let me.”

+++

The room is gorgeous - a one bedroom suite with a living room, balcony, and kitchenette, a huge couch dominates the center of the open living area, opposite an impressive television. Through the open door, you catch a glimpse of a king-sized bed.

This must have cost a small fortune.

As if reading your mind, Aaron takes your hand and tugs you forward. You land against his chest and he smiles at you. “Don’t think too hard. Come with me.”

You follow him out to the balcony and the view takes your breath away. The White House, well-lit in the D.C. nighttime, sits right across the street. From here, you can see Lafayette Square - beyond it, almost the whole city.

When you come back to yourself, you realize there’s an outdoor loveseat and a small table, holding champagne (on ice) and chocolate-covered fruit.

Champagne, chocolate, fancy dinner… The whole nine.

Spoiled indeed.

Aaron sits, pulling you down beside him. He pours two glasses of champagne - mostly for show, and moves the bucket to the ground. The fruit goes off to the side table and his feet go up on the small table, crossing at the ankles. You curl up against him, tucking under his arm.

“Do you like it? Too much?”

You can hear the genuine insecurity behind his cheeky question. You press a kiss to the back of his hand. “I love it. It is too much, but it’s very thoughtful. You twist to kiss the underside of his jaw. “Thank you.”

With that, the two of you settle in, quietly enjoying the company and the quiet. It’s cold, but with the outdoor heater, it’s comfortable enough that you don’t need your coat.

“Okay.”

Aaron sits up. “Yes?”

“You asked, so it’s only fair. No work, no kids, no serial killers. How are you?”

He pulls you over so you’re sitting across his lap. You rest your head on his shoulder, your hand smoothing over the soft fabric of his button-up before placing it over his heart.

“I’m good,” he says. “I’m really good.”

“Why?” You feel a little like a parrot, but you’re sure that’s what he’s going for.

“I can’t...quite articulate how lucky I feel.”

That’s relatable.

“I’m happy to be here with you.” He shakes his head - a pensive gesture. “I never thought I could make it here again.”

“Where?” You ask.

“In love, happy, facing a future that doesn’t scare me. My son is happy, safe...I wasn’t sure I'd ever have any of that again after losing Haley.”

He pauses and you can feel a little sardonic smile. You don’t have to see it to know it’s there. His next admission, though, surprises you.

“I accepted that I would be a bystander in your life a long time ago. I accepted that I would likely remain a widower, a single father. I knew you’d be around and that I would be your friend, but I made peace with the idea that I’d never have you right here.” He squeezes you twice, in time with his words. It makes you smile.

He shakes his head and lets out a little laugh. “I’m not sure it’ll ever sink in.”

You feel much the same, but it's kind of at once alarming and amusing to hear him so beautifully articulate feelings that so closely resemble your own.

You lean back to look at him. “I’m glad you were wrong.”

He places a gentle finger under your chin and kisses you, long and languid. It’s a promise. After a little while, he leans back, brushing the back of his fingers over your cheek.

“Me too.”

+++

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gloryofluv · 4 years ago

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Order up! (Coffee Shop AU) Chapter 12

Hahaha. I'm actually dying over this chapter! So much going on, but soooo good as far as the banter.

Previous Chapter

The next day was a big win. She got her doctor's stuff done, ate a big breakfast, and they actually got Leviathan out of his room to help. He assisted with all of her electronics and was extremely meticulous. Of course, Alex actually couldn’t talk to him because he would blush and walk away from her.

Well, she would have to work on him slowly.

That left her with bringing over all the unneeded items to her now cleaned-out bedroom on Friday early afternoon. Then, of course, work. She was pretty tired considering her busy ass days lately. Tons of emotional sifting. Although, it seemed a lot easier with each of the brothers. Even Mammon was taking on a new role; her protector.

After Belphie explained what happened the other night, or at least she thinks he did, Mammon has been a new man. He’s been getting her water, carrying heavy things for her, even complaining about her going to work at night. Totally switched from who he was. Interesting.

Working in a cafe in the afternoon and evenings. Actually, there’s something to be said about that. The clients are different. The creative types who work long boring jobs during the day and need to feed off the energy of caffeine and others. The families that are out and about, ready for the weekend ahead.

There’s also a startling amount of mischief. Alex twice had to tell someone they couldn’t yell on their cellphone in the lobby. Gotta give it to Jess. She was ballsy enough to want to work evenings all the time.

Alex was fixing her displays near the register when she heard someone clear their throat. She turned around and blinked. Simeon was standing there and not in his usual sweater, but a tank top and jeans.

“Oh, Simeon,” Alex puffed with color-dusted cheeks.

“I wasn’t expecting you here this evening, Alex,” he beamed.

“I switched with Jess. Oh, um, did you want me to,” she stopped her stammering and smiled. “Are you drinking tea tonight?”

He nodded and watched as she walked around the counter. “I’m just out with some of the mentors,” he explained and gestured to a table.

Alex glanced over to see two men. One had flowing blond hair and piercing blue eyes, and the other had darker hair in braids with soulful chocolate eyes. Both were quite interested in watching their interaction.

“That’s nice,” Alex beamed with a bounce to her head. “Did you want to get them something as well?”

“Just three of the hibiscus ginger,” Simeon smiled.

She was preparing the cups and glanced back at him. “How are you doing? I feel like this is the first time Luke isn’t with you.”

Simeon laughed and shrugged. “We always see you after he’s done with school. I work in the mornings and evenings. Did you figure out your living situation?”

She set the bags in the cups and nodded. “Yes, Lucifer offered me a room.”

“Interesting. He’s not usually noted for his generosity,” Simeon mused as she set the cups in front of him.

Alex gestured to the pastry case, and Simeon shook his head. “Oh, I don’t know about that, but he has been pretty decent to me. All of them are helping me move my stuff. It’s been pretty,” she paused and exhaled while looking away from him.

“It’s difficult to confess to needing people in our lives, Alex. it gives us more opportunity to have rejection and abandonment. However, it fortifies our hearts,” Simeon beamed.

She bent over the POS screen and scowled. “Simeon, this whole time, I thought I was over it. This whole time and I realized I just never let myself touch it. To truly understand what was lost because then that makes me defective, undesirable, broken.”

“You’re very desirable, and not for being someone serving coffee with a magnificent smile,” Simeon said as his cheeks darkened a touch.

She pressed her lips together before she smiled. “Thank you, Simeon. You truly are divinity in human form.”

“I’d very much like it if you let me take you to dinner. I’ve wanted to ask you for months, but I only see you when small ears are lingering. Would you let me? I very much like you, Alex,” Simeon said with a hint of surprise. He wasn’t expecting to ask her?

“Oh, um, okay,” she smiled and nodded.

Simeon laughed and smiled. “Okay.”

Alex jerked to action and pulled out a sheet, writing out her number. “Now you can text me. I have a challenging time reaching out first. It causes quite a bit of anxiety for me,” she confessed and handed him the small paper.

He held it up before tucking it in his jean pocket. “I will take the first step then,” he paused and handed her his credit card.

Alex beamed and completed the transaction. “Simeon, thank you for having the courage to say something. I know that took so much.”

He chuckled and tilted his head. “Alex, you’re a very courageous woman. You’ve done many things others haven’t in their life and still are sweet and kind. Boldness isn’t about action. It’s feeling. Now, I’m going to go entertain the other mentors, but I will come to say goodbye before I leave.”

She rocked her head and smiled. “Okay, Simeon, have a wonderful time.”

“I will now,” he winked and left with the three cups in his hand.

Jordan, who was working with her, glanced over while wagging his hand. Alex skipped over, and they tucked behind the espresso machine, out of view from the trio.

“What just happened?” he whispered with a wild smile.

“He asked me out,” Alex breathed and covered her mouth.

“So you said yes, right? He’s like chocolate-covered yummy. Toothache sweet. And was that your number you gave him?” Jordan questioned in a low tone.

Alex bounced her head with a snort. “Jordan, I was so not me,” she giggled quietly.

Jordan stood and started to vogue with a beat. “Oh, yeah, that’s right, that’s my girl,” he voiced and yanked her up. “Come on, let’s go,” he snorted.

Alex groaned but started to vogue and laughed as they made faces. “You’re ridiculous,” she laughed.

“Yes, quite.”

Oh. Alex paused and spun around to see Lucifer standing at the counter. “Oh, hello, Lucifer.”

“What type of manic state were you expressing?” He questioned.

Jordan walked up to the glass and smiled. “We were doing our ‘get happy girl’ dance.”

Lucifer arched an eyebrow. “That seizer replication isn’t dancing.”

Alex twitched her nose at the dark roast timer and shook her head. “Lucifer, it’s going to be two minutes on fresh. This is too old to serve you with how sensitive your pallet is.”

He smirked and waved. “I have time.”

“So, doing anything special tonight, Lucifer? Seeing anyone special? Doing anything with someone?” Jordan asked.

Lucifer glared at him with a pointed incredulous expression. “Special? Jordan, what have my brothers been saying to you?”

Jordan raised his eyebrows. “Well, nothing. I was just asking.”

Alex put the brewer up and flicked it on before turning around with a smile. Lucifer eyed her and then wagged his index finger. “You. You know.”

Her cheeks were burning, but she walked toward the counter. “N-no.” Nice. Brilliant. Sound more like a frightened child.

Lucifer’s grin became wicked as he leaned forward. “Tell me.”

Her face was melting as she stared up into brilliant sanguine eyes. “It, well, I only heard in passing, it’s not,” she stopped dead when he touched her cheek.

“Don’t babble, darling. Just tell me,” he smirked.

“Well, I saw a picture of you and Diavolo,” she murmured.

His nose scrunched, and his fingers slithered away from her cheek. “Which of them was it? I was positive I destroyed all digital evidence of that party,” he huffed.

Alex looked down at the counter. Anywhere but his eyes.

“I’m not upset with you. My brothers, however, have been plugging this annoying concept for years since that party. Diavolo and I were drinking, a rarity and Mammon shoved Diavolo into me just as Asmodeus was taking the picture. Diavolo was attempting what Asmodeus called a duck face. I was positive I cleared out everyone’s phone, so Diavolo’s reputation wasn’t at risk, but it seems someone kept it,” Lucifer explained while shaking his head.

Alex blinked and glanced back at him. “You two?”

“Never,” Lucifer spat.

Alex covered her mouth and shook her head.

Jordan snorted. “Wow, your brothers sure love to hassle you, don’t they?”

Lucifer shook his head. “It’s unfathomable how they have so much time for it.”

“Seems Alex was under the impression you were,” Jordan noted.

Alex pivoted and began pouring the coffee. Dammit. She still was going to have to face him. Turning around, he was smiling, and his posture read, alpha man, baby.

“Were you upset at my brothers’ lies?” He asked.

She shook her head and plastered on a smile. “It was just surprising. I wouldn’t have guessed it.”

“Well, now you don’t have to. I’m single, very much available, and diligent at any role I take on,” he smirked and handed her his credit card.

Alex was so glad she was able to keep her smile as her heart was racing like a pack of marathon runners. She swiped it and handed it back. “You do appear to be quite diligent.”

Another form approached the counter, and Alex broke her vision of Lucifer. Simeon leaned and smiled. “We’re going now, Alex. It was lovely to see you this evening.”

“Simeon, I see you brought Michael and Raphael with you,” Lucifer noted as he glanced back at the mentors walking out of the cafe.

Simeon beamed and nodded. “We’re headed to the hills to watch the meteor shower.”

Lucifer rocked his head. “Have a good night.”

“You too. Alex, I will text you tomorrow,” he declared and waved.

Alex smiled and waved. “Okay, Simeon, have a wonderful evening.”

Lucifer scowled and watched Simeon leave. “You’re now texting him?”

Oh… yeah, that’s right. Alex rocked her head. “Yes.”

“They have a date this week,” Jordan pipped with a smile.

“Date?” Lucifer questioned.

Alex felt the size of a flea with how much presence Lucifer had. It wasn’t even that he displayed outward displeasure. No, it was definitely what radiated off of him as he stood straighter and his chest bolstered to pronounced masculinity.

“Yes, he just asked her before you walked inside,” Jordan laughed. By the way, he likely wasn’t going to make it through this shift. Alex was going to murder him. “I guess it makes sense. She thought you were unavailable,” Jordan shrugged. Dead. He was going to die from suffocation on the coffee grounds.

“Well, I’m clearly available. Have a good evening, Jordan. Alex, we’ll talk when you get home,” Lucifer declared and left a tip in the jar before strolling out of the cafe with the same presence he held at the counter.

“I’m going to kill you,” Alex growled and glared at Jordan.

She smacked his arm, and he pouted. “I was only doing what you haven’t done in months, honey.”

“I live with him now, you, numbskull,” she hissed and smacked his arm again.

Jordan laughed and blocked a few more of her blows. “Come on, don’t be so angry. It isn’t like a date is a commitment. I just wanted to see if he’d get jealous.”

“By the slam of his car door, I think he was,” Solomon laughed and peaked over the counter. “You alright, Alex?”

“Look away, Solomon, I don’t want you an accessory to his murder!” She snarled and hit Jordan one more time.

“Don’t murder my darling J Getlow.”

Alex exhaled and turned fully to see Asmodeus and Solomon standing together. Jordan scowled and dropped his smile altogether. Alex knew a good payback when she saw one. She skipped up to the counter with a bright smile. “Well, hello, you two, are you on a date?”

Solomon arched his eyebrow, but Asmo squealed. “Oh, it could be! We were just going to try this new fro-yo place down the street, and Solomon heard you were working.”

She eyed Solomon with a subtle nod. Click. He got it. “Oh, yes, I had to have an eclectic appetite tonight,” he chuckled.

Jordan was leaning on the glass with a deep-set frown. “Wait, Asmo, you said you were going to be busy when I got off tonight. Is that because you’re with Solomon?”

“Yes,” Solomon smirked at him. “Is there a problem?”

Asmo tilted his head but shrugged. “I guess not.”

Jordan pulled from the glass and began cleaning the machines.

“Doesn’t feel good, does it?” Alex asked.

Jordan glared over at her. “Bitch,” he said in a whisper.

“Now, what are you both really doing tonight?” Alex smiled.

“The frozen yogurt, which I despise. However, Asmodeus was on a mission to convince me to help tomorrow. He says that you have some very private information in your father’s study and need help sorting it,” Solomon explained.

Alex pouted and put her two hands together in a heart shape. “Asmo, you just made my heart go boom. That’s so sweet that you would take time away on your Friday for me.”

“Please stop,” Solomon puffed and waved his hand. “That’s too adorable, and I can’t bear it.”

Alex laughed and leaned over the POS screen at the pair. “Seriously, I need to do something nice for both of you.”

“Get drunk tomorrow. House party. Your homecoming!” Asmo cheered.

Alex groaned and shook her head. “I doubt Lucifer would agree to any of that.”

“After the very flustered retreat, I might estimate your correctness,” Solomon chuckled.

“What happened?” Asmo questioned.

“Well, hunty,” Jordan walked up and clamped his hand on Alex’s mouth. “Simeon asked Alex out before Lucifer got here. Before that revelation, I made him pry out of her that she thought he was with someone else, which is why she hasn’t been answering his texts with little happy faces like usual. So, he just now realized she was into him, and now she’s going on a date with Simeon.”

Alex shoved him and groaned. “You’re a wicked, wicked queen.”

“It’s truly a shame one of our rules is no dating, said 'girl' in the house,” Asmo laughed and shook his head.

Solomon smiled and waved his hand. “How is it that you always seem to find the predicament of always too much but never enough.”

“I don’t know, Sol,” Alex groaned.

“Drinks tomorrow, at your old home to send off your last day actually living there,” Solomon smirked.

“That doesn’t sound like that came with a please,” Alex snorted.

“It wasn’t a request,” Solomon shook his head.

“Fine, but you’re bringing the booze, and I’m not responsible for your ride home,” Alex said.

Solomon nodded. “I have exquisite wine. You’ll enjoy it.”

“We will?” Asmo asked.

Jordan nodded.

“Fine,” Solomon chuckled. “Yes.”

Alex reached over and ruffled his hair. “You’re just a big softy under all that analysis and formulas.”

Solomon puffed and pushed her handoff. “Yes, alright. Don’t patronize my kindness.”

“What am I getting you both?” Alex beamed. Solomon rubbed the back of his neck as he glanced up at the menu. “Decaf americano, two pumps with half and half,” Alex said.

Solomon laughed and nodded. “Actually, yes, that would be appropriate.”

“Multitude of gestures, Solomon,” Alex smiled.

“It’s actually freaky that you can do that, Alex,” Asmo gasped.

“I can remember everyone’s orders, but I have to label where to put my keys. Don’t even know why,” Alex laughed and turned to grab a cup. “Decaf skinny iced vanilla with a sugar-free caramel pump, Asmo?”

Asmo clapped. “You took my evening order once, Alex! That’s so impressive! Oh, I just want to bathe you in aromatherapy and take you to bed.”

“Let’s not go that far,” Jordan glared at him.

Asmo pouted. “Fine.”

Solomon paid, and Alex smirked at the pensive man. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, I was just thinking. There might be an opening in the company for public relations. I could put in a stellar word for you. It’s all research and pharmaceuticals, but you have a delightful personality, and you’re degreed.”

“Solomon, that would be awesome if you would do that for me,” Alex gasped.

He smiled and rocked his head. “Okay, I will. I’ll text you my email, and you send your resume to me.”

Jordan brought over their drinks, and Asmo left a hefty tip before blowing him a kiss. “Come over later?”

Jordan arched an eyebrow. “You’re not going to be busy?”

Asmo snorted and giggled. “No, silly, come on over. I want to have a pamper session,” he winked and sipped his drink.

Alex tried so hard to hide her blush. Wow, these two men. It’s like they were made to outdo each other.

“If you put your phone away during, then yes,” Jordan smirked.

“Fine,” Asmo pouted. “See you when you get off so I can,” Asmo laughed and flitted out the door.

“Strange creature,” Solomon chuckled.

“Says you, Doctor X,” Alex sneered.

Solomon laughed and waved. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Alex.”

Jordan sighed when he left and patted her shoulder. “Guess I’m getting laid tonight. Now we need to work on you.”

Alex yanked herself away and waved a hand. “Stop that. Nope. Not doing it. We’re not having that type of discussion after the man I’m going to live with said he’s going to suck your straw.”

Jordan laughed and skipped over. “Babe, come on.”

“Time to prepare to close, boss,” she sneered at him.

Jordan grinned and winked. “We’ll work on it,” he whispered and got to work.

Alex exhaled and shook her head, but a smile crept on her lips. It was really nice to see Jordan happy. However, the thought of closing came with another issue. What the fuck did Lucifer want to talk about. The thought made her queasy.

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cavanaghcharactersxreaderfics · 4 years ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Flash (TV 2014) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: HR Wells/Reader, Earth-19 Harrison Wells/You, Earth-19 Harrison Wells/Reader, HR Wells/You Characters: HR Wells, Earth-19 Harrison Wells, Reader, Caitlin Snow (mentioned), Cisco Ramon (mentioned), Barry Allen (mentioned), Harry Wells (mentioned) Additional Tags: Metahuman Reader, Telekinetic Reader, HR needs more love and so do I so guess what folks here have this, earth two reader Summary:

You'd been working with Team Flash for a while now, but since Barry had started training two new speedsters you hadn't been needed in the field until now. Your skills are a little rusty, you make a mistake, and you're left paying for it. HR decides to lend a helping hand and really, who are you to refuse?

With your ears muffled by the headphones that Cisco had designed for you, you couldn’t hear anyone approach. The padding surrounding your ears made it difficult to hear but they served a greater purpose than just shutting out the sound around you. They’d been designed to help muffle your powers. You could control your metahuman telekinetic abilities now that it had been years with your abilities, but sometimes when you didn’t pay attention things still rose around you, floated up off of the ground or phased into it. Your emotions couldn’t get ahead of you and send expensive equipment (or people) across the room.

You had a smaller pair of the headphones for the field or when you were out in public, less dampening but still effective. A pair of ear buds that had been modified from the anti-Grodd tech that the team had made the year before. They were uncomfortable though, and not meant for long term use. The older pair that you wore now, while a prototype, were more comfortable despite the fact that they were bulky and kept you from hearing things.

Things like the other occupant of STAR Labs’ basement approaching your room and knocking at the arch of the doorway.

You only saw HR standing there when you were half stripped out of your hero costume. Thankfully you wore a tank top under the suit so you weren’t caught indecent, but you still gasped and reflectively pulled the leather jacket back over your shoulders.

“Wait!” HR spoke loud enough for you to hear, which meant he was probably yelling and just maybe the others upstairs could hear him too. “Hold on I’m sorry-“ he turned his back to you, his eyes shutting tight. It was even harder for you to hear him when his voice was pointed the other way, but he kept going. “I came to see if you needed anything after the fight!”

Cooling off after being thoroughly spooked by his arrival, you puled the headphones carefully from your head. HR was a good man, you knew he hadn’t been peeping on your purposefully. He had been a strange addition after the gruff nature of the Harrison Wells from your earth, but you were glad he was there, even if no one else was. Having someone so gentle on the team was refreshing.

“It’s okay, HR, I’m decent,” you laughed, pulling the jacket off again. You were covered, at least. You turned to the table that you set your gear out on, taking your gloves off and setting down the jacket now that you could hear better while turned away from him, you added: “What’s up?”

“I just thought that since you took one heck of an – oh! Y/N!” HR’s gasp caught your attention and you turned to face him, frowning when you saw his pained expression. The panic he set off made you a little nervous, and your gloves rattled on the table behind you, threatening to lift off into the air. You raised an eyebrow at the novelist but he said nothing more, only darting to your side, his fingers fluttering nervously around you.

“Y/N,” HR said, softer than you had ever heard him speak before. His hands reached out for you, and you managed not to flinch when they danced over your shoulder. “You’re hurt.”

You frowned again, looking back as best as you could at where his fingers touched your skin. Spanning across your back was a large, purpling blood bruise, bringing back vague memories from a fight not two hours ago when a sign post came flying at you and caught your shoulder just before Barry Allen could zip in and move you out of the way.

“Oh,” you muttered, the pain catching up to you with the memory of it. You tried to roll your shoulder to assess the damage but had to stop when the ache pulsed across your back and radiated through your entire body. You shivered with the pain and your gloves stopped rattling on the table and you balled your hand into a fist against the pain. “Ow.”

You could see the worry spread across HR’s face like the pain spread across your back and you tried to smile at him in an effort to dispel it, but he wasn’t having any of it. HR was more of a caretaker than that, and he huffed at you, taking you gently by the arm and guiding you to the edge of your bed. You still wore your suit pants and boots, muddy from the fight in Central City Park and the creak of leather would have been amusing if you hadn’t wanted to get out of it as quickly as possible once you got home. You offered HR a smile, exasperated though it was.

“I just want to get to bed, HR, it’s really no big deal, I’ve had worse.” That was a lie, and you knew it. HR hadn’t seen you out in the field before. He was new to the team and you hadn’t really been given the opportunity to work alongside the Flash in a while, now that Barry was training Wally (and Jesse) on top of hero work. You normally weren’t so careless. You normally had a shield, a barrier of telekinetic energy surrounding you that kept you from being badly damaged. Your slip up tonight looked like it was costing you your privacy, but with HR?

You didn’t really mind. He was sweet, much more so than any other Harrison Wells you had met – though your experience was severely limited to the Harrison Wells of Earth-2, who had been pleasant enough to work with but a pain in your ass when it came to personal matters. HR was good, a ray of sunshine that you hadn’t expected you’d get when you stayed on this Earth instead of going back with Harry and his daughter to your own.

You would have been lying to yourself if you said that you weren’t even at least mildly attracted to him.

“Y/N, you have to – just – sit there,” He nodded his head, turning back to the door and striding there confidently. You watched him pause in the archway and turn back to you. “Stay.” Before he was off again.

You would have listened, too, if you weren’t so hasty to get back into comfortable clothes before something else happened to the city. You moved as quick as possible, waiting only a moment after he left to make sure that HR was truly gone before you went about getting your pajamas, struggling out of your boots and suit pants so that you could slip the flannel bottoms on. You would live with the tank top for now. Something told you that you wouldn’t be able to lift your arms out of it and into another shirt. Just changing your pants had hurt enough to leave you gasping, falling back onto the bed just in time for HR to come back in, holding something in his hand that you couldn’t quite see from your angle.

“Hey!” He gasped, and though he sounded affronted you could see the forgiving smile on his face. “I told you not to move.”

“I’m sorry,” You managed, laying down on your bed with your face in the pillow. Your body ached with every movement, but laying like that meant you didn’t have to move much further. “I had to get out of those pants.”

“I get that,” HR nodded, sitting down on the bed beside you and held his hand in your field of vision. He held an ice-pack and a bottle, one that you were familiar with. Arnica gel. Barry didn’t have much use for it because his bruises were gone in minutes, depending on how bad they were. You and Cisco? Neither of you had the same privilege, but normally you at least had a shield and Cisco had his quick reactions and portals. “So I got you this.”

You smiled, your cheeks flushing just a little bit at the gesture. Being a part of the team, you’d come to expect little gestures like that but this had a personal touch that you hadn’t considered before.

“Thank you, HR,” you moved to sit up and take the tube from him but HR was faster than your bruised body could ever dream of being. He placed his hand on the small of your back, pressing you down gently into the mattress of the cot, tutting as he did so.

“I don’t think so, Y/N.” He objected, and you could just barely see him shake his head. “You’re not going to be able to cover the span of the bruise, you can barely move yourself, let alone lift your arms to do it. Come on,” he tugged at the end of your tank top in question and your entire body lit up warm with a flush when you realized what he was asking. “Let me help.”

Panic passed through you for a moment. You were skipping a number of steps here, jumping straight to taking your shirt off in front of the man that you had harbored a crush for since he stepped through the interdimensional breach. But you knew that your back was in no state for you to be lifting your arms over your head and you were already laying down and the most logical course of action was for HR to take your shirt off for you, and you were positive you knew why your heart started racing at the thought.

“Yeah,” you whispered, nodding your head in assent. “I do. I, um… I need your help, HR.”

There was a moment’s pause before he was moving again, wordlessly, his fingers – and you’d always admired Harrison Wells’ fingers, no matter what Earth they came from – dancing along the hem of your shirt once more before he lifted it up, gently and slowly. You shivered when the cold air of the converted storage room hit the heated bruise on your back, distracted by the sensation only when HR’s breath caught in an audible intake.

“Y/N,” He breathed your name and the frantic beating of your heart stuttered. “Your back…” Those fingers, again, traced a pattern along your skin and from the tingle, the slightly uncomfortable pressure they caused, you could tell he was outlining the bruise that was already formed. From the way it felt, it extended across most of your back and you wondered only briefly what would have happened if Barry hadn’t gotten you out of there when he did. “Don’t worry,” HR continued, reaching up to set the cold pack down on the bed beside you as you pulled the tank top over your head so he’d be able access the whole of the bruise. “I’ll take care of this.”

“Thank you, HR,” you muttered, your face buried in the pillow to save yourself from the embarrassment that would inevitably occur when he saw how much redder than your bruise your cheeks were. “You don’t have to do this.”

There was a moment of silence as you felt HR’s fingers across the span of your back again, cool against the warm of the bruise. When he didn’t speak you started to worry, but after his voice finally hit you there was nothing you could do to hide the shiver that passed down your spine.

“I want to,” he whispered, voice huskier than you could remember hearing it from him, more similar to Harry’s gruff tones than anything else. And when he spoke again he cleared his throat and added the humorous note that you were more familiar with despite the fact that he still sounded breathless. “After all, I can’t leave a pretty lady in pain.”

You swallowed once, nervous for whatever was happening when HR pulled his hands away. You could hear him pop open the cap to the Arnica ointment and after a much longer period of quiet in which the only available sound was of HR warming the liquid between his hands you felt them press gently against your back. You tensed, your muscles screaming in objection to the sensation of cool ointment against them, and you hissed into the pillow, stilling HR’s movements.

You felt his hands against your back, warm now through the gel, and couldn’t help the tiny noise of contentment from leaving you immediately after your hiss of pain. Long, expert fingers moved gently across your back after his moment of hesitation. The fingers of a writer, a musician. They weren’t calloused in the same way you knew Harry’s were and they touched you with the softness of… of a lover. You knew it was because HR didn’t want to cause you pain but at the same time, the intimacy of it had you shivering for a completely different reason than the chill. HR traced along the edges of your bruises again, rubbing carefully into the skin. Any discomfort the ministrations caused you was mitigated by the softness of his touch as he traveled further up your back, towards the spot on your shoulder that had you flinching when he made contact. Once more, he stilled, hands hovering just above your skin. Another shiver, only this time you were desperate for the contact to resume.

“Are you okay?” HR asked, voice back down to that quiet, discerning whisper. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

“No,” you replied, afraid to break the quiet intimacy of the moment with anything louder than a whisper. You tried to ignore how breathy you sounded, but it was hard to avoid. “No, please continue.”

After only a moment more of hesitation HR’s hands were on your back again, kneading gently over the purple bruise. “You know,” he whispered. “You should really talk to Caitlin about this.”

“She’s got plenty to worry about,” you muttered, burying your face into the pillow and speaking just barely loud enough for him to hear through the fabric. Cait was the last thing that you wanted to talk about while HR’s hands rubbed your back so tenderly. You knew this was just a one-time thing, a strange, unrepeatable moment. Still, you’d rather have it to yourself, unmarred by talk of your coworkers. “Speedsters take more care than I do.”

HR laughed softly, and you felt his fingers press into the muscles of your back that were tense but not covered in bruise. You couldn’t help the noise of appreciation that bubbles from the back of your throat.

“I think that’s objectively wrong,” HR replied, fingers faltering a moment before they continued. This was beyond personal care now, and you hummed as he pressed into the unbruised skin of your back. “Speedsters require significantly less care than someone who can’t heal at light speeds.” He was right. But there were three of them now and Cait had her hands full with broken limbs and fractures. She couldn’t be bothered with your bumps and bruises. As he spoke, HR massaged into your muscles, but you could tell he was slowing down.

You sighed, nuzzling into the pillow. You didn’t want this to be over. Most of the time after a fight like that, everyone was focused on the speedsters. Or Cisco. You didn’t really take offense to it, after all you had protections and well, you weren’t the Flash. And you weren’t the one that could open up interdimensional breaches to travel to and from worlds. You were a team member, and they worried, but you weren’t someone’s kid, either. Barry and Wally were both Joe’s kids, which made them something to lose. Jesse’s dad was a powerhouse of a helicopter parent, and even though Cisco wasn’t… okay with his family, they were still, at least a little bit, a part of his life. You? Your family was on Earth-Two, and even then, most of them were gone. Having HR come to you at all was… a gesture that you weren’t used to receiving. A kindness that you didn’t expect.

“You okay down there?” HR’s voice was stronger now, up where it normally was. The magic that had been there before had seeped out of it, and you felt his hands still on your back. You allowed him to reach up carefully and pull the tank top back over your skin, managing to only make a face when the fabric hit your sticky, bruised back.

“Yeah, HR, I’m fine,” you replied, turning your head as much as you could against the pillow to offer him a smile. “Thank you. That was… that was nice.”

“I aim to please.” He was reaching forward to grab the discarded ice pack. You followed the length of his arm, admiring the muscle that pulled taut just below the sleeve line of his t-shirt. That was another thing you enjoyed about Harrison Wells. On any Earth you had seen him thus far, he was cut. HR just had the additional benefit of always wearing t-shirts. You weren’t able to think about that long, however, before the cold sting of the ice-pack was seeping through your shirt. You hissed at the sensation and HR chuckled. “Relax, Y/N,” he remarked, rolling his eyes. “You’ll only feel better for it later.”

“Yeah, well it sucks now,” you huffed, looking away from him. You didn’t want to have him think that his efforts were meaningless. You didn’t want him to think that you weren’t grateful for it. The rest of the team did that to him often enough that it left you feeling sick. When you weren’t embarrassed as bad as you had been before you lifted your head up, casting your smile at him, apologetic and grateful. “But thank you again, HR, for all your help.”

“Ah, don’t mention it.” HR waved it away like it was a nonissue, but you could see the sparkle in his eyes. There was something different about this. Something different than him getting coffee for everyone or talking the team through some issue they could solve on their own.

Before you knew what was happening, HR was leaning down again, but this time he didn’t stop just to pick something up. His lips were on your cheek in a display of affection that you were sure he hadn’t used on the team before you. When he pulled away, HR was smirking.

“After all,” he said, rising from the place he’d taken at the edge of your cot. He winked at you, leaving you breathless, as he moved to the door. “It’s what I’m here for.”

#hr wells x reader #Magic Touch #toliveforwells #The Flash #general #fluff #hurt/comfort #injury #HR Wells

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let-me-write-shit · 4 years ago

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Somebody To You: 26

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Word Count: 3,031

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CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

Last night was draining and Zoey hardly got any sleep. There were too many thoughts running through her head. Being back home gave her mixed emotions. There were so many great memories filled with lots of great people, but there was so much loss, as well. She felt like she was on a death march, visiting a terminally ill man, a son who is about to lose his father, and bereaved parents. The knowledge of the losses made her normally bright and cheery little suburb feel dark and gray. How was she supposed to make light in these situations? She stressed, trying to figure out how she was supposed to act when she met Mr. and Mrs. Lewis for lunch.

“Just relax, it’s going to be fine,” Michael tried soothing her in the car on the way to their house. “You don’t have to impress them. They’ve known you for years. Just act normal.”

Zoey took a deep breath, nodding. He was right. This isn’t her first time spending time with them. But it was her first visit since she’s moved to LA on their dime and she felt pressured to explain or justify all that has been going on in her life since moving there. How do you thank the people responsible for changing your life in so many different ways?

The first thing Zoey noticed when they pulled up to the house was the different flower beds by the front door. They had done some rearranging. Honestly, it was refreshing to see at least a minor change in scenery. Still, her nerves began to grow as they made their way to the front door. She began to contemplate whether she should knock or just go right in, having always done that in the past. But she figured its been too long since she’s been here to just walk in, so she knocked, bouncing anxiously on her toes. Within seconds the door flew open and was instantly being enveloped by Mrs. Lewis’s curly blonde hair. Zoey’s worry eased at the sound of the woman’s delighted laughter, pulling away to take a good look at each other.

“Oh, Zoey, you look beautiful with your hair down,” Mrs. Lewis cooed, smiling adoringly at her, “Come in, Mr. Lewis should be back any minute with the pizza. Hello, Michael, how are you?”

“I’m doing well, thank you,” Michael grinned as they followed Mrs. Lewis inside, closing the door behind them and making their way to the eat-in kitchen.

Mrs. Lewis looked different than the last time Zoey saw her. She was more put-together, wearing a little bit more makeup and in business-casual clothes, instead of the robes and oversized sweaters that she had gotten used to wearing after the death of her daughter. Her eyes weren’t sunken and dark any longer, instead, they were bright blue and she had a glow about her that radiated through her smile; something she hadn’t seen Mrs. Lewis do in over a year. She seemed to be doing better, and Zoey couldn’t have been happier about that.

“I was so happy to get that phone call from you yesterday, Michael. I didn’t know you were going to be in town,” Mrs. Lewis turned to Zoey, pulling out cups and plates in preparation for her husband’s arrival with their lunch.

“I didn’t either,” Zoey admitted, “It was a last-minute plan to come after hearing about Paul.”

Mrs. Lewis nodded seriously, “Yes, I’m so sorry to hear about your dad, Michael. How are you feeling?”

Mrs. Lewis listened intently as Michael confessed himself to her; something Zoey was surprised by. Michael was never one to delve into his feelings too much, but it seemed that he had so many thoughts pent up, understandably, that when provided with an outlet to express his feelings without the worry of judgment or hurting anyone else’s feelings (like he would have had he expressed these thoughts to his parents, perhaps) he was able to really dig deep to the root of his worry and have a weight lifted off his shoulders from the burden it carried.

Michael wasn’t an emotional person. He could count on one hand the number of times she’d seen him cry. So when she saw a tear trickle down his cheek, Zoey couldn’t help but get emotional and cry along with him. She felt for him. What do you say to a person who is about to lose their father?

She felt guilty for not being there for him sooner. For letting their ties loosen so much that he felt he couldn’t confide in her anymore. It was no wonder he didn’t absolutely hate her for it. He deserved much better than what she’s offered him in the past five months.

When Michael had reached the end of his rant, Zoey felt the urge to hug him, pulling him into the tightest, warmest hug she could muster as she pushed her tears aside. He relaxed into her embrace and felt the shuddering of his body begin to calm until his breathing evened out. She’d never seen him in so much pain before and she couldn’t blame him for breaking down in front of Mrs. Lewis. But if anyone would understand what he’s going through, it was her.

Mrs. Lewis rounded the table and wrapped her arms around Michael, motherly shushing him and gently rocking him back and forth making a grown twenty-eight-year-old man look like a child in her arms. Michael seemed to calm from his uneasiness and cleared his throat, wiping his eyes as Mrs. Lewis sat back down in his seat. He was embarrassed, but neither of them criticized him for it. How could they? He had every right to feel what he was feeling.

Not even a minute later, Mr. Lewis came stumbling through the front door, making his way back and beaming when he saw the two of them sitting at the table.

“You made it!” he exclaimed, plopping the boxes of pizza in the center of the table and reaching out for a quick hug while his wife began serving slices. He noticed Michael’s puffy red eyes and looked as though he was about to say something, but decided not to at the last minute, resorting to, “Dig in, I want to hear all about what you two have been up to.”

They each had a bite of their pizza while Mrs. Lewis eyed them curiously, asking, “So, are you two back together, or…?”

“No,” Zoey hurriedly responded, swallowing down her bite of food, “No, Mikey, here, has found himself a girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend yet,” Michael narrowed his eyes at her.

Zoey grinned in amusement, wiggling her eyebrows at Mr. and Mrs. Lewis who laughed, “So how did you meet this girl?”

“She’s a new hire at work. She’s the receptionist.”

“So no dating apps for you, then, huh?” Mr. Lewis joked before turning to Zoey, “What about you? Any boyfriends in LA?”

Zoey shrugged, feeling a little more confident in being more open now that she knew she didn’t have to worry about Michael being hurt. But she didn’t want to get into too much detail. Surely they didn’t need to know about all of her one night stands, friends with benefits, and sleeping with an international celebrity. So she simply said, “I’ve been dipping my toes in the dating scene, but nothing serious so far.”

“No?” Mrs. Lewis asked, expression bordering confusion, “I thought your mom said you had a boyfriend who took you and your sister to Italy for your birthday?”

Zoey’s eyes widened, unsure of what to say. Certainly, no one ever told her mother that Harry and she were a thing. Mrs. Lewis must have misunderstood. At least she was none the wiser on who the supposed ‘boyfriend’ was. She shook her head, laughing in an attempt to conceal her surprise, “No, no, no. I mean, yeah, I went to Italy, but it was with several of my friends. Boy friends, not boyfriend.”

She stared at them fixedly to make sure they believed her. When they nodded and continued to ask her about her trip to Italy, she felt Michael’s suspicious gaze on the side of her face. She ignored it, telling them all about the guided tour, Katie’s crush on a cute Italian boy, shopping in the lanes, pizza making, wine tasting, and all of the dreamy nights spent poolside underneath the stars.

“We’ve only been there once on our honeymoon,” Mrs. Lewis fondly recalled, smiling dewy-eyed, “I’m so glad you were able to meet some nice friends in LA. Jess would be so happy for you.”

Mr. Lewis placed a supportive hand on his wife’s back and Zoey pursed her lips with wide puppy-eyes. She missed Jess and wished, more than anything, she could have experienced all of this with her. She wanted to make new friends in LA with her, immerse themselves in Italian culture, she wanted to go on double dates with Jess, she wanted to go on more beach trips with her and ride on the back of sketchy motorcycles side-by-side, she wanted to tell Jess all about Harry and all the gross, cliche, sappy little moments between them that made the butterflies in her stomach go crazy. She wished Jess were here as a lending ear to hear her rant about the absurdity that came along with stupid boy crushes and as a shoulder to cry on when the unavoidable overwhelming grief took over her when Paul was no longer here.

They’ll be together, she told herself. She’ll be in safe hands with Paul. They’ll be looking down on all of us, proud. They did this. The two of them. Jess and Paul were the light of this town, the reason why so many were compassionate, kind, and happy. And Zoey took solace in knowing that the world was a better place because of those two people. She was a better person because of them. And she will love them until the day she meets them again.

The minor display of emotion caused a group hug between the four of them and when they pulled away, they all laughed. After lunch, Mr. and Mrs. Lewis took the two of them to the poolhouse to check out Jess’s old living space. They hadn’t done much with it. They explained that they had plans to eventually make it into a guest house. They wanted to paint and get new furniture, but they hadn’t had the heart to change it entirely just yet. Most of her things were still there. Framed pictures of her with her friends, books that she was reading, most of her wardrobe still in the closet and dresser drawers. But it looked cleaner and more organized. There weren’t random clothes strewn about the floor or makeup covering the vanity. It felt different.

“Do you mind….can I have this?” Zoey asked, holding up a framed picture of her and Jess sitting on Zoey’s trampoline.

Mrs. Lewis smiled, nodding a yes. They talked a little longer before they decided it was probably time to get going and the couple led them to the front. “I’m so glad you were able to stop by, you guys. Thank you for thinking of us,” Mrs. Lewis sang.

“Thanks for having us. And for the pizza,” Michael smiled, giving them each a hug, followed by Zoey.

As they made their way towards Michael’s car, Zoey suddenly remembered and turned, calling out, “Oh! I almost forgot. My parents are having a BBQ tomorrow around 2. It’ll be my last night here before I catch the red-eye home. Would you two like to come? Michael’s parents will be there, too.”

The two of them smiled, looking at each other briefly before nodding and Mr. Lewis said, “We’ll see you two tomorrow, then.”

She grinned at them before jumping in Michael’s car and heading back to her parents’ house. The journey back was mostly discussions reflecting on Mr. and Mrs. Lewis and how happy they were to see the two of them in a better mental state than the previous year, but by the time they reached Zoey’s house, the conversation had changed to bets on which parent got drunk at the BBQ first. Zoey bet Paul would be first while Michael had bet on Mr. Lewis.

She had assumed that Michael would only be dropping her off at home, saying a quick goodbye to her parents on the way out. But her mom had cornered him, practically forcing him to stay for dinner as she was making her ‘world-famous shepherds pie’, which honestly had no taste to it and had no business being called ‘world-famous’. Not wanting to be rude, Michael accepted and stayed to eat. Throughout dinner Mary subtly hinted at her desire for Zoey to move back home, discussing the office remodel, mentioning little trips they could take as a family, and visits to Katie in college. It was clear that she was suffering from pre-empty nest syndrome, but she was laying it on thick.

After dinner was finished, Zoey had offered to clear the table, and with the help of Michael, loaded the dishes into the dishwasher. She dried her hands on a spare dish rag that sat on the countertop, staring at the framed picture of her and Jess that she had placed there right before they ate. Michael looked over at her, then to the yard, and back at her.

“Come on,” he urged, taking the picture and leading the way towards the back door.

Zoey followed him outside, the sun setting and the faint, flickering glow of the lightning bugs hovered and the warm porch lights illuminated the garden. Michael climbed onto the trampoline, bouncing on his knees as she climbed on after him. The lack of netting surrounding the trampoline always terrified her mom, but she and her sister always hated the idea of being confined, so she left it open.

The springs from the trampoline squeaked and creaked as they sat cross-legged, facing each other. Zoey slipped the picture out of Michael’s hands, running a few fingers across Jess’s face. She hadn’t seen her in so long that she was beginning to feel like Jess was a made-up imaginary friend. She needed these pictures and trinkets, like her bracelet, as proof of her existence.

“Can’t believe it’s been a year,” Zoey hushed.

Michael nodded, pausing before wondering, “What do you think we’d be doing right now if she was still here?”

“We’d probably still be together,” Zoey said, laughing and looking up at him, teary-eyed “My life has changed so much in the past year. I’ve experienced more in the last four months than I have my whole entire life and she wasn’t here for any of it.”

“She was there,” Michael placed a reassuring hand on her knee, “you know that.”

“It’s not the same,” she shook her head, laying down on her back to look up at the stars, her hair scattering around her while holding the picture to her stomach.

Michael laid down beside her, sighing. The two of them had been through so much in the past year, and it still wasn’t over. He was glad that someone else understood what he was going through, but the fact that they had to go through this at all was ridiculous. There was a long silence before Zoey finally spoke again, the subject changed.

“So...tell me about this new girl of yours. Has she met the parents yet?”

Michael groaned again, “No because it’s not serious yet.”

“Oh, come on, you don’t have to be afraid to tell me. I broke up with you, remember?”

“There’s just not much to say. It’s too new,” Micheal shrugged, turning his attention towards her. “Besides, what about you?”

“What about me?” she asked defensively, furrowing her eyebrows at him.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” he smirked, “you don’t think I noticed the panic in your voice when Mrs. Lewis mentioned the ‘FRIEND’ who took you and Katie to Italy?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she blushed, looking back up at the night’s sky.

“I was with you for over four years. I know when you’re lying.”

Zoey rolled her eyes in annoyance, hating how predictable and easy-to-read she was. Hating the fact that she was about to talk about a man she considered to be her soulmate to a man she thought she would end up marrying. When did her life become this complicated?

“First of all, he was never my boyfriend. Nothing even happened before the trip to Italy,” she said, matter-of-factly.

“Oh, so things happened in Italy, then?” He sounded cheeky, “Tell me about him. What’s he like?”

Zoey chuckled, trying to connect the dots of the stars above her, seeing what sort of pictures she could make out of them, “You wouldn’t even believe me if I told you,” she said under her breath. Sighing, she spoke louder, “It doesn’t matter, though. We kind of got into a fight. I don’t think it’s going to work out.”

“A fight about what?”

“Something stupid,” she admitted, “I called him out because he can’t ever make up his mind about what he wants and I basically told him I didn’t want to waste my time. He’s the one that called at dinner last night.”

“Is that why you came inside looking all upset?” Michael turned to look at Zoey, earning a nod in response. Michael slowly turned to look back up at the sky, putting his hands behind his head to elevate it a bit more, “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re right. You deserve to be prioritized. You’re worth it.”

“Thanks, Mikey.”

“No problem.”

The two of them laid there in comfortable silence for what felt like an hour, counting the stars when they heard a crack from the back door opening and closing. She figured it would just be Katie wanting to join in on the conversation. But when a deep, humble, monotone voice sounded her name from behind them, the two of them sat up, surprised by the unexpected visitor.

“Harry?!”

KEEP READING

------------------------------------------

Taglist for Somebody To You:

@thurhomish , @stilljosiegrossie , @odetostep , @apples2019 , @stylesmioamore , @inyourhaven

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deathsteel · 5 years ago

Text

30 day fanfic challenge

Prompt #13 -Regret

“Fuck”, Dean muttered, scrubbing at the dark ink curving over his collarbone with a washcloth.

It hurt like a bitch, the skin red and inflamed and raw like he was scrubbing over a sunburn. But, damnit, Dean was NOT going to keep looking at the name of his ex-fucking-girlfriend tattooed right over his heart like some damn fool.

Last night was supposed to be their 5 year anniversary, but instead Dean had gotten drunk alone at the divest dive bar to ever exist while looking at pictures of Lisa on her honeymoon on Instagram. They’d gone on to Jamaica, how lame. Dean would have taken her to see the Northern lights, kissed her in a forest, and climbed to the top of a mountain to declare to the world how much he loved her. In his hungover state, Dean spitefully hoped that Lisa and Benny got rained on the whole time they were there.

So yea, Dean was out a best friend and a girlfriend all in one fateful night two years ago. He didn’t even really know why he hadn’t unfollowed the two of them on Instagram yet. Sam said it was because he liked to torture himeself, but Dean had just thought of it as him playing the long game until Lisa was single again. He’d had the tattoo for two and a half years and it served as a constant, daily reminder of how shitty one Dean Winchester was at relationships.

“You should get that covered up,” his roommate Garth said, leaning nonchalantly in the doorway of the bathroom.

Dean just groaned at the other man who looked annoyingly well-rested and continued to rub at the curling script even though he knew it wouldn’t make a lick of difference. He tried to avoid his own gaze in the mirror because he knew he looked like death warmed over and eventually just tossed the washcloth in the sink with a growl of frustration.

“Really, man,” Garth continued, cheerful as ever even though Dean had brusquely pushed past him on the way out of the bathroom. “The guy that does all of my work, he’s great. He specializes in cover ups too! He did this trailing flower thing on Bess’s side to cover up the scar from her accident. It's pretty awesome.”

Dean knew which of his girlfriend’s tattoos that Garth was talking about. Bess had worn a bikini last summer for the first time that Dean had known her and he’d seen the ink flowing gracefully down her ribcage. It had been lifelike and beautiful, dandelions both in bloom and as the white-tufted seeds clinging to delicate stems; waiting to turn into wishes. He hadn’t even noticed that Bess had a scar that the tattoo was covering up, but that was probably the point.

He stormed towards his bedroom, mulling over the thought of going under the needle to cover up Lisa’s name on his skin.

How much longer could he kid himself? Was it even healthy to continue to hope that he and Lisa would get back together? She was fucking married at this point, to Benny of all people! Benny was a good dude, the best dude. And Dean was scum for selfishly wanting them to split up.

The little voice in Dean’s head that sounded an awful lot like Sam whispered that it was time to let go.

“Garth!” Dean hollered, pulling a grey t-shirt roughly over his head and reaching for his discarded jeans from the night before. “You got the name of this tattoo guy?!”

Ethereal Ink was in the up and coming part of town that all the locals snidely called ‘gentrified’. It was located in a refurbished furniture manufacturing plant that had one been the town’s pride and joy in the 60s and 70s, but it had since been updated and broken up into smaller subsections that housed the tattoo shop, a smoothie bar, and a hot yoga studio respectively. Dean grimaced at the sign for the empty space next to the tattoo shop that declared ‘Artisanal Cheese Shoppe Coming Soon!’ as he walked into the parlor before dropping his jaw open as he started at the flash adorning the walls around him.

It was unlike any tattoo shop he had seen before, which granted he had only seen the one when he had initially gotten the ‘Lisa’ tattoo and it had been much seedier than the shop he stood in now. One of the walls of the shop was painted with a sweeping solar system, glowing in hyperrealistic color and scale, the stars and constellations radiating vibrantly against the starkly painted navy hue of the wall itself. A second wall was swathed in plaques and trophies, proudly displayed showing the triumphs and accolades of the shop’s employees.

The remaining two walls showcased lovingly framed flash art and pictures, but it didn’t look like the kind that someone could just pick off the wall and request to have put on their bodies. No, the placement of it looked purposeful. Arranged artistically and clustered into themes, the art seemed to capture the personalities of the people who drew them.

Dean noticed that the artists Anna seemed to prefer portrait art of people and pets, keeping mostly to a black and white color scheme. Hannah, on the other hand, used bright colors and worked in a style that reminded Dean of old sailor tattoos. Billie seemed to favor a tribal, geometric style, and Jess appeared to be the shop’s resident piecer since her cluster was artfully taken photo close-ups of healed piercings. But the last group of artwork, infuriatingly unsigned, seemed to be a marriage of realism and storybook illustrations. There was something arrestingly lifelike in the drawing of a fox posed among vibrantly pink wildflowers and playful in the drawing of a rocketship taking flight. Dean liked all of the artwork, but these caught his attention, these made his hands itch to reach out and touch.

“You my two o’clock consult?” A femenine voice asked causing Dean to spin around and face the counter that separated the awards from the rest of the store. A dark skinned woman with riotously curly hair and tattooed arms revealed by her black tank top leaned comfortably on her arms against the glass top of the counter.

"Yea," Dean replied, putting on a charming smile. "You Cas?"

“No,” the woman said flatly, unfolding her arms to reveal twisting dark tribal tattoos going up the inside until they disappeared under her top. “I’m Billie. Cas is sick and I’m the next best at cover ups.”

Dean tried not to be disappointed, Cas must be who the unsigned artwork belonged too and it was much more intriguing than the stark tribal pieces the woman seemed to favor.

It must have shown on his face though, “You can reschedule with him in about a week or so,” Billie offered. “He has the flu, so he shouldn’t be out longer than that. But Cas said you sounded pretty eager to get this done in your email so he asked me to see you.”

“Cool, well.” Dean floundered, not wanting to appear ungrateful because really, he wanted this fucking name off of his body like yesterday. “Uh...where do we start?”

“Come back to my office and show me what I’m working with,” Billie said, gesturing to the hallway that led behind the counter and deeper into the store before heading that way herself.

Dean followed quickly and was led into a doorless office that contained a padded, reclining tattooing chair, a very large tool chest that was covered in stickers, and even more art featuring tribal tattoos on the walls.

“So where is this no doubt beautiful work that you want to get covered up?” Billie asked blandly, taking a seat on a small rolling stool that had been tucked into the corner.

“On my chest,” Dean answered, perching on the tattoo chair before he hooked a finger in the collar of his shirt and tugged it down to reveal the inked skin in question. “It’s just the name of an ex and well…”

“Hey, no shame,” Billie said, leaning forward to study the ink. “We all do dumb stuff for love, right?”

Dean shrugged and let out a puff of air through his nose in amusement. It was nice not to be made to feel like a tool for getting a dumb tattoo.

“Can’t say I’ve ever gotten a person’s name put on me though…”Billie mused, pulling out her cell from her back pocket. “Mind if I take a few reference pictures? So I can make sure my sketch actually covers the old ink?”

“Sure,” Dean replied, feeling like a moron again. He should’ve never gotten this tattoo, even Lisa had thought it was dumb when he’d shown her.

“Can you take your shirt off for me?”

“Um...yea?” Dean said hesitantly, reaching back to pull the shirt over his head.

“Don’t be shy,” Billie replied, her phone audibly clicking as she snapped a few pictures of Dean’s newly revealed torso and shoulders. “This way I’ll know how much room I have to work with. Plus you’re not my type.”

“Oh,” Dean laughed nervously. “Not enough muscles?”

“Not enough tits,” Billie replied with a smirk, winking at him before snapping another picture and sliding her phone away. “But I’m sure there are lots of people who would appreciate your physique just the way it is. You can put your shirt back on now.”

Dean smiled to himself as he did just that; he had never been one to turn down a compliment from anyone, even if they weren’t interested in more than just admiring for aesthetic reasons.

“So what are you thinking as far as design?” Billie asked, taking her seat back on her stool.

“Well…” Dean started before hitting a proverbial brick wall. He really hadn’t thought beyond just wiping Lisa’s name off of his body. “I’m open to suggestions?”

Billie just raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you alway this impulsive when it comes to putting something permanent on your body?”

Dean just waved his hands in a helpless gesture and put on what he hoped was a charming smile. Based on Billie’s expression it didn’t really work as well as it typically did.

“Which art did you like the best out there?” Billie asked, smiling when Dean froze like a deer in headlights. “I saw you looking at Cas’s stuff? You like those flowers and nature things?”

“Yea, but uh...yours are really great too,” Dean offered trying to backpedal his way out of inadvertently insulting his tattoo artist.

Billie just waved away Dean’s compliment with a grin, “I know my stuff is not everyone’s cup of tea. I can see the appeal in the Cas’s pretty stuff.”

Dean wanted to protest that the prettiness of the other artist’s work had very little to do with why he liked it, but honestly it was pretty and Dean was comfortable enough with his masculinity to admit that he liked flowers sometimes. Especially after all of that therapy he did after his and Lisa’s breakup.

“Listen,” Billie continued, entirely unaware of Dean’s inner monologue. “This is just a consult, we’re not getting married. If you like the flowers, I can forward these pics onto Cas and he can work something up for you.”

Dean gnawed on his lip for a second, ultimately deciding that another week or two with Lisa’s name on his body didn’t mean anything. Maybe he could just cover it up with some bandages or something. He nodded in agreement and moved to get to his feet.

“That settles it then,” Billie said, getting to her feet and leading Dean back towards the front of the shop. “But, let me get your contact info so Cas can reach out once he’s back to schedule with you.”

“No prob,” Dean replied, jotting down his cell number and email address for Billie before giving her a little salute and bidding farewell.

The first text came the next afternoon.

“What is your favorite color?” Unknown Number 1:47pm

Dean stared at his phone incredulously for a minute before shrugging and typing in ‘Red’ and hitting send.

It had been a slow day at work, maybe this was one of those call/text your number neighbor things going around again.

“What is your star sign?” Unknown Number 3:20pm

‘Aquarius,’ Dean replied, feeling bold. ‘What’s urs?’

‘Leo,’ Unknown Number replied a few minutes later, followed quickly by, ‘Favorite flower?’

Dean smirked to himself as he thumbed out a reply, ‘Chocolate sunflower.’

‘Opportunity’ Unknown Number 3:42pm

‘Huh?’ Dean replied back.

‘Chocolate sunflowers symbolize opportunity,’ Unknown Number answered. ‘I like proteas, myself.’

A quick google search taught Dean that proteas symbolized change and hope; he decided to share this newfound knowledge with his mystery text buddy.

He earned a photo in return. It was just a picture of a blooming flower, one which Dean now knew to be a protea, inked onto a forearm that was corded in sinewy muscle and ended in a long-fingered masculine hand. Dean noted the ink smudges on the tips of the index and thumb, the fine, dark hairs dusting the skin around the tattoo, and the freckle on the edge of the palm of the hand.

‘I was thinking of a bouquet,’ Unknown Number shared. ‘Something big to cover up that name on your chest. I’ll send some sketches along shortly.’

Dean swallowed hard, realizing that he had been flirting with his tattoo artist via text. His apparently inked and muscled and weirdly nerdy tattoo artist.

If asked he would deny stalking the tattoo shop’s instagram until the day he died, but it was in a picture simply captioned ‘#flowerboy’ that Dean managed to find a picture of the elusive Cas. The Cas who would be covering up the name of Dean’s ex-girlfriend. The Cas who had probably seen shirtless pictures of Dean courtesy of Billie. The Cas who was practically the walking embodiment of all of Dean’s wet dreams that featured a male counterpart.

He groaned into a pillow for a little bit, questioning all of his life choices, before beginning to feel better. Dean had a lot of regrets, but bailing on this tattoo would not be one of them. This could be an opportunity for something. A change that he needed. Hope for something more with a cute guy who had the swoonest arms that Dean had seen in a long time.

And yea, he did swoon. Just a little.

#30 day fanfic challenge #destiel #spn #regret #fic writing #fanfiction

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imtryingmyfuckingbe · 4 years ago

Text

And If This Is It

Second chapter in a short series.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Mentions: Jess, Sam, Charlie, Cas, Gabriel, Jo, Jules (OC)

Trigger warnings: Slight mention of smut

I am the sole author and reserve the rights to my work. However, I am not the owner of Supernatural as a franchise, or the characters including, but not limited to: Dean, Sam, Castiel, Gabriel, Jo, Jess, or Charlie.

CHAPTER TWO:

She cradles her phone between her cheek and shoulder, picking through ripe peppers. Charlie drones endlessly about some new video game or console or— Y/N honestly doesn’t know. Of all the shared personality traits between the pair, Y/N fails to see the wonder of Red Dead Redemption or Overwatch. Even still, she listens and hums agreement in Charlie’s pauses.

Placing a trio of red, yellow, and orange peppers in her cart, Y/N continues towards the avocados. Grocery shopping calms her. The comforting monotony allows her to move thoughtlessly on the familiar path from produce to deli and down aisles she could navigate in her sleep. It gives her a sense of control, and offers time to herself.

Y/N switches the phone to her other ear, rubbing the kink in her neck. Charlie finishes raving, in turn changing the topic to work. Some shitty guests left a lengthy poor review on both Yelp and Google, and now she has a meeting with Jason, their boss. “I’m going to quit that place, I swear it!” she emptily declares. She threatens leaving at least twice a week, but never seems to commit. Yes, the customers suck, and the managers have a canyon sized room for improvement, but the worthwhile money keeps her hooked like a dirty mistress. How else could afford tuition?

“I’m sure you will. Once you get your big girl job looking at computers all day.”

“That is an insulting minimization of what I’m actually going to do, and you know it!” Charlie scolds.

“I jest, I jest,” Y/N laughs. Getting a rise out of Charlie is her favorite past time. “But, for real, I have to check out. I have errands to run today. Dean is going to service my car.”

Y/N imagines Charlie’s eye roll and upturned smile. Not many people know of her affections towards Dean, but one drunken night led to confessions she can’t stuff back inside. Charlie has yet to let her live it down.

“Ah, yes. Our dear friend,” she stresses. “That leads us to another conversation, but I’m thinking I should get some tequila in you first.”

“Not going to happen. I’m fine, okay?” Even she doesn’t believe herself.

“Yeah, I’m calling bullshit. But, go, be merry. Tell the man I said hi.”

Y/N ends the call quickly, glad to finish the uncomfortable conversation. Her tense shoulders and the knots on both sides of her neck make her regret accepting Charlie’s call in the first place. She knows Charlie means no ill will but she can’t help the frustration building on her brow.

The checkout line moves quickly, not many people shopping at noon on a Wednesday. With her groceries tucked in her trunk, she makes her way to Dean’s house. He lives in a corner townhouse on the intersection of Sutler and Harrison, affording him a small side yard to work on his car— and sometimes Y/N’s. Despite his mechanic job, Dean enjoys spending his free time working on cars. He said it feels like a break from the world, blackened hands in his engine.

Y/N understands needing to take a step back. Life, in all of its intricacies, is only the withdrawing waters of the ocean, before rearing its ugly, tsunami head. She found her saving grace in writing: lyrics, poems, stories. Transporting herself into a new world saved her from this one when her bones grew heavy and her eyes tired.

She pulls into his driveway, parking next to his Impala. Its propped up hood hides a bent over Dean busying himself with tightening one thing or another. Grabbing the six pack in her passenger seat, Y/N emerges from her car.

“Howdy, partner,” she jokes.

Dean pokes his head around the side of his car, teeth bared in a wide smile. Black smudges decorate his nose and cheeks. His short hair received the brunt of frustration, pushed backwards with flyaways dancing in the wind. Y/N snickers, raking her eyes across his denim clad legs and up to the black t-shirt stretched across his chest, ending on his stained skin.

“What? Got something on my face?”

She shakes her head, amused. “Yeah, only here, here, and here,” she points to his nose and chin and cheeks.

He grabs her extended hand and pulls her inward, dipping his head down to her white shirt. Rubbing his face on her shoulder, he leaves behind the blackness in his wake. Y/N struggles against him and the bubbling laughter in her chest.

“This is white, asshole!”

Dean steps back, hands still holding her upper arms, and admires his work. She gently pushes against his chest, feigning anger and trying to ignore the muscles beneath her palm. She got this shirt for ninety-five cents at a yard sale; three similar garments hang in her closet. This isn’t a real loss.

“I think it looks good! Makes it seem like you know your way around a car.”

“Yes, because when fixing cars I use my shoulder. It’s super effective, you should try it.”

Dean rolls his eyes, finally releasing Y/N. She steps back, filling her lungs with much needed air. Any time spent closely to him required extra oxygen. Her heart runs rampage around her chest, and she knows if she looks down it may just shine through her shirt. Steeling herself, she returns to the task at hand.

Speaking of, the weight of the beer in her hand gives her something to do. Setting the pack on the hood of her car, she retrieves two bottles and cracks them open. The crisp coolness holds her to the ground, even as Dean’s fingers brush against hers when he accepts the offer. In silence, they sip the citrus IPA.

“All righty then, what’s going on with your gal?”

“Just need an oil change, I think. It doesn’t hurt to have it looked at, though.”

He nods, brows drawn together and lips pursed. Everything in Y/N, her lungs and head and skin, wants to take the rag from Dean’s back pocket and wipe his face, removing both the crease in his forehead and the gunk. Instead, she kisses her beer, watching as he pops her hood and checks the oil.

The betrayal of her body lingers in her movements when she walks to the front of her car, leaning next to a working Dean. His skin radiates warmth. Tendrils of his cologne overwhelm her. She breathes in, basking in him while trying to clear her foggy head. Fresh air is good, she fruitlessly tells herself. Fresh air is good; when it’s not mixed with the man she adores.

Dean moves his car to the grass, allowing more space for him to work on the Mustang. Y/N sits on the ground in front of the garage as he jacks her car up to empty the oil pan. From this vantage point, she can see Dean in all of his glory. His shirt rides up, reveling a thin line of hair and toned muscles. She clenches her jaw, then takes another drink.

Her head knocks against the garage door, focusing on the baby blue sky, not a cloud in sight. Dean grunts quietly as he works, and Y/N’s mind supplies a different activity for his sounds. His hands would wander across the expanse of her body; across her hips, up to her breasts, down to her pussy. His lips would cover wherever his hands could not, sucking on her neck, leaving a hickey.

Now, Y/N once failed to see the appeal of someone marking up her body. But, fuck, if Dean Winchester said he wanted to cover her skin in bruising kisses, she wouldn’t be able to deny him. She wouldn’t want to.

Fingers snap in front of face. Shaking her head, she realizes Dean finished with her Mustang and hovered over her. “Hey, back to the living?”

Heat rushes to her cheeks. She ducks her head to look at her very interesting, noteworthy knees. “Yeah. Just thinking.” Not a full lie, but not the full truth, either. What could she say? I was daydreaming about making love? Not just fucking; making love.

He retrieves a beer from the pack before settling next to Y/N on the ground, back against the door and thighs touching. “Yeah? What about?” his playful tone forces her further into reality.

She doesn’t answer for a moment, instead focusing on the sharp, stinging pebbles digging into her thighs and ass. “Work.”

“Ah, it’s always work. Something wrong?”

Another sip.

“Not exactly. I talked to Charlie today, and she said she wanted to quit.”

“Doesn’t she always?”

“That’s what I said! But it got me thinking. Am I too comfortable there? I mean, I’ve worked there for, what? Three years?” Y/N surprises herself with her own excuse. She hadn’t actually put much stock in leaving, her own or Charlie’s. But now that it’s out in the open, the weight on her shoulders flutters away. He nods, encouraging her to continue. “I dunno,” she tosses her hands in indignation, spilling a little beer on the concrete, “I don’t want to stay in some dead end job that I don’t really love. Feels like a waste of time,” her voice starts strong but trails off into a whisper.

Dean sets his hand on her thigh, caressing it in an attempt to comfort her.

Another sip, another sigh.

This is the last thing she needs, but the first thing she wants. She once more lets her head fall backwards while Dean studies her in silence, head tilted. “What do you think you’d do?”

“That’s the thing: I don’t know. I don’t have a degree and the only jobs I’ve ever had were serving, or something in that world. Who the hell is going to hire me?”

“I don’t have a degree, either, ya’know.”

“Yes, but you have a career, and you’re good at it. I mean, look at you! You’re ahead of the rest, already. Basically running your own shop; got a whole-ass home. And I’m proud of you, I am. I just feel like I’m headed nowhere. Like, what have I got going for me?”

She closes her eyes to avoid his gaze, but he stays silent. His fingers continue to trace shapes into her thigh. Dean knows Y/N well enough to stop talking; it won’t ease the tension in her breast or pinging pain on her temple. Now that she said the words aloud, however, her mind races wild with the possibilities and risks of leaving the security of Zest.

She could pursue something in writing, a pipe dream of hers. She could get a few gigs in bars and play for a few hours for some cash. She could also quit and not find another job, falling into destitution and then forced to return to waiting tables. Flashes of grabby hands and entitled guests flit through her mind.

Goddamn, she hates customer service.

Mindlessly, she tilts her beer back, only droplets gracing her tongue. Without a word, Dean passes her the bottle he grabbed for himself. She nods in thanks, taking a sip.

He pats her thigh. “Well, it’s no use dwelling on what you can’t do. What can you do?”

Y/N shrugs.

“C’mon, I know you can do more than balance glasses and pretend to care about lobster. You write. What about that?”

“It’s recreational. I don’t have anything published. I don’t—”

“— All right, piss baby. If you’re going to keep complaining, I’m going to smack you.” He rolls his eyes, not really annoyed.

“Fine, fine. I could do freelance, I guess.”

“Yeah, you could. You could work as a receptionist and work your way up somewhere, too. Like, the newspaper. Start there, prove you can write, and they’ll have no choice but to hire you. Maybe pitch a few ideas. Don’t need a degree to be smart; I’m living proof of that,” he gestures to himself.

Y/N laughs, shoving her shoulder against his. “Yeah, yeah. You’re the next Einstein of car mechanics.”

“I could be.”

Another silence, no longer pregnant with her frustration. The sun beats down with a vengeance, however, making the beer in her hand lukewarm. Beads of sweat pool on her brows. Still, she doesn’t want to move. The hand on her leg, pressed thigh to Dean’s, shoulder to shoulder; she wants to savor this moment.

Even still, she can’t sit for much longer. The comfort of the man beside her refuses to extend to the unforgiving concrete beneath her or the heat in the air. With a sigh, she pushes herself up, stretching her sore legs and wiping off spare gravel clinging to her skin. Dean stands too, utilizing Y/N’s extended hand. Truthfully, it doesn’t help much but she would do almost anything to hold his hand, even for a second.

When the pair straighten, Dean’s fingers remain clasped in hers, his thumb rubbing circles on her knuckles. She revels in the gentle caress, wishing she didn’t have to leave. The groceries in her trunk call to her; she needs to put them away before they spoil.

“I have to go,” she whispers. The tightness in her chest returns at breaking the silence and ruining to moment. She refuses to look Dean in the eyes, not wanting to see whatever is there. Instead, she trains her gaze onto his stomach.

“Yeah, I figured. Use and abuse me for your car then skip out,” he jokes.

Finally looking upwards, she takes in his smile and kind eyes. If she had any guts, she would grab his cheeks and pull him down to kiss him. But she doesn’t have the courage to leave her dead-end job, let alone kiss the breathtaking man before her. Instead, she settles for wrapping her arms around his waist and holding him close.

She can do this for the rest of her life, she tries to convince herself. If she can’t have Dean in her bed or on her arm or loving her the way she desires, she can handle these moments. This is okay, this is okay, this is okay.

A kiss to her head and a final squeeze, Dean pulls back. “I’ll see ya soon, kid. Enjoy your ride.”

The two part, Y/N longing to return to his embrace. Her skin prickles from her desire, her feet refuse to move. And then a car honks from somewhere up the road and her wondering mind snaps back to reality. A final goodbye, she clambers into her car. Dean waves as she reverses from his driveway and starts back to her apartment across town. The wind whips her cheeks through the rolled-down windows.

She only looks back once.

#dean winchester #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #and if this is it #supernatural au #supernatural fic #friends to lovers

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nayutai · 5 years ago

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5 | Linked

⇢ Pairing Taehyung x OC x Namjoon

⇢ Word Count 5.303

⇢ Warnings foul language and heavy petting

⇢ Summary What is meant to be will be. Not even the strongest of evil can stop destiny.

Two and a half weeks of frantic research later and we are still no closer to finding a way to fix the partially broken bond between Tae and I. Elder Ashlyn believes that whatever Antoinette had managed to do before she’d been interrupted partially degraded the bond between us because the burning in my nerves is still intermittent even though Tae is still comatose. The existence of the second bond with Namjoon only serves to further complicate matters. Elder Ashlyn decides to call upon some of the older members of the Council for their assistance.

The group of witches and warlocks barricade themselves in the downstairs study of the French estate. Apparently, the library collection at this residence is larger than the one back at her other residence so the elder witch had opted to remain in France until she and Jimin could come up with some answers. Namjoon and I definitely aren’t complaining as we spend our days exploring the country side. I always make sure to take as many pictures as I can so I can have something to show Tae when we finally wake him up. In the meantime, I make sure to tell him about all of our adventures, clinging to the hope that somewhere in there he can hear me.

Jimin looks stressed when he emerges from the conference room ahead of everyone else. I’ve been sat on a small couch in the hallway impatiently waiting for nearly three hours and I shoot to my feet when he emerges from the room. His brightly colored hair is jutting out wildly in all directions so he’s probably been incessantly running his hands through it even more than usual.

“Jimin, what’s wrong?” I question. My heart beats wildly in my throat at the way his shoulders sag in defeat. Before he even opens his mouth, I know it won’t be good news.

“We know how to fix your bond with Tae.” His face still looks drawn with stress though. There’s got to be a catch somewhere that he’s not telling me yet.

A door clicks shut somewhere off to my right. The sound is followed closely by Namjoon joining us in the hallway. He takes one look at my face and covers my hand in his larger one. The warmth of his skin seeps into mine, keeping me calm and grounded before I get too far off kilter.

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it? That’s what we wanted.” My voice pitches higher at the end, the fear at what Jimin could say taking over my vocal chords.

“Every spell they faeries ever created to either break or repair soulmate bonds is in that book.” Jimin sounds defeated so I know that there’s something he’s not telling me. Some evil little twist that is holding us hostage at square one despite all of this new information that should catapult us to success. “Unfortunately for us, the book is missing and has been for nearly three centuries. It was stolen by a pack of werewolves centuries ago and no one has seen it since.”

This can’t be happening. Every time it seems that we’re on the verge of a breakthrough something knocks us twelve steps back. My stomach feels like it’s going to fall right out of my ass. Somewhere out there are the answers to all of our problems and we have no way of finding it. Hysterical laughter bursts forth from my lips before I can stop it. This is just perfect.

The search for answers shifts as Jimin and Elder Ashlyn focus their efforts on trying to find the ancient faerie text. The walls of the manor seem to be practically humming with power from the sheer amount of different tracking spells being cast. Even as mere mortals, Namjoon and I can feel the magic in the air. It’s when Jimin sneezes and bubbles fly out of his nostrils that he becomes completely fed up with the lack of results.

“Fuck this.” Jimin shouts as he aggressively shoves away from the kitchen table where he’d been sat eating the stack of waffles I’d made for him. As if sensing that something is wrong, Elder Ashlyn materializes directly behind him. Her eyes are glowing an even brighter blue than normal and they’re narrowed at the back of Jimin’s head.

“You better not be about to do what I think you’re about to do, Park.” To his credit, Jimin doesn’t even flinch at the Elder’s voice suddenly sounding off behind him. If anything, hearing her makes him even more determined to follow through with whatever plan he’s conjured up in his head.

“Well I sure don’t see you coming up with anything better. I don’t see you sneezing bubbles out of your damn nose because your body doesn’t know when to stop doing spells either.” He bites out. His scathing words weren’t directed at me but I flinch at the harsh tone of his voice nonetheless. Elder Ashlyn opens her mouth to respond but Jimin disappears right before our eyes. It happens so fast that I can almost see the void he’d left in the air. Elder Ashlyn pinches the bridge of her nose before she vanishes just as quickly as she’d appeared. Namjoon and I are left staring at each other in stunned silence as we try to figure out the significance of what just happened.

Nearly a week goes by without a single word from Jimin at all. I’ve tried calling, texting, and even emailing but there’s been nothing but radio silence from his end. Elder Ashlyn has stayed mum on the situation for the sake of our “plausible deniability” but that just leaves me even more confused. What would we need to deny? What is going on that could be that bad? Namjoon is just as confused as I am so he’s not exactly helpful beyond emotional consolation. Of course, Taehyung is no help either but he’s a great sounding board for my thoughts.

I’m cuddled up next to Tae’s sleeping form when the sound of the front door slamming shut reaches my ears. It has to be Jimin. It just has to be. Namjoon is asleep in the room next door and Elder Ashlyn has been locked in her study for hours. No one else would have the balls to just waltz through the front door like this other than Jimin.

Sure enough, the familiar warlock is standing in the middle of the foyer toeing off his muddy boots when I reach the entrance. A large sack rests on the floor at his feet. Judging from its shape and the ominous aura it radiates, I can only guess that it must be the infamous book that he and Elder Ashlyn have been searching for.

“Don’t you ever disappear like that again, you ass.” I mumble into his neck after I quite literally launch myself at him. His arms wrap around me and I feel like I can finally breathe again knowing that he’s back. After everything that we’ve been through together, I consider Jimin to be just as much a part of my family as my own flesh and blood.

“How did you find it?” I ask, motioning towards the bag at Jimin’s feet. He goes on to tell me about how the missing tome was said to have been written in the blood of the dark faeries that authored it. Knowing that, all he needed to do was obtain some dark faerie blood and perform a tracking spell which was easier said than done. To make matters worse he couldn’t cast just any old tracking spell. In order to find dark magic you have to use dark magic. Now I understand why Elder Ashlyn wanted to maintain our “plausible deniability”. The council definitely won’t like this.

“I can’t believe that you really went through with this foolishness.” I startle at the sound of Elder Ashlyn’s voice slicing through the air like a blade. It’s obvious that she’s not happy in the slightest.

“You can yell at me later but I think we’ve got work to do.” Jimin grabs the bag holding the book and offers it to his superior. She hesitates for a second before grabbing it, holding it at arm’s length as though it might grow teeth and attack her.

“Meet me in the workroom.” For once, the elder witch chooses to walk rather than teleporting herself through time and space to get where she’s going. It’s almost too weird for me to process. Jimin gives my shoulders a squeeze before following directions and heading for the workroom himself. I immediately turn and run to find Taehyung to tell my sleeping beauty that it won’t be much longer now. Our parents are just as excited when I shoot them all a quick text to update them on this latest development.

I don’t see or hear anything from Jimin and Elder Ashlyn for the rest of the day. Late in the evening while Namjoon and I are sat cross-legged next to Tae, telling him stupid jokes, Jimin makes an appearance. My heart clenches at the pinched look on his face.

“I have good news and I have bad news, which one do you want first?” He questions softly after a minute of seemingly trying to gather his thoughts.

“Bad news.” I reply. Better to go ahead and rip the bandaid off and then placate my sadness with good news.

Jimin takes a deep, shuddering breath before he answers me. “There is a ritual for fixing broken soulmate bonds.” An excited squeal flies out of my mouth as I grip one of Tae’s large hands in mine. Then I remember that I asked for the bad news first.

“How is that bad news?” Namjoon questions with an adorably confused look on his face. We’re both looking at Jimin with hopeful expectations and the reluctant warlock before looks like he’s going to be physically ill.

“The ritual exists and has been proven to work but both soulmates have to willingly participate and Jess has two. A technical anomaly that shouldn’t exist and because of that once we wake Tae up and totally sever the bond we won’t be able to fix it because her body will reject attempts to create a bond when one already exists.”

The world seems to stop spinning on its axis, bringing everything to a halt as my brain comprehends the news that Jimin has just delivered. This can’t be real life. Just when I thought that things were finally on the up and up it comes crashing back down around me. I feel absolutely numb. I stretch out next to Tae, burying my face in his chest as I cling to him. Jimin has yet to deliver the good news but at this point I don’t really care to hear anything else.

“So what’s the good news?” I hear Namjoon ask as he reaches over to rub my back soothingly. It helps a little but it doesn’t completely ease the ache in my chest.

“There was a footnote that said soulmate bonds could possibly repair themselves naturally but it didn’t mention whether or not it could happen in the case of a person with two soulmates.” I peeked over Tae’s shoulder at Jimin. There’s hope swirling in the distress I see in his eyes.

“What do you want to do?” Namjoon poses a question that I have no idea how to answer.

The selfless thing to do would be to let Elder Ashlyn wake Taehyung up despite the depressing consequences. He is quite literally sleeping away the best part of his life the longer he remains comatose and it’s not fair to him at all. But I don’t want to be selfless. I want to keep him. I want him to always be mine. Who’s to say that the connection between us would ever naturally rebuild itself? My heart and mind are at war between what I want and what I know is right.

I loving run my hand through Tae’s hair that’s steadily grown out over the past few months. He looks so at peace like this. Blissfully unaware of the turmoil swirling around us. I do my best to commit his every feature to memory just as he is now. My heart aches under the weight of what I know to be right.

A single tear slides down my cheek as I bend to kiss his lips one final time. “Wake him up.”

Jimin looks at me with a questioning look on his face as he and Elder Ashlyn stand at Tae’s bedside. I know what he’s trying to say. This is your last chance. A single tear slides down my cheek but I nod my head. Knowing Taehyung, he is going to be far from happy about the decision I’ve chosen to make but I love him too much to just let him slumber in oblivion like this. He deserves to live his life to the fullest even if that means I have to give him up.

The air above my beloved shimmers and sparkles as the sleep spell is lifted. His face twists up in that cute way it always does when he’s just waking up but his features are twisted up in pain in the next second. He lets out a strangled shout. His back arches at an angle that can’t be anything but painful. I move to step out of Namjoon’s arms to put a stop to Taehyung’s suffering, but Elder Ashlyn lifts her hand and my feet freeze in place. The burning sensation in my arm that had become a constant part of my life fades and fades until it completely fizzles out at the same time that Tae calms down. Elder Ashlyn finally releases her hold on me and I’m by his side before his eyes even open completely. Tae’s jaw is taut as he looks around dazed and confused while I gently wipe at his sweaty forehead.

He coughs a few times to clear his throat, licking his lips as he looks up into my eyes. I feel sick to my stomach. “Baby, what’s going on? Did you stop her?” The worried look on his face increases tenfold when he notices the way my bottom lip starts to tremble. I open my mouth to explain everything that’s happened but the words feel like they’re choking me.

“Elder Ashlyn? Jimin, what’s happening?” Tae cranes his neck to the side to see the witches standing off to my left. Neither one of them will meet his eyes.

“Tae, baby, look at me.” I lovingly cup his face in my hand, taking in all of his features. His one monolid and one double lid. The elegant slope of his nose. His long lashes. “We couldn’t stop her. She…she broke the bond. Our bond.”

“But I thought being under the sleeping spell was supposed to stop that from happening?” His voice rises as he gets more and more hysterical. I’m trying to explain everything about how the sleeping spell only protected him and not both of us like we thought it would when Tae takes notice of Namjoon standing in a far corner of the room trying to go unnoticed. Kinda hard when he’s so tall but the effort was there.

Tae nearly loses it when I tell him exactly who Namjoon is. I’ve never seen him this angry. Ever. If looks could kill, everyone in the room would drop dead in an instant. There was a time when I didn’t think anything could rile him up like this but I see that I’ve found his one trigger point. To his credit, Namjoon takes every harsh word in stride and remains quiet while I do my best to regain control of the situation.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Jessica? You let go of me and everything we had for him? What type of bullshit is that?” I wince at his bellowed words. He’s never yelled at me. Never even raised his voice. I couldn’t have kept myself from flinching even if I’d tried but right now he’s too mad to even care.

“Tae it’s not like that I promise. Plus, Jimin said that there’s a chance that our bond could naturally rebuild itself.” I try to pacify his anger in the only way I know how but it seems that was the exact wrong thing to say. If we were in a cartoon, he’d be blowing steam out of his ears right now with how irate he is.

“A chance?! You did Antoinette’s dirty work for her based on some bullshit chance?” He yanks his hand out of mine as if I disgust him. “I would’ve preferred to sleep until the world ends if it meant that you would still be mine.”

Jimin and Elder Ashlyn have stayed silent throughout this entire fiasco, choosing to leave the explaining up to me since I know Taehyung better than anyone in this room. Although, that may be up for debate now.

“Kim Taehyung, you shut your ass up right now and listen. There was absolutely nothing more we could do.” Elder Ashlyn breaks her silence and halts Tae’s tirade in the process. Every pair of eyes is glued to her face. “Whether you remained under the sleeping spell or not, your bond with Jessica had been severed and because of the second soul connection no magic on Earth can fix it. Now you can either get yourself together and do what you can to provoke a natural reconnection or you can go on about your business but what you’re not going to do is berate Jessica like this. None of this is her fault.”

Tae’s head droops forward as he takes in the elder’s words. I know what this means. His anger has dissipated but that leaves nothing but sadness and despair. When his shoulders start to shake with the force of his sobs, I reach forward to comfort him. The pain I felt when Antoinette snapped our bond like a rubberband is nothing compared to the agony of Tae shrugging my hand off of his shoulder. Never has he rejected me like this. Ever. I choke back a sob. What did I do? If only I had been more selfish with my choices. If only I had let him stay asleep.

“I want to leave.” Tae chokes out after a few minutes. “I want to leave right now.” He looks over my crying figure once more and the pain in my chest only increases with the anguished longing I see reflected in his eyes.

“As you wish.” Elder Ashlyn makes him vanish with a wave of her hand. The tears are flowing freely now as Namjoon gathers me into his arms. I vaguely register the odd sound of air collapsing as Jimin and Elder Ashlyn leave me to my misery.

At some point, I must have cried myself to sleep because I wake up in an unfamiliar apartment to the smell of bacon frying. There’s wood features everywhere I look so I know I’m not at home nor am I at my tiny apartment near the campus. I follow the smell to a kitchen that is equally unfamiliar to see Namjoon standing over the stove.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” He abandons the pan to walk over to me, kissing my forehead softly when he reaches me. “Sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up. Thought I’d have time to finish breakfast first.”

“Is this your place?”

“Yeah…” He scratches at the back of his neck nervously before leading me to a stool at the breakfast bar. “I didn’t think it would be a good idea for you to be alone after what happened so I had Elder Ashlyn teleport you back here with me. I hope that was okay.” My mind drifts back to Taehyung and what he might be doing right now. It’s no surprise that tears well up in my eyes once more. I’ve lost my first love and gained another yet I still feel empty.

“It’s fine.” I absentmindedly run my thumbnail back and forth along a small scratch in the countertop while Namjoon continues to cook.

Everything is definitely not fine.

I excuse myself back to the bedroom after forcing down a few pieces of bacon and a piece of toast. Namjoon looks like he wants to say something but thinks better of it, choosing instead to grab one of my hands and gently kiss each of my knuckles before letting me go. My heart swells with affection for the gentle giant in front of me but the fresh wound of losing Tae still stings. There’s only one person who can help me now.

“Hey, baby girl. We haven’t heard from you in a few days. I was beginning to worry.”

“Mom.” The tears that I’d thought had finally stopped flowing come bursting forth like someone had turned on a faucet behind my eyelids the second her voice comes through the phone speaker. She immediately goes into mother bear mode as she tries to interpret my blubbering to get to the root of what’s wrong.

“Send me your location. I’m coming.” I nod though I’m aware she can’t see me and hang up the phone.

Namjoon knocks lightly on the door, but at this point I don’t have the energy to do anything more than lay in his bed like a starfish and cry. He pokes his head in and immediately crosses the room to wipe your tears away despite the fact that more just keep falling. He whispers something about going to get tissues and water, but I latch on to his arm before he can get too far away.

“No. Please stay.” Namjoon doesn’t say a word as he crawls into bed with me. The solid warmth of his chest. Strong arms holding me close. For once, I feel like maybe everything will work out. For once, I have hope for the future.

I stare intently at the smooth skin of my left wrist. Sometimes, if I stare hard enough, I swear that I can see a faint outline of the the three little letters that used to mark my skin. Today is my twenty second birthday. A day that I thought I’d be spending with the man those three missing letters had brought to me. Namjoon breaks me out of my reverie with a lingering kiss to my shoulder as wakes up.

Guilt used to overwhelm me with every intimate touch or brush of his lips against any part of me but over the month or so since we left Elder Ashlyn’s sprawling estate I’ve been doing a lot of soul searching. It’s still a process, but I’ve largely come to terms with the fact that my feelings for the gentle giant currently wrapped around me like a koala are nothing for me to feel guilty about. He was always destined to be mine. I’ll always wish that we could’ve met under much more favorable circumstances, but we’re here together navigating the fallout of the chaos of the past year together.

“Happy birthday, baby.” His voice is low and raspy in that beautiful way it always is when he first wakes up. I twist around in his arms until I can properly face him, lovingly tracing the outline of his full lips before covering them with my own.

“Thanks, babe.” My eyes drift closed as Namjoon peppers kisses all across my face. His talented fingers slip beneath the t-shirt I’d worn to bed to run his fingers up and down my spine, making me shiver. A breathy moan escapes me when he pulls back to shove my shirt up below my chin and exposes my bare chest to his hungry gaze. The chilly air in the room is a pleasurable contrast to his warm hands cupping my breasts as circles his thumbs around my raised buds.

Namjoon’s head hovers above my chest, tongue seeking my skin when the door bell echoes through my quiet apartment. Were it not for the a strong gut feeling, I would have ignored the uninvited guest in favor of allowing Namjoon to continue to have his way with me. But I have to answer the door. It’s a pressing need at this point.

“I’ll be right back.” Surprisingly, Namjoon offers up no protest when I extricated myself from his web of lust. I blindly redo the bun I’d slept in so it looks less like I’m just rolling out of bed.

Frantic energy accelerates my heart beat the closer I get to the front door of my apartment. When I finally fling open the door, whoever it was is gone. I look left and right down the walkway and just barely catch sight of a tall, lanky man rounding the corner to the stairwell. An oversized gift bag in tow. My heart clenches in my chest at the quick view I’d managed to catch of his side profile. I’d recognize him anywhere.

“Taehyung!” My lack of dress and proper footwear is totally forgotten. Nothing short of an act of God could’ve kept me from bolting down the walkway after him. I hadn’t expected him to hear me yelling since he’d already started down the stairs, but the man in question nearly takes me down in his haste to get to me.

He steadies me on my feet only to stagger back himself when I launch myself into his arms. My emotions are all over to the place to the point that my brain feels like it’s vibrating. Taehyung takes a deep shuddering breath as he succumbs to the tears that soak into my shirt. He’s mumbling something into the crook of my neck but he’s speaking too low to properly make out what he’s saying.

“I missed you, Tae.” I pull back from him to wipe the tears from his cheeks. He leans his forehead against mine, seemingly content to just be in the moment.

“I missed you more than you’ll ever know, Jessica.”

“I’m glad that we all missed each other, but it’s cold as fuck out here and one of you is barely dressed.” We both jump when Namjoon appears out of nowhere with a blanket that he doesn’t hesitate to throw around my shoulders when Taehyung finally lets me down. “Good to see you again, Taehyung.”

Taehyung stares down at the hand that Namjoon holds out to him. My heart jumps for joy when he shakes it firmly, accepting Namjoon’s olive branch. I try to stop it, but ever since the state of the weather was brought to my attention I can practically feel the chill seeping into my bones.

“Okay let’s get you back inside.” The two hulking men on either side of me look more like mother hens as they herd me back into the apartment.

I find myself quickly sat on the couch as Taehyung and Namjoon continue to fuss over me. Taehyung insists on tea which is met with a swift agreement followed up by Taehyung’s fascination at the wide variety of teas that Namjoon has stocked my cabinets with. The last time Taehyung and I had been in this apartment together our world was crumbling beneath our feet. It’s odd to think about just how much time has changed in the months between then and now. The events that litter our timeline almost feel like they happened to someone else. As I look around my apartment, I spot the large gift bag that Taehyung had been carrying earlier resting on the dining table.

“Tae, what’s in the bag?” Taehyung crosses the room to bring the bag to me.

“Happy birthday, babe.”

I tear into the bag, shrieking when I lift out a signed Ella Fitzgerald vinyl. It’s obviously an original and not a remastered vinyl which means Ella herself held this record in her hands and signed it. I hug the framed album to my chest in fear that I let go of it for even a second it might disappear.

“I love it so much, Tae.” I hop up off of the couch, connecting my lips to his before I can stop to think about whether or not I should. Taehyung is stunned for all of two seconds, kissing me back with a ferocity I’ve never felt before.

Fear seizes me as once again a joyous, carefree moment is interrupted by a burning in my left wrist. I can feel the panic rising up to choke off my oxygen supply at the thought of reliving the hell that we’d just escaped. History repeats itself as Taehyung grabs at my arm when he puts two and two together. Namjoon is by our sides in an instant when he senses the sudden shift in our moods. The frame in my hands nearly tumbles to the ground but I manage to keep my grip on it, tucking it under my free arm.

“What’s wrong? Jess, baby, are you okay? Is something wrong with our bond?” Namjoon’s words trigger a lightbulb in my brain. Our bond. His initials are emblazoned in my wrist just as clear as the day that they first appeared. My right wrist that is. The weird sensation that had sent me into a mental spiral isn’t the sharp burn that I’d thought it to be. No, this is an itch. An intense and persistent itch beneath the skin of my left wrist. The same persistent itch I’d felt when the letters KNJ had first made their presence known.

Taehyung is still holding my wrist, staring at it in shocked amazement. Jimin had said that this was a possibility but I’d refused to get myself wrapped up in any expectations to ward off any unnecessary disappointments. And yet, there it is clear as day. KTH. Namjoon lets out a whoop of celebration as he pulls both me and Taehyung into a bear hug.

“Fuck tea! This calls for wine.” He pecks my forehead, clapping Taehyung on the back as he returns to the kitchen for the rest of the bottle of sangria he’d brought with him when he came over last night.

“You know what this means right?”

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder?”

“No, it means you now have two people to yell at you for standing in chairs to reach things, shortie.” Taehyung bolts when I raise my vinyl over my head as if to strike him with it. He screams for Namjoon to come to his rescue as I chase him around the room.

“So she can hit me? I think I’m good on that.” Namjoon takes a sip from the wine he’d poured for himself as he enjoys the show before him. A smart man.

I eventually get tired of running around as I’m sure they both expected, gratefully accepting a wine glass from Namjoon. I pucker my lips up for a kiss which he gladly gives me. He tastes like sangria and pure joy.

“To happiness and rekindled connections.” Taehyung and I clink our raised glasses against Namjoon’s excitedly. The cheap wine tastes like liquid gold when I tip it down my throat. There was a time when I thought that the love of a lifetime was going to be permanently ripped from me and now here I stand with love two fold. I don’t know how we’re going to make this work but I do know that I’ll do everything I can to make sure it does.

#btswritersguild #kim taehyung #kim namjoon #poly bts #bts #taehyung angst #namjoon angst #bts angst #taehyung fanfic #taehyung fluff #namjoon fanfic #namjoon fluff #bts fluff #bts scenarios #taehyung soulmate au #namjoon soulmate au #bts soulmate au #taejoon

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angeltriestoblog · 5 years ago

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I watched a couple of movies! (Part 2)

Back again with the second bunch of my latest quarantine companions! My last post wasn't that long ago, but I’ve already gone through an additional 21 and thanks to the extension of the lockdown and the abrupt cancellation of the rest of my sophomore year in college, I predict that this number will only increase exponentially. I obviously have to start looking for a sustainable way of reviewing the media I consume (probably will try dumping mini-reviews on Letterboxd instead), but until then, here is today’s little catalog: divided into four neat categories so there’s a little bit of everything for everyone.

Dead Poets Society (1989, dir. Peter Weir) ★★★★½

John Keating is the teacher we secretly deserved yet never had, which is probably what's behind the fervent loyalty audiences have had for this movie since its release around three decades ago. His methods of teaching are admittedly unorthodox, but they effectively instill in fictional students and real-life audiences the core message: to seize the day and be extraordinary. I definitely would have appreciated more of Williams, though: I noticed later on that he was used mostly as a plot device, as the focus started to shift to the impact his words had on the group of young boys under his tutelage. But, thankfully they are endearing and lovable in their own little ways (special mention goes to ambitious Neil, played by Robert Sean Leonard; and Ethan Hawke as timid Todd), which is why the last half-hour remains one of the heaviest in recent memory.

Mrs. Doubtfire (1993, dir. Chris Columbus) ★★★★

When Daniel Hillard’s (Robin Williams) wife splits up with him and takes their kids, he disguises himself as an English nanny called Mrs. Doubtfire and applies as their housekeeper to be with them. Not exactly the most realistic and practical approach to an issue as serious as divorce, but it succeeds by banking on heartfelt humor to strike a chord in products of broken families. When you take his several antics, punchlines, and vocal impersonations aside, he is simply a father willing to do anything for his children. Williams was destined to be the lead for this: his comedic timing, sheer versatility, and natural ability to bring joy remain unparalleled. Such a shame I didn't get to grow up with this guy, but maybe this saved me a lot of heartbreak.

Catch Me If You Can (2002, dir. Steven Spielberg) ★★★★★

A con man successfully cashes in millions of dollars worth of checks as a Pan Am pilot, doctor, and lawyer, whilst evading the FBI agent who’s hot on his heels. And this is all before he turns 19 years old--what a total underachiever. The best part? It’s a true story. I find it hard to believe that this clever cat-and-mouse story lasted more than two hours: it's easy to lose track of time thanks to its dynamic and snappy screenplay, coupled with the chemistry of its brilliant lead actors (no less than Leonardo DiCaprio and Tom Hanks). But beneath the complex and technical aspects of his scams that have high entertainment and educational value lie touching moments that may be admittedly easy to miss. At the end of the day, these escapades were nothing but some twisted coping mechanism of Frank Abagnale, Jr.’s to deal with the divorce of his parents. *blows nose into handkerchief* Wow, I seriously didn't think something could be so fast and fun, yet so depressing either!

Good Will Hunting (1997, dir. Gus Van Sant) ★★★★★

Academy Award-winning writers Matt Damon and Ben Affleck may look like they share a solitary brain cell in total (a prime example would be this footage of their acceptance speech), but it was the power that radiated from that which brought us this instant favorite of mine. This engrossing story revolves around a janitor at MIT, with a genius-level IQ but a troubled and traumatic past. A scuffle with a police officer leads him to Sean, his therapist (and platonic soulmate) who breaks down his dangerous defense mechanisms and self-destructive patterns, helps him tackle his inner demons, and ultimately transforms his life. There is a lot to adore about this film that’s equal parts wit and heart, but my favorite has to be the razor-sharp and realistic dialogue between Damon and Williams. Smoothly transitioning from topic to topic—genuine friendship, abusive relationships, and everything in between—it gives us the opportunity to monitor Will’s growth while carefully examining these aspects of our own lives. With every word said, the audience is reminded once again of any person's innate capacity to change for the better as long as someone else believes in them.

Lost in Translation (2003, dir. Sofia Coppola) ★★★

Film Twitter and the Letterboxd community both made this out to be an outstanding piece of modern cinema, so I went in with very high expectations only to be sorely disappointed and unable to understand the hype behind it. This revolves around two lonely people who find solace in each other and the unfamiliar and unpredictable territory they're in, a storyline brimming with potential that just fell flat to me. I normally appreciate the beauty in silent and ambient scenes, but the ones that made up a huge bulk of this feature didn’t have substance—it was similar to watching mashed-up clips from some random travel vlog. I did find the choice of location fitting though, I am now a hundred percent convinced I should travel to Japan once this pandemic is over. And Scarlett Johansson is incredibly talented for her age: her ability to channel and characterize emotions that a 17-year-old may not even be able to comprehend is above par, which is the main reason why this gets a passing rating from me.

Forrest Gump (1994, dir. Robert Zemeckis) ★★★★★

What I would give to run into a chocolate-eating, Nike Cortez-wearing Forrest Gump at a bus stop, and hear him tell me these fantastic stories himself! This heartwarming tale shows the manner in which he weaved himself into significant historical narratives (literally and figuratively, thanks to the power of deepfake) and injects timeless lessons along the way. Tom Hanks is undoubtedly brilliant as the titular role, and as we see the world according to this feeble-minded and well-meaning man, we come to admire his values, appreciate his efforts, and forgive his occasional shortcomings. In this fast-paced and overly complicated world that we struggle to navigate, this can serve as a necessary breather, a reminder of the simple joys that the world has to offer.

Celeste and Jesse Forever (2012, dir. Lee Toland Krieger) ★★★★

I think this is the first time I’ve witnessed a breakup end rather amicably on the big screen: there's no screamfest that concludes with a cold slap to the face and a dramatic walkout, or a courtroom confrontation that unearths past transgressions, et cetera. Instead, the leads are forced to confront the fact that the friendship they have forged years before that eventually blossomed into something more will never be the same again. Even if they want to so, so bad. I guess that’s why this is so heartbreaking, and thus the perfect companion for any person in the process of finding themselves after the demise of a long-term relationship. Celeste (Rashida Jones) meanders through the process with an extreme lack of finesse—which is the most realistic way to do so—that heavily accentuates her several fatal flaws. But, she manages to finish strong, emerging as a self-reflective and action-driven version of who she was in the beginning. I definitely wanted additional exposure for Jesse (Andy Samberg), though, who was not only surprisingly tender and sensitive in contrast to the Jake Peralta we know and love (and want to pick on), but also an unexpected perfect onscreen match for Jones.

A Star is Born (2018, dir. Bradley Cooper) ★★★★

The third remake of the 1937 movie starring Janet Gaynor and Fredric March, this edition of A Star is Born strays far from the paths traversed by its predecessors (and this I am aware of, from that film analysis video binge I did recently). It’s the first to give Jackson Maine (Bradley Cooper), the has-been with a raging alcohol and drug problem, extensive back story that draws audiences closer to him. But, this character arc comes at the expense of Ally's, the talented singer that he propels to fame, played by Lady Gaga. It was a shame she wasn’t fleshed out as much as she should have been, given that Gaga was a natural, her vulnerability a far cry from her outrageous onstage persona. But, then again, expectations must be kept realistic: it would’ve been impossible to cram that into the specified duration. Nevertheless, I thoroughly appreciated it: though rehashed several times, a romance done this way keeps its key components while catering to the preferences of this generation. The soundtrack is outstanding, and the climax—though somewhat expected—finds new ways to reduce us to a puddle of tears, particularly as the last song number start to roll.

Fall in Love At First Kiss (2019, dir. Frankie Chen) ★★½

Our Times has been a favorite of mine for years, so I couldn't believe that I missed this work from the same director which starred the same male lead during its initial release. Turns out it didn’t make much of a difference whether I watched it or not. The storyline was silly, but forgivably so: in a school where students are segregated based on intelligence, a stupid girl is smitten by the smartest boy in school and gets rejected as soon as she confesses. Consequently, hell breaks loose after they are forced to live together for reasons you have to see to believe. I remember enjoying the first half, squirming in my seat because of Jiang Zhishu (Darren Wang) every chance I'd get. I can’t pinpoint where exactly it started going wrong, but I remember realizing that it is possible for something to drag along, yet also move so fast: to bore me with excessive detail in a single scene, then cut to the next so fast it loses a sense of continuity. In addition to that, the female lead (Jelly Lin) was so unbearable in terms of her acting style and character development (or lack thereof). She seemed to think that constantly complaining in her shrill voice and thrashing her limbs was a fitting substitute for dialogue, thus making it difficult to want her to get her happily ever after. Also, I’ve had pretty intense crushes in the past few years but what she has for Zhishu is bordering more on an unhealthy obsession—I have trouble believing he reacted so calmly to the shrine that she built for him (which included life-size pillows with his face on it).

The Object of My Affection (1998, dir. Nicolas Hytner) ★★½

I was very confused as to why I had never heard of a chick flick that starred two of my favorite actors from the 90s, but now I understand why it didn't take off. (Phoebe would probably share my sentiments. What's her best friend doing with her husband anyway? And why is he attracted to men?) Nina (Jennifer Aniston) is hopelessly in love with her gay best friend George (Paul Rudd), so much so that she decides she wants to raise her unborn child with him instead of with her overbearing and borderline manipulative boyfriend (John Pankow). Though it wasn't a complete disaster given that she didn't successfully convert him, Nina was far too demanding, constantly overstepping her boundaries, and feeding her delusions. Maybe it could afford a modern retelling since I know our generation could tackle the concepts of platonic soulmates and LGBTQ+ relationships in a way that is simultaneously vibrant and sensitive.

How to Lose A Guy in 10 Days (2003, dir. Donald Petrie) ★★★★★

Once I had tried my luck in a number of different genres, I decided to reward myself with a return to the cheesy, corny, and conventional chick flicks I am familiar with—and I’m glad that I picked this one! Andie Anderson (Kate Hudson) is a magazine columnist with her biggest scoop yet: an article on how to lose a guy in 10 days. To test this idea out, she tries it out on Ben Barry (Matthew McConaughey), who’s on a mission to make a girl fall for him within that duration as well. Their conflicting agendas lead to disastrously hilarious results as they realize that they’re both *gasp* catching feelings for each other! I enjoyed this very much despite the predictability, although I’m honestly unable to judge it based on any criteria other than what I felt which was pure and utter, slamming-the-table, throwing-my-stuffed-toy-across-the-room “kilig”.

Just My Luck (2006, dir. Donald Petrie) ★½

I didn’t expect this to be on the forgettable side of the romcom spectrum, when it had Chris Pine as the leading man and Brit-pop band McFly lending their music to most of the scenes (the sole redeeming factor I found). But, I guess it’s Lindsay Lohan’s character and her surprising lack of chemistry with the equally attractive and talented person opposite her that killed it for me. Here, she plays Ashley, the luckiest girl in the world who gets everything her way and is thus as snobbish and stuck-up as you’d expect her to be. A chance encounter brings her to Jake, who is the human equivalent of a black cat standing in front of a broken mirror, and swaps their fate. She is then left to deal with poorly contrived misfortunes with effects that are bordering on slapstick comedy: she gets doused in mud, mildly electrocuted, and soaked in bubbles shortly after blowing up a washing machine and I get that they’re probably supposed to be funny, but all I’m seeing is a live-action version of the Looney Tunes show.

Eighth Grade (2018, dir. Bo Burnham) ★★★★★

Entering our awkward preteen years has always come with a certain and specific kind of mortification, but I reckon it’s become increasingly difficult in the age of the Internet. It’s become easier to find fault in oneself for the pettiest of reasons: why isn’t my crush accepting my friend request? Why do I look like a monster in my #wokeuplikethis selfies? Why is no one viewing my YouTube videos even if I work hard on them? Eighth Grade encapsulates this difficult period in the lives of Gen Z kids with the use of experiences and references which are so specific to this generation: I may have gotten whiplash more times than I would care to admit. Elsie Fisher shines in her painfully relatable performance as Kayla: you can sense her desperation for social acceptance. She just wants to be worth noticing and remembering, is that so bad! Although his role is often overshadowed, I also felt for her dad (Josh Hamilton), who tries to hide the struggle of looking out for a daughter who's growing in ways he simply can't understand.

Boyhood (2014, dir. Richard Linklater) ★★★

This ambitious effort by the director of my favorite film trilogy observes the growth and development of a typical American boy named Mason. No fancy plot devices or major conflicts are in sight, but by using the keeping the cast members fixed during the 12 years it took to put this project together instead of swapping them out for older counterparts, audiences are expected to form an emotional connection with them because they were given an intimate and prolonged look into their lives. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the case for me. Yes, I did watch him grow up before my eyes, but I barely know who he is. These mundane snippets of his life haphazardly stitched together, without any indication of how much time has elapsed since the previous scene, made it hard to keep up with the pace and look at the viewing experience as anything but a chore. I honestly am puzzled as to why I endured 165 minutes (I’m kidding, it was for Ethan Hawke) worth of footage, and sadly it wasn’t even worth it.

Brooklyn (2015, dir. John Crowley) ★★★★

This drama about the migration of an Irish girl to New York to seek better opportunities delves into the concept of what home truly is, as Eilis is left to choose between two men from two different countries. Divided into three segments revolving around pivotal events in the protagonist’s life, it sensitively tackles the experiences and issues familiar to any immigrant, remains true to the period it is set in, and engaging to audience members of all ages. Most in the historical genre are incapable of doing all three, so that's definitely no mean feat! And I’m not biased because Saoirse Ronan plays the starring role, although her compelling performance renders it impossible for anyone who claims to have a beating heart to finish this without puffy eyes and a heavy chest.

Happy Old Year (2019, dir. Nawapol Thamrongrattanarit) ★★★★

I thought Chutimon Chuengcharoensukying couldn’t top her role in Bad Genius, but she just had to come along and star in this personal take on new beginnings. Here, she plays Jean, a girl in the process of decluttering her house so she can transform it into an office space. While sifting through her possessions, she finds certain things belonging to people from her past, that remind her of broken relationships and question her philosophies on forgiveness and letting go. Her performance may be understated compared to the cunning and reckless Lynn she has become popular for, but I see this mastery of restraint as indication of her growth as an actress. The film is relatively simple in its execution, staying true to its central theme of minimalism. By stripping the structure down to the bare essentials of actor and dialogue, the audience can focus on the poignancy ingrained in the most mundane part of our everyday routines.

The Edge of Seventeen (2016, dir. Kelly Fremon Craig) ★★★★

It's actually true that a coming-of-age movie has been written based on every definitive moment a teenage girl experiences, they weren’t lying. The Edge of Seventeen could serve as part of Eighth Grade's cinematic universe, but instead we’re dealing with another reflection of who we were (or maybe still are). Nadine (Hailee Steinfeld) is a teen constantly teetering between arrogant self-assurance and sheer hopelessness. When she loses her best friend to her worst nemesis, she suddenly has to learn to navigate the ups and downs of adolescence and deal with her mental illness on her own. Besides focusing on the several firsts that we often encounter during this stage in our lives, the film accurately portrays our angsty and self-deprecating nature without resorting to mockery, therefore calling us out on this reflex we have of beating ourselves up and giving those around us permission to do so during such a critical part of our lives. I swore I was actually going to try not to cry here, but I guess Nadine's tearful monologue left me with no choice. (I'll leave it below so you can suffer with me.)

You know, ever since we were little, I would get this feeling like, like I’m floating outside of my body, looking down at myself… and I hate what I see: how I’m acting, the way I sound, and I don’t know how to change it. And I’m so scared that the feeling is never gonna go away.

The Kingmaker (2019, dir. Lauren Greenfield) ★★★★

This documentary is a fitting introduction for anyone who isn't familiar with the ill-gotten wealth and abuses the Marcoses have lying underneath their glossy veneer of opulence as well as the consequences of their actions that we suffer from to this day. Greenfield’s juxtaposition of this family’s fabricated stories and the testimonies of victims and first-hand witnesses was a smart move, as we observe the lengths they often go to, to revise the course of history. By spotting the parallels in their narrative and that of Rodrigo Duterte, the next strongman the voting population would unfortunately elect as their leader, we are also given a glimpse into the selective amnesia of the Filipino people that keeps these people in power. The danger lies in the fact that being an outsider herself, Greenfield leaves plenty of room for interpretation: there is no clear-cut statement of what was right and wrong among the several interweaving statements we heard. I was able to determine which was which is due to the fact that I already had prior knowledge, but where does that leave those who don't?

By the way, if you’re wondering why this has been grouped under this category, it’s because I remembered from Grade 6 science class that anger is one way to trigger adrenaline in the body.

Inception (2010, dir. Christopher Nolan) ★★★★★

Perfect always felt like a lazy way to describe what is supposed to be of superior quality. If you want to sing praises about anything that good, you're gonna have to do a better job than that to convince anyone that it's worth their time: was it inventive and bold or cerebral or emotional? Well, I'm afraid I have to bend this rule for Inception for the sake of brevity, because if I leave myself to ramble on about everything this did right, I would surely run out of adjectives. This sci-fi-heist-psychological thriller is in a league of its own, with its intricate plot and layered method of storytelling further amplified by stellar cast performances, masterful editing and special effects, and a thundering musical score that keeps audiences on edge for the entirety of its run. These elements come together to create a production that resonates and lingers with viewers long after the credits have rolled, partly thanks to that highly disputed final scene. (If my opinion is worth anything here, I believed that it stopped. Iykyk.)

The Lobster (2015, dir. Yorgos Lanthimos) ★★★★½

In this dystopian society, single people are required to check into a hotel in the hopes of finding a suitable partner within 45 days. If they fail to do so, they are sentenced to live the rest of their lives as an animal of their choice. It’s an absurd plot, far removed from reality, executed in a bleak and dry fashion. Yet, it manages to mirror and even satirize the world of modern relationships rather profoundly, particularly the societal pressure to couple up and find our ideal match instantly, or face harsh judgment. I doubt I've watched anything this dark in my life, but I found the unpredictable twists and turns, the deadpan humor, the sheer strangeness of it all very amusing and recommend it to anybody who wants to learn a thing or two about how blind love can be.

Ocean’s Eleven (2001, dir. Steven Soderbergh) ★★★★

I admit I was as pissed as Rusty Ryan (Brad Pitt) following his discovery that the reason why Danny Ocean (George Clooney) was keen on carrying out an elaborate heist of the three biggest casinos in Las Vegas was to win his wife (Julia Roberts) back. But, along the way, I was reeled in by the airtight pacing of the multiple scams that were a part of the scheme and the natural banter that takes place among the members of the ensemble. Also, it’s quite impossible to be annoyed at something that starred so many big names during the peak of their careers. (I have a soft spot for Matt Damon, thanks a lot Good Will Hunting.) Although I already knew what was going to happen, it was a joyride to see everything unfold. Based on the ending (and the copies of Ocean’s Twelve and Thirteen that my dad owned as a kid), I can tell that it’s far from over and I’m surely looking forward to what happens next.

So, that’s it for today’s round-up! Hope something caught your interest: I’d be happy to send 123m*vies links for any of those that aren’t available on Netflix. Feel free to hit me up too: I'm honestly up for thought-provoking discussions and straight-up keyboard smashing. Wishing you love and light always, and don’t forget to wash your hands, check your privilege and pray for our frontliners!

#recs #angeltriestoblog #life dump #movies #movies to watch during quarantine #my eyes are irreparably strained #quarantingz

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chelseawolfemusic · 7 years ago

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Chelsea Wolfe on Artist Decoded By Yoshino

Listen to the full episode here. Also available on itunes.

“What I want is to open up. I want to know what's inside me. I want everybody to open up. I'm like an imbecile with a can opener in his hand, wondering where to begin—to open up the earth. I know that underneath the mess everything is marvelous. I'm sure of it.” - Henry Miller

Digging beneath the mess of the world to find the beauty underneath is perhaps the most consistent theme in Chelsea Wolfe’s expansive discography—a theme that ties together her ceaseless explorations in unorthodox textures, haunting melodies, and mining the grandeur embedded within ugliness and pain. With her sixth official album Hiss Spun, Wolfe adopts Miller’s quest to become empowered by embracing the mess of the self, to control the tumult of the soul in hopes of reigning in the chaos of the world around us. “I wanted to write some sort of escapist music; songs that were just about being in your body, and getting free,” Wolfe says of the album before extrapolating on the broader scope of her new collection of songs. “You’re just bombarded with constant bad news, people getting fucked over and killed for shitty reasons or for no reason at all, and it seems like the world has been in tears for months, and then you remember it’s been fucked for a long time, it’s been fucked since the beginning. It’s overwhelming and I have to write about it.”

Hiss Spun was recorded by Kurt Ballou in Salem, Massachusetts at the tail end of winter 2017 against a backdrop of deathly quiet snow-blanketed streets and the hissing radiators of warm interiors. While past albums operated on the intimacy of stripped-down folkmusic (The Grime and the Glow, Unknown Rooms), or the throbbing pulse of supplemental electronics (Pain Is Beauty, Abyss), Wolfe’s latest offering wrings its exquisiteness out of a palette of groaning bass, pounding drums, and crunching distortion. It’s an album that inadvertently drew part of its aura from the cold white of the New England winter, though the flesh-and-bone of the material was culled from upheavals in Wolfe’s personal life, and coming to terms with years of vulnerability, anger, self-destruction, and dark family history. Aside from adding low-end heft with gratuitous slabs of fuzz bass, longtime collaborator Ben Chisholm contributed harrowing swaths of sound collages from sources surrounding the artist and her band in recent years—the rumble of street construction at a tour stop in Prague, the howl of a coyote outside Wolfe’s rural house in California, the scrape of machinery on the floor of a warehouse at a down-and-out friend’s workplace. Music is rendered out of dissonance—bomb blasts from the Enola Gay, the shriek of primates, the fluttering pages of a Walt Whitman book are manipulated and seamlessly integrated into the feral and forlorn songs of Hiss Spun.

The album opens with the sickening bang of “Spun”, where a lurching bottom-heavy riff provided by Chisholm and Troy Van Leeuwen (Queens of the Stone Age, Failure) serves as a foundation to a sultry mantra of fever-dream longing and desire. The first third of Hiss Spun—whether it’s the ominous twang and cataclysmic dynamics of “16 Psyche”, the icy keyboard lines, restless pulse and harrowing bellows of Aaron Turner (Old Man Gloom, SUMAC) on “Vex”, or the patient repetition and devastating choruses of “The Culling—all carry the weight of desperation, lost love, and withdrawal. Wolfe’s introspection and existential dread turns outwards to the crumbling world around us with “Particle Flux”, an examination of the casualties of war set against an aural sea of static. White noise is a constant thread through Hiss Spun, with Wolfe finding solace in the knowledge that radio static is the sound of the universe expanding outwards from the Big Bang—a reminder that even dissonance has ties to creation. The electronic thump of “Offering” serves as an ode to the Salton Sea and the encroaching calamities stemming from climate change. The obsession with white noise and global destruction carries over into “Static Hum”, where the merciless percussive battery of Wolfe’s former bandmateand current drummer Jess Gowrie helps deliver the dire weight of a sonnet dedicated to a “burning planet.” By the time the album closes with “Scrape”, Wolfe has come full circle and turned her examinations back inward, reflecting over her own mortality with arguably the most commanding vocal performance in her entire oeuvre.

“The album is cyclical, like me and my moods,” Wolfe says of Hiss Spun. “Cycles, obsession, spinning, centrifugal force—all with gut feelings as the center of the self.” And it’s an album that Wolfe sees as a kind of exorcism. “I’m at odds with myself… I got tired of trying to disappear. The record became very personal in that way. I wanted to open up more, but also create my own reality.” Every Chelsea Wolfe album is cathartic, but never before has both the artist and her audience so desperately needed this kind of emotional purging. Sargent House is proud to release Hiss Spun to the world on September 22nd, 2017.

Topics Discussed In This Episode:

Her radio show through Red Bull Music Academy called "Hypnos Hour" The process of discovering yourself as an artist The novel "1Q84" written by Haruki Murakami The film "The Seventh Seal" directed by Ingmar Bergman Writing lyrics and song writing Psychedelics opening up access portals Her collaboration with Converge Her new album "Hiss Spun"

www.chelseawolfe.net

#Chelsea Wolfe #Hiss Spun #Artist Decoded By Yoshino #Sargent House

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sargenthouse · 7 years ago

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Chelsea Wolfe on Artist Decoded by Yoshino

Listen to the full episode here. Also available on itunes.

Topics Discussed In This Episode:

www.chelseawolfe.net

#Sargent House #Chelsea Wolfe #Hiss Spun #Artist Decoded By Yoshino

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jenniferfaye34 · 6 years ago

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Guest Post ~ Sweet Horizons by Jean C. Gordon... #books #ContemporaryRomance #AmReading

Title: Sweet Horizons

Author: Jean C. Gordon

Genre: Sweet Contemporary Romance

Cover Designer: Naijla Quamber

Publisher: Upstate NY Romance

Editor: Jena O'Connor

Publication Date: May 23rd, 2019

Hosted by: Lady Amber’s PR

Blurb: There’s nothing like a wedding to bring people together, but family dynamics can be complicated, especially newly blended ones.

Sonja Cooper is thrilled that her daughter Lauren is marrying Jesse Brewster and giving her a ready-made granddaughter in the irrepressible 3-year old Shelley. The fact that Jesse is also Sonja’s business partner in the launching of the Morrison Mansion B&B is just a bonus.

Custom bike shop owner Jeff Brewster is also delighted that his son Jesse is marrying Lauren and building a new family. The one awkward aspect is the unexpected attraction he feels towards Sonja. For although Sonja feels the same spark, having been burned in her divorce from Lauren’s father, she’s determined never to be dependent on a man again.

Then the Indigo Bay Business Association pits Sonja and Jeff against each other by having their businesses compete for the coveted “New Business of the Year Award.” All’s fair in love and war, but hearts don’t always listen!

This is the 3rd novel in the Indigo Bay Second Chance Romances series, but all books can be read as standalones.

Now Live on all Retailers!

For Amazon Bestselling sweet and inspirational romance author Jean C. Gordon, writing is a natural extension of her love of reading. From that day in first grade when she realized t-h-e was the word “the,” she’s been reading everything she can put her hands on. She and her college-sweetheart husband tried the city life in Los Angeles, but quickly returned home to their native small-town Upstate New York, where she sets many of her books.

They share a 175-year-old farmhouse just south of Albany, NY, with their daughter and son-in-law, two grandchildren, and a menagerie of pets. Their son lives nearby. While Jean creates stories, her family grows organic fruits and vegetables and tends the livestock de jour.

A founding member of the Capital Region Romance Writers (Albany, NY), Jean currently serves as membership chair. She’s also a member of the Romance Writers of America and its Faith, Hope and Love Chapter, and Novelists, Inc.

Jean is currently working on a Christmas novella for the Small Town Christmas Wishes multi-author series, releasing this fall, and looking forward to writing a second book in the Sweet Promise Press No Brides Club series.

Author Links:

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2VHeohp

Twitter: https://twitter.com/JeanCGordon

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/395675.Jean_C_Gordon

Web: https://www.jeancgordon.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/JeanCGordon.Author/

Now Live on all Retailers!

Chapter ONE

“A mechanic? Seriously, Sonja?”

Jeff Brewster stopped, drinks in hand, several feet away from Sonja Cooper and the man who was questioning her. Sonja’s ex-husband, he assumed. Although they hadn’t been formally introduced, the impeccably dressed man was around the right age and had been seated in the bride’s family pew at the wedding with Sonja, little Shelley, and Sonja’s cousin.

“I thought the whole purpose behind your ridiculous move to Indigo Bay was to be independent and better your situation.”

The man’s voice should have been dimmed by the hum of voices filling the ballroom of the soon-to-be open Morrison Mansion B&B, owned by Sonja and Jeff’s son Jesse. But it came through to Jeff loud and clear.

The guy continued, “I take time out of my work schedule to fly down here … and this is what I find. You should have remembered that the national sales conference is always around this time and how much work that means for me. I get here and find out she doesn’t want me to give her away or even participate in the ceremony.”

As uncomfortable as he felt eavesdropping, Jeff stayed rooted to the spot where he’d stopped. Sonja might need him.

“Can you blame her after the way you left us with no financial support to go start a new family?” Sonja said.

“And your solution to your and Lauren’s financial needs was to spend what money you did have to move nearly 900 miles away from everyone you knew and hook up with a guy who fixes motorcycles? ”

Sonja’s back went ramrod straight, and Jeff was surprised that her ex wasn’t pushed backward by the anger radiating from her. ‘That comment doesn’t deserve a response. I have not, nor do I ever plan to, get myself into a relationship where I’m depending on a man again for anything.”

Jeff’s gut clenched. He and Sonja weren’t anything more than in-laws, grandparents who shared his son’s daughter Shelley, possibly friends. But Sonja’s lack of words in his defense and her vehemence about not depending on a man laid open buried wounds about failing his deceased wife when she’d needed him most. Sonja’s ex was right about him not having anything to offer her. Everything he’d had had gone to his wife’s medical bills.

Not that he was about to offer Sonja anything but the drink he held. He forced his seemingly weighted feet into action and finished crossing the room to Sonja.

“Here’s that drink you wanted.”

She turned around. Her eyes narrowed.

Jeff halted. Did not depending on men include him delivering the drink he’d offered to get her? He was getting one for himself after all. He hesitated, the drink between them.

In a 180 turnaround, her face came to life, making her look far too young to have a twenty-eight-eight-year-old daughter. “Thanks, Jeff.”

He released his held breath and handed her the drink, sizing up the man standing across from Sonja. The guy was shorter than him and the tailored suit he wore didn’t quite hide the paunch in what may have once been an athletic physique. Jeff tightened his stomach muscles. One thing he could say about manual labor, it was a great workout.

“I don’t think you’ve met Tom Cooper, Lauren’s father,” Sonja said.

Lauren’s father, not her ex-husband. Interesting.

“Tom, this is Jeff Brewster, Jesse’s father.”

Again with the father stuff. But what did he expect? He was Jesse’s father. And Shelley’s grandfather. Why did that make him sound so old? Being a grandfather did not change the fact that he was only forty-seven.

Jeff accepted Tom’s offered hand, gripping it a shade too hard for the handshake and noticing the softness despite the guy’s tightening grip. “Nice to meet you,” Jeff said, feeling anything but nice. The guy’s soft hands and the casual, comfortable way he wore his suit, shouted money to Jeff. As for himself, it took all of his will power not to run his finger around the constricting collar of his tuxedo shirt when Tom released his hand. In the past when he’d had to dress up, he’d had his deceased wife, Shelley, to gently stop him from fiddling with his tie or collar button. He couldn’t expect Sonja to do the same. So why was he searching her face for help?

Sonja broke their eye contact. “I need to go check with the banquet coordinator. Thanks for the drink.”

“And I have a plane to catch,” Tom said.

Seriously? The man wasn’t even staying for his daughter’s wedding reception?

Sonja headed off in one direction and her ex in another direction, leaving Jeff in the middle of the room taking a swig of his beer and trying to figure out what had just happened.

#Sweet Horizons #Jean C Gordon #Contemporary Romance #Lady Amber's Reviews & PR #Hearts & Scribbles

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getyourblisson · 8 years ago

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Self Pity and the Blossoming Red Bud Trees

How conscious are you of your self-pity patterns? What is your history of stepping into self-pity in your life? How have you used self-pity patterns; and how has it served you in getting what you want in life?

I was recently doing some work for a client; and realized how important it is to address what happens when we are in this pattern. For some it is a pattern that can literally cost them their life. So many, myself included, use this pattern to get things they want in life. Fortunately, I have stepped out of it; but like many it was a programming I picked up early on in life.

Many people have used this pattern to get attention; especially when they are not feeling worthy, or their confidence and self-esteem are running low. Most passive-aggressive people use this pattern to both keep control and to get acknowledgement for their accomplishments and to establish their value in the world with others as a result for getting past tough times. Alot of people slip into this pattern and are completely unconscious that they are doing this.

Now, I don’t want to discount the challenges in life; and the strength it may have taken to overcome circumstances. As a Coding Interpreter, and someone that has been through a fair amount of challenges in life; I thoroughly realize that we hit personal years and life cycles and have codes that can make it hard to tell when we are sharing experiences and wisdom; and when we are in a self-pitying mode.

In addition, society is a great contributor to holding people in this pattern. Let’s face it the news is rarely reporting huge successes of compassion and love; but gives a ton of attention to the person in hardship and playing the victim. I frequently have seen the one upmanship in the “poor me” stories ; each out doing the other with a hardship.

Society has a tendency to reward the self-pity patterns. Also, the elite love people in this pattern since they are easier to control, and they perpetuate cycles of remaining a victim; which brings them to feeling more like a victim and more controlled by the elite and the material things in life. It is a self-destructive pattern in multiple ways.

So, to understand more about this pattern, let’s look to the codes to show us what is happening with this. Self-pity codes out as the self that feels that it is lacking in happiness, success, or recognition; or may not be certain how to achieve success. As a result, it observes things from a variety of positions; and looks at things through the eyes of opposing sides gathering a ton of information. In doing this, it learns what to do, say, and share with others in order to find what it believes to be the gain it wants; even if that is a false sense of gain.

These codes come together in a way that is a call for assistance. It is a call to find the mentor and those that will provide success; and sometimes this can be at any cost depending on the space the individual is in. Unfortunately, in the self-pity pattern it often times calls in assistance at a very high cost; and leaves the person truly imprisoned to the one providing the assistance. In turn this furthers the self-pity pattern through being a slave to material rewards; and those that hold loans or offer assistance in order to gain instead of truly help.

The piece that I found very interesting though, was how the self-pity pattern connected to health. Now, this can have a different impact or show in different ways based on a person’s own individual codes; but I will be addressing the general aspects of this connection here.

Health is an energy pattern that connects with and promises success and help from others. It promises a secure future and protection from those that are influential in the world. Is it any wonder, that there is a sore spot then when our water and food sources are poisoned with chemicals? A lack of health makes one even more of a slave to the material world and in a greater state of dependency - which cascades into probably every inhibiting pattern we have from self worth, to victim states, to insecurity, to lack and deprivation.

However, when we allow self-pity to surface in our life it creates a code pattern that most are not looking for. Among the many things in our energy field that self-pity might interact with, health is a key one; and certainly something that many have concerns with in life. Too often I hear people talking about having health issues that seem to emerge out of nowhere.

A couple of weeks ago I created a post that connected specifically being truthful and how it affects the Pineal Gland. Well when we are in self-pity, we not only contend with that pattern in relation to our health; but often times we are distorting the truth and in a way that sets off damage to our Pineal Gland in addition to other health aspects. So in essence, the self pity party has a cascading set of effects on our health.

So when self pity interacts with the health energy pattern we are thrust into an energy pattern of hidden danger, deception and treachery from others, being controlled and silenced by those that appear to hold our fate in their hands by having the power to cause us great difficulties. It truly creates and places us in a true victim pattern; and as we know when we are unable to express things, or expressing our voice creates hardships for us, the suppression also builds up great toxicity in our bodies.

When this happens we can see a whole variety of symptoms from minor acne and skin rashes through more severe things like Liver and Kidney issues, Heart Attacks and Strokes, Brain Trauma. Things may start as a little headache or forgetting things; or maybe you experience some simple indigestion. No matter what the severity is, the more that is suppressed, the more our bodies will shut down and stop functioning. For many, these lead to painful and debilitating health concerns as time goes on.

What may have started as a simple story to get some recognition or help, turns into what can be devastating or life threatening consequences. Imagine, however, if instead you simply spoke up to start with. Imagine if you simply sought out the help you needed, asked for guidance, and focus on understanding why you feel the need for recognition; and maybe even more importantly why aren’t you giving this to yourself.

People are tired of the stories, the drama, and listening to people’s problems. However, proactively stepping out of the self pity pattern and giving yourself what you need is a victory for you and inspiration to others. It becomes a story that people want to be a part of. If attention and recognition are what you want, then get it for doing something that truly benefits you and others. Be the person that takes their own course; and is a living example of moving past life’s little speed bumps.

Spring in Indiana brings the blossoming of the Red Bud Tree. This tree does not tell a self pity story because it is shorter than the rest of the trees, or blossoms in Spring instead of Fall or Winter. Instead it showers the landscape with a brilliant color that is breathtaking. It does not look at the giant trees and say I am inferior and unable to grow because I am a Red Bud Tree.

It only focuses on it’s own beauty. It focuses on drawing in health; and as a result, every Spring it splashes a color like no other tree does. So beautiful in it’s own health that you just want to stop and pause and take in the beauty that it offers; and you want to do everything you can to support it in being that.

Take in the inspiration that it offers. Radiate your own beauty in the world instead of wrapping yourself in a blanket of self defeating stories. Be the brilliance you are, shedding your own breathtaking beauty; and radiating a health that gives you more than you can ask for.

Have you ever paid attention to the true results you are getting out of self pity patterns? Are you willing to step out of these patterns in order to give yourself true health and abundance in life? Have you ever thought about how that story you are telling is inhibiting the very thing you are trying to get?

Learn more about Jesse An’s work at:

www.compassioncodes.com

#Jesse An Nichols George #The True Hallmark Writer #Coding Interpreter #Code Interpretation #self pity #success #material gain #wealth #abundance #health #compassion #personal stories #awareness #consciousness #enlightenment #personal growth and development #spirituality #divine connection #inspiration

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nayutai · 5 years ago

Text

4 | Linked

⤳ Pairing: Taejoon x OC

⤳ Genre: angst

⤳ Summary: Waking Sleeping Beauty has its consequences

⤳ Warnings: language and tears

⤳ Word Count: 3132

Two and a half weeks of frantic research later and we are still no closer to finding a way to fix the partially broken bond between Tae and I. Elder Ashlyn believes that whatever Antoinette had managed to do before she’d been interrupted partially degraded the bond between us because the burning in my nerves is still intermittent even though Tae is still comatose. The existence of the second bond between me and Namjoon only serves to further complicate matters. Elder Ashlyn decides to call upon some of the older members of the Council for their assistance.

The group of witches barricade themselves in the downstairs study of the French estate. Apparently, the library collection at this residence is larger than the one back at her other residence so the elder witch had opted to remain in France until she and Jimin could come up with some answers. Namjoon and I definitely aren’t complaining as we spend our days exploring the country side. I always make sure to take as many pictures as I can so I can have something to show Tae when we finally wake him up. In the meantime, I make sure to tell him about all of our adventures, clinging to the hope that somewhere in there he can hear me.

“Jimin, what’s wrong?” I question. My heart beats wildly in my throat at the way his shoulders sag in defeat. Before he even opens his mouth, I know it won’t be good news.

“We know how to fix your bond with Tae.” His face still looks drawn with stress though. There’s got to be a catch somewhere that he’s not telling me yet.

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it? That’s what we wanted.” My voice pitches higher at the end, the fear at what Jimin could say taking over my vocal chords.

He motions towards the couch that I’d been sitting on just minutes ago. His hands find their way back through his hair as he explains everything to us. Apparently, the dark faeries had written a book called the Torquem Contritum, literally meaning Broken Chain. Every spell they’d created to either break or repair soulmate bonds is in that book. Unfortunately for us, the book is missing and has been for nearly three centuries. Stolen by a pack of werewolves for some unknown reason.

My stomach feels like it’s going to fall right out of my ass. Somewhere out there are the answers to all of our problems and we have no way of finding it. Hysterical laughter bursts forth from my lips before I can stop it. This is just perfect.

The search shifts as Jimin and Elder Ashlyn focus their efforts on trying to find the ancient faerie text. The walls of the manor seem to be practically humming with power from the sheer amount of spells being cast. Even as mere mortals, Namjoon and I can feel the magic in the air. It’s when Jimin sneezes and bubbles fly out of his nostrils that he becomes completely fed up with the lack of results.

~&~

I’m cuddled up next to Tae’s sleeping form when the sound of the front door slamming shut reaches my ears. It has to be Jimin. It just has to be. Namjoon is asleep in the room next door and Elder Ashlyn has been locked in her study for hours. No one else would just waltz through the front door like this other than Jimin.

~&~

“I have good news and I have bad news, which one do you want first?” He questions softly after a minute of seemingly trying to gather his thoughts.

“Bad news.” I reply. Better to go ahead and rip the bandaid off and then placate my sadness with good news.

Jimin takes a deep, shuddering breath before he answers me. “There is a ritual for fixing broken soulmate bonds.” An excited squeal flies out of my mouth as I grip one of Tae’s large hands in mine. “I’m not finished. Both soulmates have to participate in the ritual which means we’d have to wake Tae up.”

“How is that bad news?” Namjoon questions with an adorably confused look on his face.

“The ritual exists and has been proven to work, but Jess has two soulmates. A technical anomaly that shouldn’t exist and because of that once we wake Tae up and totally sever the bond we won’t be able to fix it because her body will reject attempts to recreate it.”

This can’t be real life. Just when I thought that things were finally on the up and up it comes crashing back down around me. I feel absolutely numb. I stretch out next to Tae, burying my face in his chest as I cling to him. Jimin has yet to deliver the good news but at this point I don’t really care to hear anything else.

“So what’s the good news?” I hear Namjoon ask as he reaches over to rub my back soothingly. It helps a little but it doesn’t completely ease the ache in my chest.

“What do you want to do?” Namjoon poses a question that I have no idea how to answer.

I loving run my hand through Tae’s hair that’s steadily grown out over the past few months. He looks so at peace like this. Unaware of the turmoil swirling around us.

“Wake him up.”

~&~

The air above my beloved shimmers and sparkles as the sleep spell is lifted. His face twists up in that cute way it always does when he’s just waking up but his features are twisted up in pain in the next second. He lets out a strangled shout. His back arches at an angle that can’t be anything but painful. I move to step out of Namjoon’s arms to put a stop to Taehyung’s suffering. The burning sensation in my arm that had become a constant part of my life fades and fades until it completely fizzles out at the same time that Tae calms down. I’m by his side before his eyes even open completely. His jaw is taut as he looks around dazed and confused while I gently wipe at his sweaty forehead.

“Elder Ashlyn? Jimin, what’s happening?” Tae cranes his neck to the side to see the witches standing off to my left. Neither one of them will meet his eyes.

“But I thought being under the sleeping spell was supposed to stop that from happening?” His voice rises as gets more and more hysterical. I’m trying to explain everything about how the sleeping spell only protected him and not both of us like we thought it would when Tae takes notice of Namjoon standing in a far corner of the room trying to go unnoticed.

Tae nearly loses it when I tell him exactly who Namjoon is. I’ve never seen him this angry. Ever. There was a time when I didn’t think anything could rile him up like this but I see that I’ve found his one trigger point.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Jessica? You let go of me and everything we had for him? What type of bullshit is that?” I wince at his bellowed words. It’s not like that and I know it but he’s not seeing it that way.

“Tae it’s not like that I promise. Plus Jimin said that there’s a chance that our bond could naturally rebuild itself.” I try to pacify his anger in the only way I know how but it seems that was the exact wrong thing to say. If we were in a cartoon, he’d be blowing steam out of his ears right now with how irate he is.

~&~

“Is this your place?”

“It’s fine.” I absentmindedly run my thumbnail back and forth along a small scratch in the countertop while Namjoon continues to cook.

Everything is definitely not fine.

#kim taehyung #kim namjoon #btsguild #hyunglinenetwork #taejoon #taehyung x oc #namjoon x oc #taejoon x oc #bts angst #taehyung angst #namjoon angst #bts fanfiction #bts scenarios #bangtan

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