#once again the colors failed me. so good on my tablet and then......... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

poptod · 4 years ago

Note

Would u be up to writing a crack fic where Ahk eats some dodgy food and gets violently ill from it and in his food poisoning induced delirium starts to like hallucinate and think that gods are against him and hanging out with him and stuff. so yeah. (also omfg never noticed the ostrich part in NATM!!!)

notes: YEA that fucking ostrich is hilarious and YES this sounds fun. u didn’t say if this was xreader or if this was in egypt or in the museum so i took some liberties, hope that’s alright! i also really ran with this so apologies for the length WC: 2,222

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Now, now, that’s no way to refer to your husband,” he said matter-of-factly.

“You are not - we’re not married,” you hissed.

“Not yet,” he said with a grin.

You rolled your eyes, scoffing. Ahkmen wasn’t King yet, but you still held the position as his advisor, placed there by both Ahkmen’s choice and his father’s insistence.

Now, however, you were focused on a different, more pertinent issue. An entire bag of almond date rolls had been thrown away for Ahk to find, opening the sack to find them untouched. Since he had little to no self control—which was why you were there to begin with—he immediately began eating them.

“There isn’t anything wrong with them,” he said through a mouthful.

“You don’t know that,” you said, still glaring up at him.

He swallowed before promptly stuffing another whole roll in his mouth.

“Stop that!” You said, and batted the sack out of his hand.

The cinch released and the rolls went flying down a sandy hill, reaching the river outcrop at the bottom. Ahk watched, miserably, as they disappeared.

“You have access to date rolls anytime you like in the palace,” you reminded him.

“But it’s such a long walk back, and I like it here,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the forested hill overlooking the Nile. Shade stretched over your bodies and the reed blanket beneath you, allowing the wind to cool your sun-beaten skin.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” you said, leaning back to lie down.

“How funny, then, that you are my life,” he said with a grin, following you till he propped himself up on his elbow, his free hand resting on your chest.

He stared at you, scanning you as you half-glared at him.

“What do you want?” You asked, looking up unimpressed.

“A kiss,” he said, puckering his lips.

“Shut up!”

You shoved him onto his back, laughter wracking his body.

A little while later you found yourself once more obeying Ahk’s whim, though his father had warned against that, and followed him in short steps down the tall dune. Solidified, plant-filled earth gave way for free falling sand that drifted off the slope and towards the riverbank.

The water during this time of year was at a steady but slow pace, flowing from south to north as the sun’s rising and setting indicated. Wind that once cooled you now brought hot air, exacerbated by the overzealous sun, who you imagined could burn even your ink-black skin. Sand avalanched around your still feet, landing you at Ahk’s side.

“Luncheon will be soon,” you reminded.

“I’m aware,” he said flatly. “Can’t I simply enjoy myself for once?”

“No.”

He waded out into the water, his shoulders tensing at the chill and only releasing as he went deeper. Once the red water reached his knees, just barely soaking the edge of his skirt, he called to you.

“Come join me,” he said, offering you his hand.

“We should go back to the palace,” you said.

“Come now, it’ll be hours before lunch,” he whined.

“It’s one hour. And you can’t be wearing that,” you said, gesturing to his outfit that consisted of no more than a skirt, partially torn and covered in dirt.

“Then take it off me,” he said with a sly grin.

You scowled at him, going over your options for a moment before you acted.

Once you decided, you waltzed into the river, soaking your sandals as you approached him. Satisfaction filled his gaze as you came closer, his hand still outstretched to you.

At last you took his hand, tugging him forcefully towards you. He let out a grunt, but before he could say anything, you reached forward and released the clasp keeping his skirt on him, allowing it to fall in the running water and drift away.

“Hey!” He cried, attempting to go after it, but stopped by your hand still in his. He turned back to you, a shocked look on his face as he said, “what was that for?!”

“Dawdling. Let’s go back to the palace.”

“Like this?!” He yelled, gesturing to his naked body. You snorted.

“You don’t mind. I know you don’t. You just want to be mad at me,” you said in a definitive voice.

“I don’t-“

“Come on, Prince,” you said, tugging him past you so he stumbled towards the shoreline. As he just barely got his standing you slapped his butt, pushing him forward further.

Ahkmen fell silent—as he rarely did—after he’d been dressed and was on the way to the garden, where the Pharaoh had arranged a feast he made and placed for himself, his family, and the ambassadors visiting from Punt. You were not invited, but you watched from above alongside the youngest Prince’s manservant. Ahk’s room was placed right above the western gardens, large arches within allowing a plenty good sight out, which you and Naguib took advantage of.

“He’s squirming an awful lot,” Naguib noted after several minutes of silence.

Naguib laid on his stomach, his chin propped up on his palms, in turn resting on his elbows on the stone floor. You sat nearby, leant against one of the arch pillars with a tablet of baked limestone on your lap.

At his comment you looked over the ledge, easily finding the trademark golden crown Ahk bore.

“How so?” You asked.

“Look at his legs,” Naguib said, and your eyes turned to his fidgeting crossed legs, “and his hands.”

His fists were clenching and unclenching.

“Should we check in on him?” He asked gingerly.

“.... nah,” you said after a moment. “I’m sure it’s fine. He’s probably just upset I slapped him on the arse.”

Naguib choked on his own spit, bursting into manic laughter.

“You slapped the prince’s ass??” He asked incredulously through gasps of laughter. “How’d he react to that?”

“He stripped me,” you answered, returning to your tablet with little waver in your voice.

“What -“

“That might’ve been because I took away his skirt, though. In that case, he just looked at me really strangely,” you said.

“How so?”

You twisted your expression to reflect what you remembered, a strange mix of confused, angered, and one feeling that was almost always at the forefront of Ahk’s mind—horny. Naguib burst into another round of laughter.

Several minutes later, after your conversation died down, Naguib looked back over the ledge and frowned.

“He’s gone,” he said.

“Who what?”

“Ahk, he isn’t there anymore,” he said, pointing to the empty cushion where Ahk had been sitting. You shifted to see.

“Huh. What do you think happened?”

Bursts of metal latches and swinging hinges interrupted you before either of you could think of an answer, followed by the wooden frame of the door slamming against the other wall. Both of you darted to look behind you, finding several different servants entering, a limp Prince in their arms.

Instantly you jumped to your feet. Naguib joined you, though much slower, and you both made your way to his bedside once the servants set him down.

“What happened?” Naguib asked, a hand on the bed as he looked up to one of the servants.

You set your hand over his forehead, testing his temperature, and using your sense of magic to reach into his veins, searching for a perpetrator.

“He hasn’t got a fever,” you noted, earning a nod from the servant tending him.

You made to search again before Ahk moved, groaning softly as he curled into himself, clutching his stomach.

“Ahk? Are you alright?” You asked—probably too quickly—as you knelt at his side, panic pounding its way into your heart.

“Ugh,” he grumbled, just barely wheezing out his breaths. “Alive. Right now.”

“What are your symptoms?”

“Stomach,” he breathed, halting as he flinched, his hands moving to slap over his mouth.

“Bucket!” You said to the servant, who nodded and rushed for one of the buckets in the nearest closet. “You’re going to throw up, its alright. Get it out.”

“Ughhh...” he mumbled, convulsing forward again as he attempted to hold it in.

In a flash the servant returned, rushing to set the bucket down beside the bed. You held it up, helping him scoot dizzily forward before he hurled.

Things continued in a similar fashion until the setting of the sun, the western rays finally sinking beneath the distant mountain horizon. Crickets and firebugs chirped, bringing in the cool breeze of evening, sending shivers down Ahk’s sweat-sheeted shoulders and back.

You ran your fingers through his hair, hoping to raise the curls off his heated forehead, but he raised his hand to stop you.

“No,” he slurred, “too sick... repetitive.”

“Alright,” you said softly.

His dizziness persevered from the evening into the night, but his vomitting had luckily stopped, though he did try to retch on an empty stomach twice. By then he was passed out from exhaustion, still shivering in his sleep. You stayed at his side without fail, raising his sheets up to cover him, and removing them when he broke out into another sweat.

At midnight, his eyes fluttered open.

The first thing he saw was you—surrounded by a halo of brightly glowing stars, colored in red, yellow, and purple. His sickness had faded but the delirium remained, and he reached out blindly for your face.

His fingers dragging across your eyes and cheeks brought you back from your meditation, shocked at his consciousness.

“You’re awake,” you said with a relieved sigh, your knees digging into the cold stone beneath you.

“Hathor?” He mumbled weakly, his eyes still half-closed.

“No, no,” you said, taking his hand down from your face and clasping it in your own hold. “Piye. Remember? How do you feel?”

“Am I dead?”

“Not as far as I know. You exhibit all the tell-tale signs of being alive,” you said, chuckling.

“... Bastet?”

“Also no. Piye.”

“Peets....” he mumbled before promptly falling back asleep.

The next time he awoke was a little later on, towards the very, very early morning. He once again broke you out of your meditation, this time with words rather than smothering your face. His state of aberration had yet to improve.

“Piye?” He asked softly, a husk of a voice.

“Yes,” you said, smiling. He remembered your name. “How do you feel?”

“When d.. you’re... you’re glowing,” he murmured.

“I what?”

He reached forward, and you flinched away, stiffened by a soft touch that traced down your jawline.

“You’re... glowing,” he said, louder, drawing in a deep breath as sweat began to bead on his forehead.

“Calm down, Ahk,” you warned him, pushing the hair off his forehead. “You’re going to work yourself up.”

“No,” he said with a strange sense of urgency, holding your face in the palm of his hand. You subconsciously leaned your cheek into his touch. “No, I need to see you.”

“I’m right here, with you.”

“Not in my dreams,” he breathed out, the words brushing his parted lips, now paler than ever.

Fever.

Vomitting.

Fatigue.

Gagging. Weakness. Dizziness. Chills. Sweating.

What would your father say?

He didn’t need to consult the numerous stacks of books shoved into his office to know what Ahk suffered from, but he was far away in Thebes, and you wouldn’t dare leave the Prince’s side, in fear of his condition and the wrath of his father should he suffer grievously.

“I told you not to eat those date rolls,” you chided, continuing to thread your fingers through his hair. That must’ve been the cause—sickness carried through infirm food. You could think of nothing else.

He didn’t say anything. Not for a little while, at least. He continued to blink, albeit slow, and stared unceasingly into you.

“He is in your eyes,” he whispered, his own eyes flickering between yours. “And... speaking.”

“Who do you see?” You asked softly, suddenly reluctant to blink.

“Heka.”

Not a God of magic, but the personification of it. The genuine representation of healing and enchantments. His fertile, black skin made of the Nile’s silt was reflected in your own complexion—darker than night, flanked by eyes that appeared to glow against the midnight of you.

“What is he saying?” You said, readjusting yourself beside his hand, a seriousness edging your tone. Claims of Heka were not to be taken lightly.

“Pledging.. love.”

“For who?”

“... me,” he whispered.

“Beloved of...”

“Beloved of you,” he interrupted before you could finish your thought, a smile creeping at the edges of his pale lips.

You chuckled softly, reaching up to stroke your thumb over the back of his hand. He was returning to a saner state of mind.

“Perhaps so,” you murmured.

#ahkmenrah x reader #Night at the Museum #Ahkmenrah

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give-grian-rights · 4 years ago

Text

Bets Against The Void (Whitelist AU)

Well.. I DID IT. This is only chapter 1. I planned on this being a one-shot, but if it was, it would take me so long to finish it. So, chapters it is.

This is crossposted on AO3. I don’t exactly stand with a lot of what it’s doing, but it’s not particularly easy to find fics on Tumblr I feel..and I will never go back to Wattpad. Not again.

@petrichormeraki Whitelist AU fic :)

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

They had just left the server to practice for MCC, that was all. Wilbur would be so proud, the two youngest would be sure, if they managed to win one. For Tommy, it would be his first win not aided by his (Troubled, distrustful, anarchist-) family, and Tubbo’s first-ever.

Teams for the next MCC had yet to be announced, but it hadn’t mattered. Tommy had been invited back to every competition since MCC 2, after all- and the competition had already become accommodating to Tubbo, following the..Circumstances, of The Festival.

The admins hosting the event were concerned, following the events they’d hear of about their server. They hadn’t known much; no one outside their world, really did. But, well..When asked about the status of Wilbur, and if he’d attend- the silence and reaction of the residents of his world were telling.

Barely a handful of players were at the server, practicing. It was calming, for the teenagers. The two had primarily stuck together, as they tended to do after the Pogtopia-Manburg war. The siblings were back together again. And they had each other- they trusted each other, unquestionably. Something more than they could say about anyone else.

By the time they made it back to the world hub, they were already exhausted. The timezone of their server would be late, they were sure. Their arms ached, and legs wobbled with every step. They both felt as if they could fall down, anytime.

Tubbo’s arm was looped around Tommy’s, content to be in the presence of his best friend, without the responsibility of the world on either of their shoulders’. Other players had barely batted an eye at the two- it wasn’t uncommon for teenagers or children to server hop by themselves. Nor for someone passing through a world hub to have outlandish and otherworldly scars. For them to both be teenagers, and scarred so heavily- well, that was a different story.

Still, not a soul stopped them as the tall blond led his friend to a nearby empty portal. As they stood still, Tubbo instinctively released his arm from the boy. Tommy kept Tubbo grounded to him as he worked, talking idly to them and inquiring about build plans. As Tubbo talked, Tommy quickly fidgeted with his communication tablet.

The thin, hovering device was pressed against the large obsidian frame of an otherwise normal, unlit portal. Pressing out of his inventory, which by mandatory was empty, Tommy opened his server list. The individually named servers popped up.

Some servers were empty, others grayed out and unavailable, no longer tended to. Muscle memory brought him to Dream SMP. The status of the server was buffering- it’s availability of connection unclear. It wasn’t unusual- not for world hubs filled with tens of thousands of players at any given time.

With their SMP selected, the portal flickered for a moment- sparks of neon green rippling within, before quickly fading. The whooshes and crackling of a portal being lit, before failing, caught Tubbo’s ears.

“Uh...Is- is the portal good? Did it light? Why does it feel like it’s uh- not?” They tilted his head to the side, towards Tommy. The blond paused for a moment, blinking in bewilderment with his brows furrowed. “No- no it’s not lit..Uh.. What the shit? Hold on, Tubbo-” he huffed, pulling his tablet off the obsidian wall with ease to inspect it.

Blue eyes squinted at the screen. At the edge of the selection for Dream SMP, was an error sign, much to Tommy’s slight horror. “Fucking..Shit-” he hissed, pressing the icon. “‘Server closed for maintence’- what the fuck!” The teen spat. That got a few heads turned him, at his shouts. Most continued walking, merely giving him a wary glance.

Tubbo’s mouth dropped, scrambling for words. “Wh- why? I- I mean, I guess it makes sense- the- the server’s been acting up, and stuff- but- with what noticed?” He squawked, fumbling with their own device. Gliding their hand over the graphics, each thing he touched was read aloud to him quietly in his comm systems.

While Tubbo worked on locating his own messages, Tommy already found his. He scoffed indignantly, his hand clenching at the frame of the tablet. “The chat system for the server’s down too! Holy shit, fucking- what? Were no one fucking prepared for if we all get knocked out of the server at once? What the fuck!” Slight panic edged into his angered words as he shouted.

“Guess not,” Tubbo shrugged, pushing his tablet away, already frustrated with it. “Did Dream send out any sort of alert, for this?” Tommy only scoffed. The brunnett was sure he was rolling his eyes, as well. “Yeah, with a three-minute fuckin’ notice! Just told everyone to figure it out for themselves, while he fixed shit! What a lil bitch!”

Glares were most certainly being sent towards them by now, Tubbo was sure. Gently pressing himself against the visibly upset and angered boy, he looped their arms back together, reassuringly squeezing his hand.. “We should get out of the way. I’m sure other people are waiting, there’s nothing we can do.” The brunett resigned himself to being the level-headed one between them.

“We can’t just fucking stay here, Tubbo! We ain’t got shit to eat, or anything. It’s not exactly like we thought of packing shit for a few hours of practicing!” The boy protested. He had just gotten L’manburg back, finally, a place he and his Tubbo were okay.

After a moment of silence, Tubbo would speak up once more. “I started installing some more, uh..Hack clients-” “TUBBO WHAT THE SHIT!” “Please, I’d really like to not get in major trouble today.” They’d wince, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. The feeling of stares lingered on his back.

“I got a client that should let me into the world last opened on a portal- which, in this case, should be Dream’s server. So we can get on there and- “Call Dream a dick.”

“Exactly. I wouldn’t think it’s dangerous, or unstable or anything to be there..I’m sure he and the rest of Dream Team are there.”

Walking back to the portal, guiding Tubbo back with him, Tommy unattached his own device from the frame. “Uh, want me to put yours on the portal? Or do you got it, Big Man?” The blond tilted his head towards the other boy expectantly.

Dipping their head in thought for a moment, Tubbo hummed. “You can do it. It’s all set up- besides I already turned my text-to-speech off, I was getting a headache from the voice.” They decided, handing off his tablet to Tommy.

Within moments, Tommy had gotten it set up. Rather than having an individual server selected, the “Connect” button had been highlighted as seen as he reached his friend’s serverlist.

A flurry of colors splashed within the portal, before settling on a distorting purple. Tommy squinted, glancing towards Tubbo. “That..Does not look like Dream’s server color.” Tubbo tilted his head curiously. “Well.. The site did say it could do that- It’s kinda just ripping the IP and plugging it in illigitmently- it’s incapable of displaying the correct resource, basically.” He played with his friend’s sleeve idly.

“..Fucking- alright, sure. Assuming this is safe- are you ready to hop in?” He pushed down any doubts. Really, nothing worse than what the two already lived through could happen. Tubbo grinned, nodding their head. And so, Tommy led the boy into the portal alongside him. Swirling particles filled his vision, as they flurried around the two- and then they were stumbling to the ground.

Tommy’s eyes shot opened- a dull, thudding pain in the back of his head, as he got his footing. Tubbo was doing the same, losing his hold on Tommy to lean against the portal frame to catch himself. “...Well. Fuck.” Tommy hissed, rubbing his temple as he looked around the room.

The large portal behind them had dropped them into a large, pyramid-shaped room. The floor below them was sandy, greenery and bookshelves pressed against the walls. Tommy’s mouth dropped to the floor as he viewed ahead of him.

“W-What the fuck! What the shit these people- th-there’s just! Diamond armor! On display - t-they have fucking elytras! Holy fucking shit! ” He stammered out the words, his brows furrowed together in complete bewilderment.

“What? That’s insane!..This- this sounds like an ocean? Why can I hear water? Are we on an island?” Tubbo warily stepped, testing his footing.

Tommy instinctively reached back to grab his friend’s hand protectively, nodding vigorously. “I think we’re fuckin’ underwater, or some shit! There’s a water column, and- and the walls fuckin’ tilt, and then it’s all water and shit! The ceiling is just the ocean!”

..Descriptions never seemed to be Tommy’s strong suit. Nonetheless, Tubbo nodded along to the words, warily listening. All that could be heard was the crashing water overhead the water-bound structure. The boy shivered with unease at this.

“Are there any players? Did- did us joining get sent through the comm system, do you think?” Tubbo summoned his comm’s back to his hands, but Tommy must’ve already had his out. “Fuckin- i’m still connected to Dream’s. It didn’t give me the option to look at whoever the fuck’s this is. Tommy growled, uneasiness and anxiety gnawing at him.

And then, there was a flash of light and particles. A man in a..Bee-themed, space/futuristic-Esque suit appears on the other side of the room. Another, far more mundane seeming man, manifested next to him.

The energy in the room shifted to something unfamiliar to the two teens. Tubbo shivered, desperately grasping tighter at Tommy. The blond boy had stood rigid, blue eyes cold and wary as he stared challengingly at the two strangers.

While the helmeted, bee-colored man visibly had plates of enchanted Netherite glittering on him, the human beside him was bare of any protection, defenses, or armor. The teen didn’t know what to make of either of them.

Pacifyingly holding up a weaponless hand, the helmet man cleared his throat. “We weren’t particularly expecting visitors, or any surprise drop-ins this late to our season.” Their voice wasn’t accusatory, but it certainly edged on the skeptical side

From the yellow-tinted helmet, Tommy could barely make out a faint reflection of light in purple eyes. His throat felt full of vile, the blond boy practically growling as he held he pushed himself in front of Tubbo.

In retaliation, Tubbo gently shouldered the boy before poking out beside him, facing vaguely towards the man who spoke. “I’m sorry for him- this..This is an accident, uh, Sir.” They chuckled anxiously.

The helmeted man- who by now, Tommy had presumed was the admin- tilted his head. “While accidents aren’t necessarily uncommon on a server such as ours- one quite like this, so far into our progress certainly is.” The Southern fellow beside the bee-helmet man spoke up, his expression passive and at ease as he stared over the boys.

“You two don’t look like you’re here to give us issues- don’t you agree, X?” The helme- X, apparently- surveyed the two teenagers for a moment more, before nodding. “Good, then.” The human(?) smiled, dipping his head.

Tommy scoffed, glaring at the man. “Where the fuck are we?” The blond’s eyes flickered between the two adults stood opposite of them. While the man remained unphased, glancing expectantly at X- said player took a step back, tilting their head.

“Well, considering there’s not really a way to accidentally derp your way into here- I’d expect you’d know.” While X wasn’t unkind, his tone was expectant. Accusatory, maybe.

Before Tommy could open his mouth to blabber and cover their asses, Tubbo put his arm out in front of the other. “It really was an..An accident- it wasn’t this server we were trying to get into- wherever we are.” He’d chuckle uneasily, shifting their weight. They weren’t sure what to make of their unknown surroundings.

“Our home-server seems to be down.. And- no one told us where to go, so I said i knew a way we might be able to go back, and uh..It got us here.” They’d finish, anxiety spiking as he was unable to gauge their reaction.

“Yeah- and we’re not gonna fuckin’ do shit. We don’t even know where the fuck we are. Just- leave us be! Or send us back, or some shit-” “Alright, alright! Hey, we’re not fighting with you!” X would cut off Tommy, who’s blue eyes shot a cold glare to the slightly frazzled man.

The younger Brit couldn’t help but get amusement from the way the masked man was so visibly startled from his swears. “You two..Don’t particularly look in the condition to just.. stay in the World Hub. Do you have someplace else to go? How long have you been locked out?”

Beside the apparent Admin, who had not-so-subtly manifested a transparent screen in front of him, the human looked in exasperated amusement at the helmeted fellow. “Forgetting something there, Shashwammy?” The Southern man spoke with fondness.

Before the admin could react, the man turned back towards the accidental intruders. “You’re in the wonderful world of hermits and crafting, my friends! Hermitcraft Seven, to be specific. I’m Joe, of the Hills variety- and this is my pal, Xisumavoid! Though he’ll likely go by just about anything you can think to call him.”

Tommy looked beside him at Tubbo for a moment, his brows pinched together as he quietly scoffed. This is gonna get really tiring if he talks like this all the time. The blond thought absentmindedly.

In the meantime, Tubbo himself was speechless- positively bursting at the seams. “Hermitcraft?! This is Hermitcraft? Oh, oh void I just broke into Hermitcraft-” They babbled for a moment, jittering as he attempted to compose himself. Tommy raised a brow, eyeing them.

“You say that as if that means fuckin’ anything to me, Tubbo-”

“I. I’m so sorry, uh, Mr. Hills, Mr. Void!” Their voice cracked, as the words ran out of his mouth. “I swear this isn’t something we do on the regular, I’d never want to disrespect anyone, or any server- especially not Hermitcraft!” He’d continue, laughing anxiously.

“I’m a huge fan of the work done here! Just, everything I’ve seen- uh, and, and heard, about the Hermits! Fu- frick. Uh. Sorry!” Tubbo finished, practically panting.

While Joe had seemed appreciative and amused, Tommy couldn’t get a read on Xisuma. Not that he particularly cared what either of them felt; he barely understood the meaning of the words from Tubbo, all that mattered was they weren’t about to belittle the other boy.

“Mr. Void.. That- that might be a new one-” The British admin had quietly chuckled easily, shaking his head. “No, no need for that. I’m Xisuma, or X. I’m glad you appreciate our work, the Hermits around here work non-stop. And we’d be glad to try and help you two, yes?”

“We don’t fuckin’ need help- We stay here, or we don’t. We don’t need pity or some shit. If you’re gonna get all fussy at the fuckin’ idea of us staying in the Worldhub, then just leave us be here, I guess. We don’t need anyone’s help or charity.” Tommy growled, his arms crossed stubbornly. He could hear Tubbo sharply inhale beside him, weakly nudging at his side.

The two inhabitants, Hermits, Tommy mused, seemingly shared a look for a moment. Tommy’s blue eyes were unyielding from them, as Tubbo’s quiet babble of scolding went through deaf ears.

Slowly nodding, the helmeted admin stepped back. “You two don’t have anywhere you could go?” He’d ask, hesitantly. Tommy glanced beside him, at the short, blinded boy. Blue from Ghostbur weakly stained his hands.

No one else outside of Dream SMP had learned about Wilbur’s fate, not yet. That certainly wasn’t a conversation either of them was willing to have yet, with anyone. Dream would be mad. Dream would be furious if word got out on the nature of his server.

With that thought, Tommy tore his gaze away from his friend. The boy stared as close as he could to the Admin’s eyes, a challenging look in his hardened blue eyes. “Nowhere.”

Xisuma conceded, nodding. “Fine, then.” He agreed, his tone far softer than it had any right to be, from such an imposing figure. Tommy pondered for a moment if the Admin was taller than him. The possibility made Tommy feel all the more disdain towards him.

Tommy tilted his head, watching expectantly. “Well then? Can we just be- be fuckin’ left here, or some shit? We don’t need to be babysat.” “Tommy, please, don’t pick a fight here-” “Yeah, yeah, Tubbo..”

Xisuma winced, nodding. “Sure.. If you want to be left alone, that’s fine. There’s Elytras’ in the room behind us, and rockets in the chest. That’s the only way to get out, besides from the Nether. It should be linked to our Netherhub, so you shouldn’t have too big of a trouble, yeah?”

Tubbo hesitantly nodded, his grip tight around Tommy’s hand. “Alright, then.” Xisuma nodded, glancing towards Joe. Tommy had all but forgotten the man was there, the Southerner having been quietly observing them. “Joe, you’re free to go, my friend.”

To Tommy’s perspective, Joe certainly seemed to have some reservations. Whether they were about leaving teenagers unattended or leaving strangers in their server, the blond wasn’t sure. Nonetheless, Joe accepted his fate, nodding breezily before enderpearling his way out of the spawn.

Xisuma turned back to the two, one final time. Tommy didn’t miss the way that Xisuma flinched at Tubbo’s large scars, nearly growling when he saw the admin’s reaction.

“You two have been competing in MCC.” That caught Tubbo, off-guard. The brunnett’s brows furrowed together, tilting his head. “Huh? How do you know that-”

“My Hermits have been competing there for a good while. I need to keep track of them all, I haven’t missed the team announcements.” Xisuma explained breezily, something akin to fondness in his tone. “The other Hermits said that they love MCC, and the other participants. And that they trust almost all of them- don’t take advantage of that, alright?”

Quietly scoffing, Tommy looked away. Beside him, Tubbo nodded. “We’ll try- thank you. For letting us stay here, just for now.”

Despite the situation, Tubbo couldn’t help but feel slightly giddy at the idea of being in a Hermitcraft world. He hadn’t been able to hear about, or see anything about their recent achievements in a long while.

“If you need anything, don’t be afraid to ask. I’ll add you two to the communication connection. Most of the Hermits have a..Tendency of getting themselves in trouble, quite a bit. Don’t be alarmed if someone spawns, they’re almost never here long enough to be dragged in,” He spoke casually, easily. Tommy wondered for a moment what exactly their definition of trouble was.

“Someone will be here to check on you, soon. Don’t get yourselves hurt, please. We’re happy to help here.” He continued, glancing between the two. Tubbo fidgetted, nodding numbly, as he could practically hear Tommy roll his eyes beside him.

Quiet mechanical whirring buzzed as holographic, shimmering bee-like wings expanded behind him. “Good, then.” Xisuma dipped his head, before familiar red-and-white rockets appeared in his hands.

Before Tommy could lung to cover Tubbo’s ears, Xisuma had already taken off. White particles were left behind him, but the expected boom never came, merely a small pop and smoke. The sight of them, nonetheless, couldn’t help but leave a bitter taste in Tommy’s mouth.

While Tubbo was visibly startled, cringing and nearly tumbling over, he didn’t feel his chest constricting the way it usually would, typically. They’d both consider it a win, for now. Tubbo fell over into Tommy’s arm, as his best friend pulled him into a side hug.

They both slid down against the wall. The conversation alone had taken out all remaining energy they had left in them. Tommy’s gaze surveyed his friend for a moment. “So,” He said pointedly, Tubbo lifting his head to face him.

“What the fuck was that, and what the hell is Hermitcraft?”

#dream smp fic #whitelist au #dream smp #hermitcraft #hermitcraft fic #mika-posts #mcyt fic #bets against the void fic #tubbo underscore #tommyinnit #mcyt fanfiction

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kithtaehyung · 4 years ago

Text

Room 3 | PJM

summary: it’s just another normal day for you at the wellness center until it suddenly isn’t. note: standalone for now! part 2 is semi-written but no solid plans atm. note 2 (june 7th, 2021): this will be revamped in the future! i really enjoyed this premise so i won’t get rid of it completely. pairing: idol!jimin x massage therapist!reader genre: fluff word count: 9,188

Thirteen.

The sidewalk underneath your feet has thirteen cracks in the little square you stand in. Sliding a small rock into one of them provides you with something to do until you hear the squeaking, screeching brakes of a bus struggling to a stop in front of you.

You adjust the strap on your shoulder as the doors open with a hydraulic hiss, and you give the driver a small smile before finding a place to stand. There aren’t many people commuting today, so it’s a pleasant surprise that you get to sit down for a change.

It was just another day in your life. You got up this morning and did your routine, listened to your wake up music on repeat, and checked that you had your wallet, phone, keys, and earphones before heading down to the bus stop. The very same earphones are still on as you now have your library on shuffle, and you hum along to the “na na na’s” of the current tune.

Living in Seoul for about a year now, you were pretty settled in. The people were accommodating, the quality of life was much better than where you were before, and you felt like you could live here for the rest of your days. It was insanely tough at first, but the initial culture shock and feeling of loneliness lessened as you made friends and befriended coworkers. You don’t have many people close to you here, but you can count on the ones that are.

You turn your head to gaze out the windows. Shimmering glass buildings tower over you, shops and street signs whiz by, and people look like they’re walking in slow motion as you follow them with your eyes. Blips of pastels and bold colors mingle together and you look down to observe your own monochrome uniform. For the place you worked at, you didn’t expect the clothes to look luxurious, but they’re actually designed very well. And they’re soft.

That’s enough for you.

Your stop is next, so you hook your arm around the nearest pole to prep. The steel has a coldness that seeps into your sleeve, but your only thought is wondering what you should eat for lunch.

Why do you feel so tense?

The sign right above you emits a sense of relaxation, but there’s a tightness in your shoulders. Odd. You lock your phone with one hand and grip the strap of your pack with the other before taking a deep breath. You count down from three before letting it out.

The hiss of your exhale mingles with the standard sounds of the city, and you concentrate on the flow of life both inside your body and the environment around you. You did this often when you felt out of place, and it served to recalibrate you and your thoughts. Storing your phone away, you make your way inside the frosted glass doors.

Working at one of Seoul’s prestigious wellness centers was definitely something you were proud of. If there was one thing you’ve wanted for years, it was for a way for you to massage yourself. Everyone seemed to love your massages, but no one knew how to massage you. That is, until you came here. You’ve never experienced people knowing exactly where you were hurting and effectively working out all of those kinks during one session. It was magical.

What is even more magical is the fact that you joined the ranks of those same angels from above. You love them, and they love you.

“Good morning! I hate you!”

Well.

“Morning, Yoon,” you respond lowly as you take your earphones out and store them. “Love you, too.” As you walk around front reception, Yoon smiles at you and comments,

“No, really, I think you legitimately repulse me now.”

You shoot her a look of pure terror. “What the hell did I do?”

“Nothing,” she sighs, dropping her eyes to the papers in front of her.

In a state of panic, your mind speeds through any events that happened since the last time you saw her. Did you accidentally ignore her once? Look at her funny? Yoon was big on body language.

You didn’t realize you were still staring at her until she tapped the glass counter between you two. “Hey, I’m sorry. I know you’re nervous. I just thought jokes would help.”

What?

“I’m not nervous, just tense for some reason. Although, you definitely made it worse,” you admit, “I might need to take a longer break today and somehow get Jay to rub my shoulders. Maybe I can bribe him with samgy--”

“--Uhh, forget him; have you even checked your client list for this week? I’ll do anything if you switch your schedule with me.”

Double-what?

“Okay, now you’re just being weird,” you chuckle, “But also, no, I haven’t checked yet. It’s Monday!”

In a sing-song manner, Yoon warns, “You better check your schedule before I snatch it...”

You laugh again and wave her off, but her words only mess with your head. As you make your way to the back room, you fidget and check your phone for any notifications you missed between when you exited the bus and now. You don’t know what you expected: still nothing.

As if you feel the weight of eyes on you, you glance up and notice some people are giving you looks.

What in the hell is going on? It’s 7am on a Monday and therefore way too early for people to be this upset with you. Yoon may have said she was joking, but by the looks of everyone else...

A hand claps onto your shoulder, causing you to yelp and feel like you rocket right into the ceiling. Only the hearty laugh beside you clues you in on who you were getting revenge on later.

“Geez, someone’s not looking forward to today.”

“You better sleep with one eye open tonight, Jay,” you seeth, hands rubbing your temples as you struggle to steady your heart rate. “Also, what’s so special about today? Yoon was being strange just a second ago, too.”

Your coworker looks at you like you have seven heads. “Okay, first off: if I had the amount of adrenaline in your body right now, I wouldn’t be able to sleep at all. And second: you didn’t check your schedule yet?”

They didn’t know it, but they were going to be the death of you.

“No, I ha--It’s a Mon--you know what, I’m going to check now; you guys are killing me.” You leave Jay in a rush and race to the employee lounge. The anxiousness in your chest is bubbling over.

Jay’s on your heels, whispering loudly, “I can spoil it right now if you want!”

You respond in a low voice, “Don’t you have a client to see?”

“Nope!”

You round the corner and see the back room door is already open, so you power through and head straight for the docking table on the other side. Everyone working here has a personal tablet, and you unplug yours from the charging port. Pressing through the menus as quickly as the tablet allows, you feel a thin layer of sweat on your skin. Touch ID. Login. Main Menu. Scheduling. Weekly Outlook. Confidentiality Prompt.

Shit.

Confidentiality Prompts are for the therapists that have huge clients scheduled. They’re put in place for celebrities and business executives to have guaranteed privacy.

With a start, you wonder why the hell Yoon wanted your schedule. Everyone here is wary of high-profile people. It’s a whole different experience since they basically hold your life in their hands in each session. You recall a horror story that happened when you first started working there, and still don’t know where that employee ended up.

Your only problem is that you’ve never had to deal with this before. Jay, Yoon, and a bunch of the veterans have, but this is going to be your first.

“Damn, yours is longer than mine was,” Jay observes before you squeeze your tablet to your chest. “That looks intense.”

“Umm, snoopy much?” You shift your body away from him and speed read through the very long, very wordy window. When you hit Accept, another window pops up that you have to read through. This one is even more fine print. You suddenly realize something and dart your eyes up. “Wait, you got one, too?”

Jay nods and looks away, and he actually looks nervous. “Yeah, we all got them this time.”

Now that is alarming. This client must be something else.

Window after window comes up and you wonder if you should probably read these in earnest. It’s starting to genuinely scare you.

If this is that big of a deal…

You banish that thought from your mind as soon as it appears. Elephants would have to fall from the sky before you believe someone from that group is booking you here.

You hit Accept before you realize you didn’t actually read and instead mindlessly scrolled through the prompts. As the screen buffers, you bite your lip.

The screen goes back to normal and presents your schedule for today. Your coworkers are living their normal lives, putting their stuff in their lockers and getting materials ready for various sessions. Jay is being completely normal as he can’t stop laughing at your expression.

And your life is anything but normal anymore because elephants are dropping from the clouds and the words Monday, 8am, Park Jimin are staring you right in the face.

“You mean to tell me that you cleared your morning schedule just to see my reaction?”

Jay laughs in earnest. “Yes, and it was so worth it.”

You are failing to stop bouncing your leg as you wait at one of the tables in the employee lounge. There’s a cup of coffee in front of you, but you already know you aren’t going to drink a drop of it. You are about to be in close quarters with the equivalent of a royal family member, so coffee breath is out of the question.

Suddenly self-conscious, you ask, “Do you have a toothbrush I can borrow?”

“I actually do. Let me grab it.”

As your friend gets up, you scrutinize the table in front of you to avoid peoples’ lingering stares. How everyone somehow knew your upcoming client before you did was a mystery, but you don’t really care enough at the moment to find out.

Jay hands you what you asked for and you thank him before heading to the bathroom to freshen up. After you brush your teeth like a madman, you check your face for discrepancies and sigh at your choice of almost no makeup today.

You can’t help but wonder if the thirteen cracks in the sidewalk are laughing at you at this very moment.

Checking your smart watch, you realize you have either the longest or shortest 30 minutes of your life left before your appointment with Jimin.

You huff out a laugh at how ridiculous that sounds. You refuse to believe this is real until you physically see him in the room. Confidentiality forms or not, the name Park Jimin or not, you still can’t wrap your head around the situation.

Speaking of the forms, you assume that they were printed out for company records as soon as you submitted yours to sign. You decide to head back to the front desk after throwing Jay his spare toothbrush, to which he responds with pure disgust.

It was like Yoon was waiting for you because as soon as you open the glass doors, she’s hounding you, “So what did you do in a past life? Did you save an emperor? Rescue a prophet?”

“I don’t know about a past life, but I did save a turtle when I was five.” You tap your fingers on the reception desk and stare at the orchids on the counter. “Or at least I thought I did. I probably just made his life harder. Can I see a copy of the forms I signed?”

“I’m gonna go with the saved prophet. Which one was it?”

“Yoon,” you beg, desperate as you glance at the abstract clock above her and see that you have 20 minutes left. A mere 20 minutes until he is supposed to arrive to check-in.

“Okay, okay! Hold on,” she chuckles and rolls her chair away from you and towards the printer. “By the way, if I wasn’t the one checking him in, I would’ve hijacked your entire day already.”

Her words are garbled since you are laser-focused on rubbing an orchid petal between your fingers. Its soft and supple touch is calming you, and just for a second, you are able to clear your thoughts.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when Yoon hands you the forms. The paper is still warm as you thank her and head towards the doors.

“Oh, wait,” Yoon calls behind you, and you turn to see her grabbing another small stack of papers. When she extends them over the counter, she explains, “I was waiting until you saw your schedule to hand these over. Read through them carefully.”

“Thanks,” you whisper, even more anxious than before.

Your heart jumps into your throat when you see what Yoon handed over. You don’t even remember the walk to the back lounge and to one of the secluded tables; all you can focus on are the papers in front of you. They look like they were written on and scanned before being sent over to the wellness center.

It’s Jimin’s handwriting.

You’ve seen his penmanship before. There is no mistaking the neat, determined strokes. Even the way he checked the boxes and circled the pain points on diagrams proves very... well, him. Any other uncertainty dissolves after you see his birthday filled in, as well.

This is really happening.

You gently slam the papers on the table and hunch over to commit the information to memory. Months and months of schooling have sharpened this ability of yours, and you are determined to imagine this as just another client you have to memorize.

Light to medium pressure. Avoid anything above light pressure around the spinal area and lower back. Shoulders, calves, and feet are pain points. Facial area priority.

A trip to the countryside right at this very moment sounds like a fantastic idea.

Jay plops into the seat in front of you, and that thought bubble bursts. “This color on your face suits you. Reminds me of what’s-his-name, Edward.”

“How much time do I have,” you question, not even acknowledging him.

“Seven minutes.”

“Of course,” you mutter before standing, the irony not lost on you. “I’ll go prep now.”

You don’t see Jay waving you off. “If you survive, I’ll see you on the other side!”

A laugh escapes you. Personally, your only goal is to make it through five minutes. If you pass away after that, you would have no regrets.

You stand behind the reception doors with your tablet to your chest, staring at the wall across the way. The subtle wallpaper pattern is a great choice for this place, you decide.

Indescribable anxiousness and fear aside, you have a job to do. As long as you keep your outside actions professional, your inner turmoil can be whatever the hell it wants. You’ve been in this profession long enough and you know you’re ready to do this. You’ve seen the whole spectrum of human emotion in this line of work. No matter how well of a job you do, there are still people that are never happy. As long as you focus on keeping the client’s wellness and health in mind, you keep your consciousness clear.

Then again, you haven’t had to deal with a client like Park Jimin before, let alone a high executive or well-known actress.

A muffled “Good morning and welcome” reaches your ears and you push yourself off the wall. The frosted glass only allows you to see so much, but you can make out a few guys standing in the front area. Two are taller and only wearing dark clothes, and the other is a bit shorter. The latter is looking to be wearing a beanie, light colored top, and dark pants.

You can’t hear anyone talking other than Yoon, but suddenly the shorter one makes his way to your doors.

It’s him. You’re absolutely sure.

Steeling your resolve, you pull your side open. With a smile, you look straight at your client’s sunglasses-and-mask-clad face and greet him just like you would anyone else, “Good morning and welcome. Am I speaking to Mr. Park?”

He stills for a second before he nods.

“Nice to meet you. We’ll be in Room 3.”

Jimin bows to you slightly and whispers a thank you, and you follow him to your room. Your heart is rattling nonstop as you note the height difference between the two of you. It isn’t as bad as you thought it was.

The door to Room 3 is already open, and when Jimin enters you stop at the entrance.

You lied earlier. None of this feels real. He’s physically in the room, and you still don’t think this is happening.

You let Jimin put his bag down on the corner chair before gliding into the formal greeting, “Since this is our first session, please let me know if there’s anything you need. I did go over your forms, but if there was something that wasn’t specified, feel free to ask. I want to make sure all of your needs are met today.”

“Your name?”

You falter. “What?” Did he just...

Jimin takes off his sunglasses, and you feel all oxygen leave your body. He’s still wearing a mask, but you can see that his eyes are creased just a tad. “It wasn’t specified on the forms. Your name?”

A part of you just chalks this up to being standard Jimin behavior, but the other part of you wonders if he really didn’t know whom he was getting a massage from. Did Yoon not tell him? Check-in is supposed to confirm your specialist.

You also note that his voice is infinitely softer in person. TV and recordings did not do this man justice.

Keeping it professional is all you must do. You tell him your name, apologizing for not introducing yourself already. It’s also on your tablet, so you show him while you talk.

Jimin leans forward to read it and smiles again. “Ah. Pretty.”

Are your five minutes up? Can you pass away now? He’s a mere six feet away from you but it feels like his presence is engulfing you.

All that escapes you is a tiny thank you. “So, mhm,” you clear your throat and yell at yourself to get it together, “Go ahead and undress down to your comfort level and lie down on the bed with the sheet on top of you. That remote there is connected to my tablet, so just take it off the charger and bring it to the bed. You can press the green button whenever you’re ready.”

Jimin looks towards the console table next to him and sees the white remote. It’s docked in a sleek charging port and stands out against the light wood. He nods, and you give him one last smile before reaching out and closing the door.

The only words your brain can process at the moment are not work appropriate, so you just go on autopilot to the employee lounge. You expected Jay or even Yoon to be chomping at your heels as soon as you left Jimin by himself, but neither of them are around. That was completely fine: employees aren’t allowed to divulge anything that goes on in client sessions unless it’s dangerous to either of you.

You help yourself to a cup of water and down it before pouring another. The fruit flavor for today is strawberry, and you watch the fruit and ice swirl around as you stir the big glass container. There are pastries and assorted breakfast foods calling your name in the clear cabinet next to you, but you refuse. Your adrenaline is hindering your appetite.

People are still giving you daggers for stares, but after seeing Jimin in person you really can’t blame them. Even when you couldn’t even see his face, you felt his presence. His aura filled up that entire room and he only spoke around ten words. It would be a lie to say that you aren’t intimidated. You can already count the number of times you almost bolted out of the room on two hands. But you made yourself proud: as long as you keep your outer actions calm, you can get through this. Your voice was fairly level for someone whose heart was bouncing out of their ribcage. In the end, you want to make him feel comfortable and safe. Emotions cannot exist right now.

Self-deprecation comes into play as you wonder if this is a huge mistake and if Jimin is already out the door to find a better therapist.

Oh, well. At least he said your name was pretty.

Your doubts are casted aside as your tablet dings.

Jimin’s ready for you.

When you enter the room, you can see that your client followed your instructions completely. You glance at the corner chair and see that he even folded his clothes and set his jewelry neatly on the thin, long table. Since Jimin can’t see you from his position, you allow a warm smile to grace your features.

You close the door as softly as you can. The way the room is designed, the clients lie down so that their head is opposite the doorway. It takes you a few steps until you reach the head of the bed. You gingerly take the remote from where Jimin placed it next to his neck and turn around to redock it, and start to dim the lights with your tablet. Per standard, you ask, “Mr. Park, is this okay, or would you like the lights lower?”

His voice is projecting straight towards the floor, but it still sounds so light, “This is good, but please, call me Jimin.”

That’s definitely not what you expected, but you are touched. You nod before realizing that he still can’t see you. “Do you have a music preference for today?”

“Whatever you prefer is fine.”

Jimin is being so agreeable that your nerves start to dissipate. You were expecting him to at least be a little particular at some things, but he is being really easy to work with. The atmosphere starts to feel safe enough for you to joke, “Well, it does depend on my mood, so for now I’ll play Standard Spa Chord Progression, No. 5 instead of No. 3.”

The small chuckle you hear melts your heart. “Ah, is that the one with the harp?”

“No, that’s Spa Concerto, No. 4. We don’t have that one in our library, but I think it’s terrible anyways.”

Jimin’s head lifts from the table in an earnest laugh, and you can’t help but laugh with him. It’s infectious.

You select a random song on your tablet, and you weren’t lying when you said it was standard. The song is less of a song and more like a bunch of reverberating chords in slow succession. That’s one thing you noticed about this place: modern tech but very outdated music. Get with the times! At least have some nice piano covers to choose from.

“Not having Spa Concerto, No. 4 may be a deal-breaker for me,” Jimin comments, a hint of a smile in his voice.

You’re still tapping on your tablet to get to his file, and you make your way back to the door. There’s a clear slot on each room’s door to hold employee tablets, and as soon as you store yours, you can finally start. “I don’t blame you, even though I think it’s awful, that one still topped the char--Oh, shit!”

You aren’t watching where you’re going, so you don’t see the shoes in your path. It’s so dim in the room and his shoes match the floor color but none of that matters because right now you are falling and you are falling fast. Your first instinct is to grab the table, but that would risk pulling the blanket off of Jimin and you would rather die than do that to him.

So, floor it is.

Your hand not holding the tablet breaks some of the fall, but your face definitely makes contact with the ground. You can feel the slight burn on your nose and hand, and a sharp lingering pain follows.

Okay, now can you pass away. Someone from the heavens can come claim you now.

Drowning in shame, you don’t help yourself off the floor right away. Not only were you breaking your rule and joking around, you also weren’t paying attention and now possibly ruined Park Jimin’s shoes.

You’ll look up good resigning practices later tonight. You have enough money saved up to make it a couple months without a job, you reckon.

When you finally lift yourself off the floor, you turn around and see Jimin pushed up on the table. His whole upper body is bare and twisted towards you, and this is the first time you see his entire face. It’s more beautiful in person, you conclude, even though it conveys nothing but concern right now. “Are you okay?”

You nod furiously and stand up completely. Your voice is shaky as you apologize, “I am so sorry. One moment.” Before checking yourself, you check your personal tablet. To say it was worth more than you isn’t that far of a reach. No scratches, though. Praise be.

“Don’t apologize… Did you trip on my shoes?”

Embarrassment washes over you as you nod, not looking at Jimin. Placing your tablet gingerly on the console table, you dust your uniform down and inspect your hands and feel your nose. Luckily, there’s no blood, only slight rug burns. If there was blood, you would have to postpone the appointment until you effectively sanitized. With what you have, you just need to go wash up.

Jimin is still watching you intently, which makes your face burn even more. What a mess. He’s probably second-guessing this whole thing.

You bow, feeling tears at the corners of your eyes. “Mr. Park, I am so sorry.”

“Jimin.”

“I’ll just need to clean my hands and then I promise we will start as soon as I get back. I know your time is valuable so I’ll make up for the minutes we lost.”

“I… Okay. Thank you.”

You make your way out of the room, still courteous enough to shut the door quietly. Rushing to the nearest sink, a small sob leaves your throat as you wring your hands under the water. Life is kind to you at this moment because no one is around. You would never live it down if someone saw you coming out of Jimin’s room crying.

After splashing water on your face and drying it, you take out a cotton pad from one of the glass containers on the counter. You press it onto your eyes, decreasing the evidence of your current state.

So much for making Jimin feel safe and comfortable. You’ve only made it awkward.

With a deep breath, you enter the room.

Jimin turns his head and puts it in the crook of his arm to look back at you. “Are you sure you’re okay? I’m sorry I couldn’t help you…”

You go over to his shoes and move them under the chair, wincing when you see visible tears on them. Guess you’re withdrawing a chunk of your savings to pay Park Jimin for damages.

“I assure you, I’m fine,” you state firmly, but soften, “But I’m really sorry about the shoes; I may have torn them. I can pay you back.”

You hear sheets shuffling, and when you face him, Jimin’s fully on one elbow and turned towards you. “No, please, don’t worry about those. I should’ve put them out of the way. I feel bad.”

“It’s definitely my fault,” you countered, “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Jimin uses your name, which stops you in your tracks. “Everything’s okay, I promise.”

You should feel many different things, like pride in getting to see this man in person, or happiness from him actually addressing you by name. But all you can think about in this moment is how disappointing you’ve been to another human being, and you sigh.

You nod, but still plan to pay him back. You know enough about designer brands to know those aren’t cheap, and they’re shoes you’ve seen him wearing a lot in photos.

“It’s okay to lie back down,” you say softly, unmoving.

Jimin searches your face one more time before settling back face-down on the table.

It’s a normal day at work, you tell yourself. Go through your routine.

Launching yourself into action, you move to the far end of the console table. Grabbing a bottle you’ve clutched so many times before that its label is wearing down, you uncap it and oil your hands and wrists. You also unstopper a bottle of lavender oil and pour a few drops into the nearby bamboo diffuser and start it.

You make your way to the head of the table and grab a rolling stool from a corner of the room. The wheels on your chair don’t make any noise, which you fixed up yourself. This day isn’t any different - it’s still silently gliding on the carpet. Plopping your devastated self onto the cushion, you scoot towards Jimin’s head. You’re about to place your hands onto his bare shoulders to start, but you whisper,

“It’s also okay if you want to cancel and reschedule with someone else, Mister--Um, Jimin.”

You can’t believe you just gave Park Jimin a way out of a whole 60 minutes with you. Where did this conviction and restraint come from? Is this going to be the regret of your entire lifetime?

After a long silence, Jimin answers with his face in the headrest, “If you call me Mister Jimin again, then I will.”

You huff out a laugh at his unexpected answer, and your shoulders finally relax. It seems like he’s still fine after everything that’s happened, and you thank any deity you can think of for this second chance.

Light to medium pressure. Avoid anything above light pressure around the spinal area and lower back. Shoulders, calves, and feet are pain points. Facial area priority.

You aren’t a fan of light pressure, but you understand why people prefer it. Not everyone can handle the deep tissue or harder pressure massages.

Jimin’s shoulders are incredibly tense, though, so you feel bad that you’re limited in what you can do. You allow some medium pressure to the worst spots, and when you approach the insides of his shoulder blades you lessen the intensity.

Gliding your fingers back to the ridge between his neck and shoulders, you feel that his right is still tight. You use your left elbow to work that knot, careful to press even lighter than you would with your hands.

Jimin grunts, and you still. “Is that too much?”

“No, I like that.”

You keep that in mind as your hands travel over the rest of his upper back area. From time to time, you reapply the oil to allow for less friction. It lets your fingers slide deftly across muscles and quickly work any troublesome areas, which Jimin has a lot of.

It makes sense: you can’t even imagine the amount of pressure all of the boys were constantly dealing with. There was a lull in their activity recently, so you knew something was in the works. Between recording songs, shooting music videos, fulfilling their brand contracts, and whatever else they do, you’re surprised you don’t feel more knots under Jimin’s skin.

The soft chords of the next song float around the room, and you lose yourself in your movements. You can’t see his face, which makes it a lot easier. You worked through his whole upper body, neck, and upper arms area so naturally that you were admiring his wrist tattoo before remembering who you were massaging.

For the seven hundredth time that day, you cannot believe this is happening. You really hope Jimin does feel safe here despite your whirlwind of thoughts. Have you kept it professional enough? Neutral enough? He seemed to be fine with your joking earlier, and he didn’t seem upset about the shoes in the least.

But still… Maybe he was just tolerating you because it’s the same situation for him, different place and day. Putting yourself in his shoes, you would feel pity for you trying your best to accommodate him. The pressure over everyone everywhere you go had to be exhausting. It couldn’t ever be normal.

Your shoulders suddenly slump under the weight of what you feel for him.

And Jimin seems to notice. “Really, it’s okay about the shoes. Those were getting pretty worn anyways.”

You still. Of course he thought you were still fussing over the shoes and not over his life. His unending consideration was like a burning hearth: it made you feel so warm.

“Okay,” you respond softly, “I understand.”

“Good. If you worry about them again, I’m walking out barefoot,” Jimin says sternly, even though you know he’s kidding. “And don’t test me, I’ve done it before.”

Your words leave you before you think. “I don’t believe you.”

“Oh?”

Jimin puts his hands on the table and you yelp, “Okay, okay, stop!”

He laughs and plops his arms back down flat. You lament as you still can see how his muscles bulge in your mind.

You shake your head and sigh before rolling to his left and softly taking his arm. His skin is so soft you don’t even need the oil, you notice. You work his forearm before moving down to his wrist and fingers. Thinking about Jimin’s threat, you are pretty curious. “Be honest: did that really happen?”

“It didn’t,” he responds immediately, “But I thought about it once. My shoes were killing my feet so I thought about walking without them until I found a shoe store.”

It sounds so childish to you that you chuckle. “Where was this,” you ask, completely intrigued now.

“Ah, I honestly can’t remember. I think somewhere in Europe.”

“...Did you just pick an entire continent because you couldn’t remember?”

“...There’s seven continents and one of them is Antarctica! Picking one out of six is easy.”

This man is something else. You finally finish off his right side, and you gingerly set his arm down on the table. With a mental pat on the back, you get ready for the next part of the routine. In your softest therapist voice, you instruct, “Okay, go ahead and turn over and slide down until your head is on the table.”

Jimin obeys right away, shifting over and moving down. The white sheet slips down his body a bit, and you diligently pull it up until it’s covering everything up to his neck. During this, you feel rather than see his eyes on you, so you don’t dare yourself to look.

You go back to your plethora of containers to re-oil, and roll your chair to the foot of the table. All that time, Jimin thankfully has his eyes closed.

You were equal parts dreading and looking forward to this part of the massage since his face was going to be visible. This way, you can’t escape the reality of the situation.

But you decided to follow the flow of the conversation. You learned the subtle nuances of human communication throughout your experiences: when people wanted to talk or stay quiet, if they were liking the conversation or not, etc. Jimin seems to be fine with talking despite your assumption that he was going to be quiet for the most part. It has definitely made this easier for you, though.

“I want to visit all seven continents one day,” you decide to admit.

“I do, too,” Jimin responds, eyes still closed. “How many do you have left?”

You start on his feet, working along the smooth skin.

“Uhh, well,” you whisper, “A good chunk. I’ve only been here and back where I’m from, and I just moved here around a year ago.”

After you tell Jimin where you were before, he sounds amazed, “You seem like you’ve lived here for so long. I wouldn’t have guessed.”

He’s definitely being nice. You are just now getting decent at the language and customs, but there is still a lot you have to learn.

“But, I do want to start traveling again for a specific reason,” you divulge, sighing to yourself as you think yet again about your lofty dreams.

“Which reason is that,” Jimin asks, and you somehow know his eyes are open now.

Your own eyes betray you as you connect your gaze with his. “I want to experience different techniques in person.” You don’t know he can feel the fire behind your eyes. “There’s no better teacher than experience, at least to me. I know I’m good at what I do currently, but there’s so much out there that I want to learn and get better at.”

You debate whether to keep going or not. Jimin’s eyes are alight with curiosity, so you take that as your cue. It’s surreal that you get to talk about your dream with him of all people, so you strive to make it count. “Take music, for example: everyone agrees that music is healing, therapeutic. But, there’s so many genres, so many ways to create it. I see massage as the same way: therapeutic, but many different ways to make people feel better.”

Jimin is silent as he tears his gaze from you to look at the ceiling. You concentrate on his ankles, working them as delicately but effectively as you can. A part of you wants to keep talking, but you don’t want to push it. You may have said too much as it is.

The next song has soft chimes to accompany the rippling chords. Lavender wafts through the air and quells your nerves. You continue to Jimin’s lower legs and glide your fingers along the flow of his muscles. When you feel a break or disturbance, you stop and tend to it until you feel it’s balanced. After his lower legs are done, you move on to his thighs. You feel tightness all over, and you apply medium pressure to these areas because of how much muscle they contain.

Jimin’s legs are a work of art on the outside, but so chaotic on the inside. The chakra highways are disjointed, and you have worked through so many kinks in the roads. If you imagine yourself as someone walking down a path, you are stopping every 10 steps to smooth over a pothole or breakdown a hill in the way. You can’t see how this person can even walk, let alone perform on stage like this. All of them never cease to amaze you.

“Where would you start?”

Jimin’s sudden inquiry throws you. You swear he was silent for a good ten minutes. “What?”

His eyes are glued to the ceiling still. “Which places do you want to visit? Like, where would you go to learn?”

“Well…” You are almost too stunned to speak. He has been thinking about what you said this whole time? Aren’t there plenty of more important things he needs to be thinking about right now? “There’s this technique called amma that originates in Japan, and there’s an American technique called esalen that I want to learn, too. I think that one is from California.”

On a high from Park Jimin’s interest in your life, you ramble about a few more, your voice getting more animated the more you talk about different things. It can’t be helped; you’ve been passionate about traveling and learning for so long. You’ve just never been able to really try it since money was part of the equation. Or more so out of the equation. In addition, you didn’t really get to talk about it with anybody. No one’s actually asked. But somehow, Jimin did.

When you realize you actually stopped massaging his thigh, you look up in horror to apologize, “Oh, I am so sorry - I didn’t mean to stop.”

Jimin’s head is turned to the side, his hair falling into his eyes. The smile gracing his face is soft. “It’s okay,” he assures you, “I feel much better already anyways.”

Your cheeks flush before he even stops talking. “That’s good,” you whisper, “We’re almost done so I would hope so.”

“What!” Jimin’s eyes dart to the clock on the table. It’s already 8:50am.

That saddens you a lot more than it should.

“On second thought: I feel tense in my hand, I think you need to go back and redo it. Here.” He’s extending his right hand towards you as if to shake hands, and you laugh.

“Nice try, Jimin,” you say, “But I do need to work on your face for the last part. Close your eyes for me, please.”

He stares at you for a second before obeying. The smile from earlier makes a return.

You roll your chair back to the head of the bed and plop down. Jimin’s face is angelic even upside-down, and you pray to the heavens that you massage it perfectly.

When you start, you quip, “See? You’re so happy we’re almost done.”

“No, no!” Jimin laughs. “That’s not it. You just called me Jimin - it was nice.”

“Oh.” You swear steam is billowing from your head. How can he affect you so intensely? And how were you keeping yourself together?

With the resolve of a thousand emperors, maybe including one you probably did save in a past life, you steady your hands on his temples. Rubbing in delicate circles, you start the last segment.

Face massages are your favorite. Even the smallest movements are invigorating, and you feel very refreshed after one.

“When I come back, Spa Concerto, No. 4 better be available.”

You smile. There’s no way Jimin will be back, but you appreciate his friendly nature.

“It’s not even all that great, but I’ll let them know,” you play along. “I’m more of a piano person, though. There’s a lot of piano covers saved in my phone that are way better.”

Jimin’s eyes flash open at the same time he proclaims, “Ah, I love piano covers! Especially on rainy days.”

“Mm,” you hum in agreement, “I can listen to those all the time.”

Your heart drops like a stone as you glance at the clock and see your time is up. The hour absolutely flew by. Dropping your eyes back onto Jimin’s face, you take your hands off his cheeks and say, “Okay, that’s the end of our session today.” You get up to dry your hands and lower arms with a cloth while going over the last steps, “I’ll leave you to get dressed, and I’ll come back to the room to give you water and some stretch and wellness recommendations moving forward. Just press the green button on the remote when you’re ready, like last time.”

When you turn back to him, Jimin’s fully propped up with his hands behind him. The blanket over him is draped across his body, just enough to cover his ribs. He’s smiling right at you as he speaks, “Thank you. You’re really good.”

You bow in thanks, face lighting up like wildfire. “You were great, too,” you comment in return, immediately cringing inside. “I’ll be back when you’re ready for me.”

Right after you leave clients is when you start filling out their evaluation and wellness recommendations on your tablet. You just worked on them, so the memories are fresh. The forms are a mix of multiple choice and fill-in, and you recommend some specific stretches and deeper pressure for Jimin.

This time, Jay is in the employee lounge when you come in to wait. His legs uncross and he pops up from one of the modern loveseats that are just as firm as they look. “She’s alive!”

You roll your eyes but can’t hide the flush in your cheeks. “I’m here, but barely,” you chuckle, your tablet dangling in your hand by your side, “I still can’t believe that actually happened.”

Jay leans in so that no one can hear what he has to say, which makes you suspicious since there’s no one around you. In a low voice, he reveals, “Yoon and I made a bet.”

“Wonderful,” you drawl, “I’m gonna walk away now.” You can already tell this is one-hundred percent not in your favor.

“No, wait!” His whisper is loud. He bounces after you to the water and food station. While you fix yourself a cup, he continues, “Yoon thinks you’ll get done with the appointment unscathed, but I think you’ll come out of it with a problem.”

Jay’s words remind you like alarm bells.

You need to pay Jimin for damages.

“Oh, shit, I need to get something,” you say in a rush, grabbing your tablet off the food station and scurrying to the locker room. In the wellness center, the employee lounge is in the back, and the locker room is in the back of the lounge. You think you still have time before Jimin is ready.

There’s a notebook you keep in your bag along with a pencil case. Tearing a sheet from the notebook, you write down what you think is a good estimate for the shoes. Before you write anything else, you pause.

You only skimmed through the confidentiality prompts, but you do remember a section about personal information. Therapists aren’t allowed to give out their personal information unless specifically asked, and there has to be solid intent behind the client asking. Jimin didn’t need to ask you for yours; he just said not to worry about it.

After a good thirty seconds of your pen lingering above the paper, your tablet chimes.

A split second decision has you crumpling the paper and chucking it in your bag. You tear out a new sheet and tuck it with the pen under your tablet as you head back to Room 3.

You get to the room with a paper cup of water you grabbed on the way, and since you have things in both hands it’s a bit difficult getting the door open. You try the handle but it only jiggles a bit. One more try has you pushing the door right as the handle gives, and it works.

Jimin goes to you immediately when he sees your hands full, and you almost reel back from having him so close. Which should be odd, since you were literally just with him for a full hour, and he was not fully clothed. In the end, his presence alone is enough to affect you no matter the situation.

You extend the cup to him and he grabs it with a small thank you.

“I filled out your evaluation and it should be printed at the front already. Make sure to drink more water after you leave,” you say with a smile, your chest heavy. This was most likely the last interaction you would ever have with him.

Jimin nods, his mask covering his smile but not his eyes. He doesn’t say anything more.

You almost leave it at that, but something in you doesn’t want this moment to end, so you take your chance. “And, umm,” you stutter as you fumble with the pen and paper. You just lay your tablet on the massage table to free your hand, and click the pen open. “How much should I pay you,” you ask, your gaze ironically on the very shoes you tripped over earlier.

Jimin sets his cup down on the console table before taking the paper and pen from your hands. You watch him write something - a price in Won most likely - as you explain, “I’m a big believer of making things right, so please let me pay for your shoes. I should’ve seen them on the ground.”

He folds the paper and hands it back to you with the pen. “If you insist. But don’t check this until you get home.”

“What, why?” Your eyes dart to his face.

Jimin stares at you before responding, “Nothing bad. It just might shock you.”

Immediately, your gaze lowers. If you tell anyone how your day went today, you would think they were weird if they believed you. If you tell anyone why you’re suddenly broke come this Wednesday, they would be lying if they just went with it. “Okay, I won’t,” you assure him, and you’re telling the truth. You are equal parts surprised and nervous that he’s allowing you to pay him back.

With a deep breath, you give Jimin your best soft smile. Your heart is hurting as you send him off, “Well, it was a pleasure. Have a great rest of your day, Jimin. Until next time.” You catch yourself in a sea of emotion as your words die on your tongue. The boys have schedules on schedules, so the likelihood of him stepping foot inside this wellness center again is minuscule at best.

If anything, you’re grateful that you get to address him by name, and you succeeded in making this as smooth and safe as possible for him. At the expense of a scraped nose and hand, but rather you than him.

Jimin hoists his bag on his shoulder, the water cup you gave him already in the trash bin. He walks right up to you and stands there, and you swear both of you can hear your heart beating. One of his hands comes up to his masked face, and he speaks softly as he advises, “Ointment will help your nose if it still hurts.”

Warmth blooms in your chest and cascades all the way to your fingertips. Mirroring him, you bring a hand up to your nose and nod. Your words tumble out, “Oh, yes, you’re right. I can check if we have any in the back.”

Satisfied, Jimin nods. “Until next time,” he offers, his eyes creased and warm.

You smile again and bow slightly. He puts on his shades before heading out the door frame and into the hall, and you feel emptiness in his wake. The world is fuzzy around your vision and you are trying so hard to commit everything that just happened to memory.

Until the doors to front reception close, you watch Jimin’s retreating back. When the frosted doors close shut, you close your own door to Room 3 and lean against the wooden frame. The scrap of paper is creased in your hand as you clutch it to your hammering chest.

“Holy shit,” you whisper to yourself. It takes a good minute for you to compose yourself before pushing off the door and getting the room stripped and ready for the next session. The whole time, you replay everything in your head.

Jimin was just as nice as you have seen him through the lens of cameras. If that was the case, all of them had to be the same way. You are proud to like these wonderful people.

You’re so happy you got to actually spend all this time with him, but that just magnifies the sadness you feel when it’s over.

The room is done and cleaned up, and you go through the rest of the day on autopilot. Not even Jay’s constant teasing could free you from your euphoria-numbed state. The only thing that throws you back into focus is Yoon, and it happens at the very end of the work day.

You push open the doors to front reception, and smile big at your friend behind the counter. She’s beaming right back at you, and she puts her chin in her hand and shakes her head.

“That must’ve been one hell of a message,” she says through a barely contained smile.

Your hand flies to your forehead and you nod. “I can’t believe that happened, Yoon. I mean, it was really him. Opportunity of a lifetime… I just hope he enjoyed the whole thing.”

“You could say that,” she chuckles, “Enough to book you again, at least.”

What?

“He did?” Your breath leaves you in a rush. “If you’re joking with me, I’ll--”

“--He did. It’s not for a long time, but he asked for you specifically.” Yoon gathers papers in her hand and starts to organize them in the containers behind her. “You really piss me off, you know that?”

“Love you, too,” you whisper, your head completely above the clouds. You grab your phone and start checking your schedule from the wellness center app you have installed. Grabbing the door handle, you absentmindedly wave back to Yoon and call out, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The sun emits a golden glow at this hour, and the glass buildings along the street bask in its shine. You head towards your bus stop while skimming your calendar for Jimin’s next appointment, but you’re already four months out and see nothing. Not losing hope, you keep going and see a booking six months in advance. Your heartbeat skips as you click on the appointment, and almost skids to a halt when you see his name written down.

As soon as you enter your small apartment, you head straight to your bed and drop your bag on the comforter. Your whole body bounces as you plop yourself down next, and you stare straight at the ceiling.

Your life is still normal, right? Sure, you were able to spend an entire hour with Park Jimin, but that didn’t mean you aren’t still completely and utterly average.

You close your eyes and go back to Room 3. The scent of lavender fills your nostrils and you can still see his number tattoo as plain as day as you massage his wrist.

In all honesty, it still feels like a fever dream. That was someone else’s life you were able to live, someone else there with Jimin and you just decided to hitch along for the ride.

But that was real, and so is the amount of money you still need to withdraw from your bank account.

With a sigh, you reach into your bag and take out the piece of paper. You were dreading this moment all day since he left. Unfolding it, you prepare for the worst.

But all you can do is stare.

Jimin didn’t write down a price at all.

Your name is at the top, and the rest is as follows:

Save your money for traveling and learning new things, not on me. I can’t wait to see what you’ve learned when we meet again.

a/n: thank you for reading! if you guys have any comments or feedback, please feel free to let me know!

#text #jimin x reader #jimin fluff #bts fics #jimin fics #room 3 jimin #room 3 #ryen writes #member: jimin #long post #grammy nominated singer fic!!#ryenwrites

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juminsmysticmc · 4 years ago

Note

Hey, it’s me, the one who request the moth headcanon, sorry about the trouble and if it’s okay, instead I would like to see an MC who’s major is digital arts and animation. If not, it’s fine, just have a great day.

RFA + Minor Trio with a Mc who's major is digital arts and animations

Hey! It was no trouble at all! I hope that it’s okay for you tho, I am happy that you could request something different! I hope you enjoy this one too! Have a nice day!

Jumin

Your husband observed you. Ever since he installed a room for you alone in his penthouse, you could finally work from home a bit more.

He hadn’t realized that even before you came into the RFA, he had already worked with you.

Your major, digital arts and animation, was often used for his advertising or other programs.

You often wanted to meet the CEO, but since he always thought that you would be just a gold digger, he always rejected you, just making Jaehee send emails with the things he wanted to have inserted.

Well, today he regretted his choice back then.

Instead, he observed you.

You were working on a new project.

,,How many years did you have to study? I mean, you have so many majors… Design Director, Storyboard Director, I didn’t know, you were multitalented, my love,’’ he praised you.

You even worked a lot with the audio.

You looked up and smiled at your husband.

,,Thank you, my love. I’m trying to make your latest project work. Wanna see?’’ you asked him.

However he knew that your work would be amazing and wanted to have it be a surprise rather than get spoiled.

Zen

Your boyfriend never understood how you could be such a good multitasker.

You could cook, set the table, chat with Jaehee, and even post something on your blog.

But once he saw you at work, he understood.

It had something to do with your job.

You had to work in different kinds of media at the same time.

,,This isn’t just one,’’ you told him and scrolled through your phone.

Your long hair was in your way so you put it away with one hand.

,,I have to work with the sound, video, and stop-motion graphics at the same time. I do this and much more, but I don’t want to annoy you,’’ you laughed as you looked up.

,,You don’t annoy me, Mrs. Director,’’ he laughed and kissed you.

You were even the director of a whole section and helped new students get into the job.

,,Okay, so, see this video?’’ you showed him an animated movie you just got via email.

,,This was made by my students, but she used the wrong program because the audio is slightly separated from the video itself,’’ you told him.

He hadn’t noticed anything at first, but after you told him, he saw it too.

,,And you noticed after a few seconds? You’re amazing!’’ he smiled and looked over your shoulders. You were still cooking.

Yoosung

Your husband wondered why he never saw you or met you since your college wasn’t that far away from his building.

But thank God both of you finally met thanks to the RFA.

He was also amazed by you because you were pretty famous among students.

You even had your own blog and of course you programmed everything yourself.

It looked amazing.

You had every single section working in there, but your point was the digital arts and animation.

,,Did you really have to submit a portfolio to be admitted?’’ he asked you when he read your latest blog.

You nodded at him as you typed something on your keyboard.

,,Mhm, especially to bachelor of fine arts,’’ you told him.

He didn’t quite understand, but he still nodded.

,,I didn’t have to,’’ he mumbled.

,,That’s why it’s written on there. The little word ,,may’’ says that you possibly have to, but not always,’’ you told him, making him sulk.

,,I know what ,,may’’ means… ah, and tell me. What are the admission requirements?’’ he asked you.

You turned your head and looked at him.

,,Can you maybe read the whole post instead of just the keywords? You need to check on the page itself for the requirements. Every university does it differently,’’ you told him and closed the page.

,,Ah. I just wanted to test you,’’ he smiled and looked at you.

He looked so up to you. You always knew what the latest LOLOL update changed in the game. You were amazing...

Jaehee

,,What? You went to Harvard University?’’ Zen asked you. He didn’t know that he was in a group with such an intelligent person and you were even Jaehee’s girlfriend.

You nodded.

,,She’s also very creative. Did you see our advertisement? She did it herself. Pretty amazing, right?!’’ Jaehee said proudly, no one had ever seen her that excited.

You changed her.

You and Jaehee also often went to different festivals to check the latest innovations. It was something even Jaehee was interested in.

And thanks to you, she even understood a few things since you were very good at explaining things.

,,Should we buy this new keyboard? It fits much better than the one you have now in your studio,’’ she told you and admired the keyboard in front of you.

She looked up to you since you were such a hard worker as a owner of a coffee shop and even a designer of word advertisements and 2d animation.

Saeyoung

,,You make pretty good money, huh?’’ he asked you as he looked around.

Your studio just looked so aesthetically pleasing in the middle of Seoul.

You shrugged your shoulders as you kept typing something.

Then you took your pen between your fingers and began to draw something.

You were a storyboard artist.

Saeyoung, your finacé, loved to watch you.

He sometimes even helped you when a program stopped working.

,,Look, which one do you like more?’’ you asked him as you turned your screen towards him to show him a park.

,,Mh, I don’t know. What’s the story? LIke, this one looks cute as if you’re in a fairy tale, but this one looks more realistic,’’ he answered, making you turn the display again.

You nodded and stood up, taking your jacket and facing your fiancé. ,,We are going to the park now,’’ you said and pulled him by the hand.

That’s what he loved about you.

He, too, was someone who would simply do his work, but you wanted to give your best, even at that moment.

At the end of the day, you however, knew which one you would decide on and you were happy that Saeyoung opened your eyes.

Saeran

,,Mc! It’s so nice to see you here!’’ someone said and hugged you.

Saeran observed the person who was so happy to see you.

Both of you were in a foreign country and people still knew you?

You hugged the person who was apparently named Mira.

,,Saeran, this was my teacher, Mira,’’ you said and told Mira about your boyfriend.

She was so happy to see that you got a boyfriend.

,,Have fun here and go visit Josef! He will be happy to see you!’’ she said, meaning your other teacher.

You took Saeran and with him you walked through every department.

,,They try to motivate you to be creative, get started, start your own company, make your own shows, produce medical videos or animations, and they want you to learn things by doing,’’ you explained.

At some point, you arrived at a place that was lit by lights. Students had pencils in their hands and they began to draw something on their papers. This was something that amazed Saeran.

,,I thought it’s digital art,’’ he whispered.

You nodded. ,,They first try to make you get used to it. When you’re ready, you can move to the digital version,’’ you told him and observed the students.

It was a pretty good day and Saeran also enjoyed seeing you presentate something on a stage about your own work in South Korea.

He was proud of you.

Jihyun

Hand in hand, both of you walked into an institute to talk about digital art.

Jihyun also liked art a lot. However, he was a painter.

But your art was also something beautiful in his eyes.

He once tried it, but failed.

,,I remember back then, I also was unsure if digital art was real art, but after I saw it myself… I’m sorry I was like that back then… so don’t give up if people are the same here as in this art institute,’’ he told you.

You nodded.

Your goal was it to teach digital art in that institute and they first invited you to talk about it.

They first invited you in and then they were ready to listen to you.

,,Thank you for your words,’’ the older man said and nodded.

,,However, digital art is, itself, placed under the larger umbrella term new media art that doesn’t require any effort, Mrs. Kim. Digital art is not considered real art,’’ he said and closed his book with the notes.

,,Why did you invite my wife then?’’ Jihyun asked as you watched your dreams get crushed in front of your eyes.

No one dared to say anything. Were you just the laugh stock? Why did you even make the effort? You were ready to give up when Jihyun began to say something again. ,,I can understand you. At first we thought that digital art was easy. Why should we ask a teacher to teach us? I’m an artist myself and I thought like that too, but here too, just like the art with real pens and colors, you need to start with it gradually. I experienced it myself and I was surprised by how difficult it was. I beg you, try at least once to draw a forest in digital art,’’ Jihyun said, begging the person in front of him.

,,Very well, I have been an artist since my twenties and I am now sixty years old,’’ he laughed and took your tablet, ready to draw.

While he was drawing, you did the same on the second tablet and a bit later you all noticed the difference, making them all apologize to you.

,,I can’t thank you enough,’’ you sobbed as both of you walked out of the room, you overjoyed about the good news.

,,I told you not to give up on them. They were just like me,’’ he laughed and kissed your hand before you could both go and pick up Lucy at Jumin’s penthouse.

Vanderwood

When he first saw your room, not Rika’s, but your own home, he was kind of shocked to know that you were almost like Agent 707.

He quickly noticed that just like him, you loved your profession.

It was something that satisfied you immediately ever since you first learned how things worked.

Indeed, animation was attracting more and more people and you were one of them.

,,Back then, when we lived in Japan, we somehow won a sightseeing trip and I got to see the Ghibli studio. I think that that was the moment I fell in love with it,’’ you told him as he looked around.

,,And then? I mean, Japan is one of the best countries to study animation, right?’’ he asked you. Vanderwood was truly interested in it.

He wanted to know everything about you.

The brown haired man wanted to know what made your eyes shine so brightly and why you were so in love with your job.

,,Uhm, yeah. Spain is the best country to study animation, but I also expected it to be Japan. Back then and still today, living there was too expensive. My parents wanted to move back to Korea and so I went to Spain to study my dream,’’ you laughed.

,,I’m amazed. I expected you to go with your parents,’’ he laughed and observed you.

,,I was amazed by myself too, you know? It was a hard decision, but I never regretted what I did. I could fulfil my dream and it’s my life after all.

And knowing more languages is even better because there are so many more opportunities,’’ you laughed.

,,Please never lock the door in other languages like Agent 707,’’

You laughed at his comment. ,,I won’t… but maybe something animated?’’ you teased him.

MASTERLIST 1

MASTERLIST 2

MASTERLIST 3

17.04.2021// 00:18 MEST

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starsfic · 4 years ago

Text

Family Dinner

Summary: Xiaotian is invited to be a buffer at Red’s family dinner.

Notes: So Family Dinner won the Art School poll so...enjoy!

-_-

“I need your help.”

The tone, barely audible over his music, was enough to make Xiaotian stop his music and look up from his tablet. Red looked nervous, bouncing from foot to foot, and it didn’t help that his hair was down in a poofy mess and he looked like he hadn’t slept for three days. “Sure.” he said, hoping that would help that look fade. “What do you need?”

The look didn’t ease. “Just so we’re clear, you can say no, but my family dinner is coming up and I don’t want to be alone with them but-” Realization came to life. He hadn’t heard much about Red’s parents, but enough had been heard that Xiaotian could get a picture.

“Sure.”

Red came to a stop, eyes widening. “Really?”

Xiaotian nodded, saving his work and then turning off his tablet. “Yeah! If you don’t want to be alone with them, I get it. This hasn’t been the first time I’ve been a buffer.” The other blinked, opened his mouth, and then closed it, clearly confused. “Xiaojiao’s parents love me.” he said, shrugging.

Red blinked again. “...okay.” he finally managed out, clearly moving past it. “Dress up nice and I’ll pick you up on Friday. Thanks.” And just like that, he was walking away.

“You’re welcome!” he called after him, unsure of what else to do.

-_-

Thankfully, Xiaotian had two nice outfits. Unfortunately, he also had a complete unawareness if they were nice enough. A quick text to Red, asking where they were going, fixed that. Thankfully, the outfits he had looked nice enough for the place which meant he didn’t need to go shopping.

Thirty minutes before he was supposed to be picked up, Xiaotian smoothed down his shirt. He had decided to go with the dress shirt and black slacks inside of the pretty orange dress, which still left him the question of what to do with his hair. He considered his reflection, humming in thought. He could leave it like it was, with his red headband making it spike up, but that felt too casual. Maybe down? He tried it, considering it. Xiaojiao was at a race in the next town over and was probably asleep at this hour, so he couldn’t call her for her opinion.

A knock on the door made him pull his eyes away. “It’s open!”

The door creaked open, revealing Red. He was dressed similarly, what looked like a fancy jacket slung over his arm, golden earrings in, and eye bags still visible. “I was wondering if you were-” He paused, staring at Xiaotian. It might’ve been the light, but for a moment, he had thought Red had been looking him over in a... boyfriend way, for lack of a better word. “You… have your hair down.” He sounded flustered, at least.

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure if it was nice enough or I should put it into a ponytail…”

“Keep it down.” Red said, scanning him over again with a much more technical look. “But it is missing something.” He looked around before landing on Xiaotian and Xiaojiao’s shared jewelry box. “Mind if I-?” Xiaotian nodded his approval, so Red hurried over. After a moment of rustling around, he pulled something out. “Here we go.”

He had pulled out a pair of golden monkey earrings, a gift from Tripitaka when he returned from visiting New York one time. Xiaotian took it with a word of thanks and slid them in. “You ready?” he asked when he finished, stopping to grab the flowers he had ordered just in case. Red shook his head but gestured to him to go first, closing the door behind them.

Outside, the night was cool. Red led Xiaotian to a small red car and once, they were buckled in, drove silently away from the dorms.

After a few minutes of tense silence, Xiaotian glanced over at his… he wasn’t sure what they were. In any case, Red was as tense as a board, glaring straight ahead, and looking ready to pass out. “Hey,” he finally said. The other blinked. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“It’s just… it’s the first time I’ve brought a guest to these dinners and my mother wasn’t exactly pleased when I told her you were coming after I asked you.” His knuckles went white on the wheel. “And I’m just freaked out you’re going to hate me after this is done.”

He reached out, holding Red’s shoulder. “Hey. Nothing your parents can do will make me hate you.” Xiaotian tried his best to pour every inch of sincerity into his voice. “You’re great. And there is nothing- RED LIGHT!” At his cry, Red slammed on the brakes, an inch from crossing the red light.

The car once again went silent, except for their frantic breaths and furiously pumping hearts. Ahead of them, traffic furiously drove and drove, busy, busy, busy. The two finally managed to catch their breaths, glancing at each other. When they met eyes, they lost their breath again- this time to relieved laughter. Finally, their light turned green and Red started again.

The brush with life and death had seemed to calm him a bit. He started smiling when Xiaotian turned on the radio and started to bop his head to the music.

But, soon enough, they were pulling into a parking lot. Red went stiff again the minute they had parked. Following his gaze, Xiaotian watched as a black limo dropped off two people at the front. When it passed, he finally got a good glance at Red’s parents.

The small woman in the front must’ve been Iron Fan. She was dressed in an elegant red and gold dress. Her long dark hair was pulled away in a complex hairstyle to reveal a beautiful face with red-painted lips and sharp eyeliner. Behind her was DBK. Sharing his son’s liking of colored hair, his purple hair was pulled back into a short bun. He was dressed in a dark suit that failed to hide the fact that he was built like a tank, amber eyes scanning the parking lot. Looking for them.

Red took a deep breath before pulling on his coat. “Okay.” he breathed out, readjudting his ponytail one last time. “Let’s do this.”

“Are you ready?”

“Nope. Let’s go.”

The two bundled out of the car, Xiaotian gripping his bouquet tight. Together they headed towards Red’s parents. In a walk that both felt too long and too short, they were at the sidewalk. The two elders turned and he felt a shiver run down his spine. DBK looked… not pleased. But Iron Fan had the same look on Xiaojiao’s face whenever she was mentally planning to gut someone. Red came to a stop and Xiaotian mirrored him.

“Mother. Father. My apologies for being late.” Red’s tone was formal, apologetic.

His mother stepped forward, the gutting look replaced by some kind of look that was too cold to be maternal. “We were wondering where you were,” Iron Fan said, cupping Red’s face. And then she was squishing his cheeks. “My sweet useless boy.” Before Xiaotian could say something, she was turning to him. The look was back. “And this must be Qi Xiaotian.”

“Yes!” Xiaotian said, trying to not be cowed. He held out his hand. “Red’s told me so much about you.” A lie, but one he hoped worked. Iron Fan considered his hand before shaking it. Her red-nailed grip was ridiculously strong. “I… hope you like flowers?” he managed out, holding out the bouquet.

Iron Fan took it, considering the flowers. “How sweet.” she said. Without another word, she turned. “Come on, let’s go before our table is given away.” The boys followed, not sure what else to do.

When their backs were turned, Xiaotian slid his hand into Red’s hand and squeezed it in a hopeful attempt at comfort.

Red squeezed it back.

Inside, the decor was elegant- one of the fanciest places Xiaotian had ever been in. Their hostess led them up a grand staircase, overlooking the rest of the restaurant, and to a round table with a lazy Susan tray in the center. “We hope you enjoy it.” she said, promising their waiter would be by soon. Xiaotian thanked her before looking down to realize Red had pulled out his chair. Across the table, DBK had done the same to Iron Fan, pushing her in.

Together, they opened their menus. “I think we will get our usual,” DBK said, his voice rough. Xiaotian nearly jumped at it, since the man hadn’t said a word. “Do you have any thoughts, Xiaotian?”

He glanced at the menu, trying to figure out what would be best to say. The menu had been online and he had given it a quick scan ahead, but Red’s parents were leaving him floundering. “Do you have any recommendations?” he finally managed out.

Iron Fan’s grin, cold and cruel, showed he had mistepped.

In the end, it felt like they had ordered the spiciest things on the menu for their main courses. Xiaotian resisted a scream and the waiter had a pitying look on his face. So did DBK, much to his surprise. Now, all that was left to do was wait for the first course.

“So, Xiaotian,” Iron Fan said, all her attention on him. “What do you study?”

School. He could do school. “I’m doing a painting and graphic design major.” Xiaotian said, trying to sound confident. “I’m working on a webcomic idea. But if that doesn’t work out, I’m planning to go into museum work.” He had worked with his dads to figure out this backup plan, just in case.

“Oh, really.” The waiter returned to pour dark red wine into their wine glasses. Iron Fan took a sip. “What is your webcomic about?” Next to him, Red stiffened. Xiaotian stiffened as well.

“It’s… about my dad.” he finally squeaked out.

Iron Fan stiffened but this time DBK leaned forward in interest. “How is Wukong?” he said. “I haven’t heard much since my… return.” And there was another fact- they used to be friends. If things had been different, Xiaotian probably would’ve grown up with Red. “I only heard he adopted a son.”

“He’s married.” Xiaotian squeaked.

The dinner did not get better from there.

When the food arrived, there was a glass of water that came with it for Xiaotian (which seemed to be the only mercy), and Iron Fan and DBK seemed to laser-focus on Red. It didn’t seem to matter that he was there, their words were cold, casual, and cruel as they picked at things here and there, no matter how trivial.

Finally, the dessert course was done, the check arrived, and DBK paid. “Remember your grades.” Iron Fan said when DBK’s credit card was returned. Without another word or an actual goodbye, she was standing and she and her husband were leaving. Red shuddered the minute they were out of view.

“That went well.” he finally managed out.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t much help.” Xiaotian said, not sure what else to say. At least Xiaojiao’s parents tried, or at least didn’t have their issues in front of him. “I didn’t expect…”

“Nobody expects my parents, Noodle Boy. Let’s go home.”

The ride back was in exhausted silence. “I have mochi.” Xiaotian mumbled out when they parked. “Want some?” He needed something to eat after trying to not burn his tongue off and he really didn’t want to leave Red alone.

“...yeah.”

#Art School AU #my writing #Spicynoodleshipping #Monkie Kid #Lego Monkie Kid #Red Son #Qi Xiaotian #MK #Princess Iron Fan #Demon Bull King #au

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neonponders · 4 years ago

Text

Oh lord, here we go. Don’t be surprised if my sugardaddy!Billy and couture Steve turns into five parts orz for now, here’s part 3!

This is originally a birthday gift for @lazybakerart 💋and @edith-moonshadow enabled me to keep going with this with their Harringrove for Palestine donation🙏🏻.

Part 1 here ~ Part 2 here ~ read on ao3 ~

🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹

A week passed.

Billy didn’t leave a number for Steve to call, and when he tried to phone Billy’s secretary, she gave him a bullshit lie about international calls needing to occur within a certain timeframe, etc. Steve understood he was butting into Billy’s goings-on, during an hour he couldn’t play civilian.

That was another aspect of their relationship they kept dodging.

Steve did not consider white-collar crime unfamiliar. In fact, it’s wildly rampant in society; it just takes the right lawyers and judges to keep things swept under the rug.

Maybe Billy didn’t talk about it for the same reason Steve didn’t open up about his fears of being disposable. When they managed a safe little time capsule where underlying circumstances didn’t exist, things went great. Splendid, even.

But time capsules have to open at some point.

Billy called Steve.

“Hello?” he said to the unfamiliar number. If he sounded a little miffed, it’s because he’d taken more spam calls than genuine correspondences this past week, having not known what Billy’s international number was—

“Steve.”

That sounded…wrong.

“Billy?”

He could hear the man’s breath on the receiver. Heavier than it should have been. “I know you don’t like this. But I need you to come here.”

“What happened? Are you okay?”

Stupid question. Billy sounded half the man he was. Steve wanted to know what happened to the other half.

“I’m injured. I’ll be fine—”

“Define ‘injured.’”

“Steve,” Billy huffed like a laugh, but Steve could hear it stick in his throat. He hovered in the middle of his apartment, helpless to do anything but hold the phone to his ear. “I’m not arguing right now. Could you just…get in the car that comes to pick you up?”

“A car? What kind of car?”

“The driver will use the buzzer of your building. They won’t come up. Just get in the car and then the plane—”

“Plane? Billy, where did you go?”

He laughed again, a little of his voice leaking into it. “Steve, please. Can I see you or not?”

Steve croaked into the receiver, revolving listlessly in his apartment while his brain failed to keep up. “I-I—wha—um.”

Except, despite everything, like how very likely he would come back to only one or no jobs, it really wasn’t a choice for Steve. His chest ached for Billy. He missed the bastard’s smug smiles and longed for the animation he let fill his face when he relaxed with Steve.

And he felt the itch of being wanted. His ingrained eagerness to be with the person who needed him.

All of it scrambled in his brain so Steve wound up raising his voice while fisting his hair, “A plane? I have to pack! What do I pack?”

Billy’s voice came out breathily on the phone, like he filled it with relief. “You don’t need to pack anything—”

“I NEED PANTS, BILLY!”

Steve got in the car.

Steve got on the plane.

The stupid private jet in which Steve could have his own disco if he wanted because it seemed like only he and the pilot were on the damn thing. He brought the book Billy had gifted him about The New Yorker for something to distract himself, even though he mostly stared blankly at the pages while he waited for the plane to land.

A part of him expected to arrive in the middle of nowhere. Which, to be fair, they had to land in a private hanger outside of the city. But then the next car took him amongst grand buildings and turned into a narrow side street only residents would use. Steve burst upon the sidewalk, only hindered briefly by the receiving of a hotel key and the remark, “Room 532.”

Steve skipped the elevator. He wore heels in his spare time; he would’ve beaten the lift anyway.

As with any hotel, the key took some figuring out, but when he managed, he stepped into the suite. “Billy?”

It smelled like any other nice hotel. Cream carpets and matching walls. A splash of color on the rumpled bedspread amongst Billy’s clutter. Steve followed the floor plan of the sitting room to the bedroom and then the bathroom, where he heard the shower running. He knocked on the door, “Billy?”

And then louder, “Billy?”

“Come in.”

Steve carefully pushed into the room, unsure what he’d find…

What looked like two open first aid kits sat on the counter. Steve couldn’t read anything from those alone, but he didn’t have to because the shower was a large, glass cubicle. It stood big enough for four people. Billy sat on the floor, his chest wrapped in sodden cotton and gauze; barefoot underneath his black slacks. Steve opened the glass door as Billy lifted his head—

He knelt on the hard tiles, putting his arms around Billy’s neck to greet him, to hold him. Cool tendrils seeped through Steve’s hair, soft claws over his scalp until the water properly soaked his strands.

“Steve, your clothes.”

Instead of answering, he looked at the shower knobs and turned the hot water up. As soon as heat seeped over them, Billy melted against him. His head fell easily where Steve pulled him into the bend of his neck. Billy’s hands fumbled a little to find him, but all he could do was grasp onto him to avoid bending or twisting his injured torso.

Steve remained kneeling over him long past being soaked through.

He did not cry until Steve undressed, leaving his sodden raiment on the shower floor to retrieve the scissors from the first aid kits. He carefully snipped through the ruined gauze and medical tape. Soon a pile of white, and diluted pinkish-orange blood also sat on the floor. Whoever had stitched up Billy’s sides had done a good job, but Steve had to dry him off and rebind him.

After the first wince, Billy came undone. Steve wished he could say something to make it easier, but all he had were small reassurances and quietly given orders.

“Can you hold this here?”

“Lift your arm up.”

“Hang on. Almost done.”

An odd talent of Steve’s: tolerating pain with silent grace. A skill which Billy ironically lacked. But where Steve withheld, Billy knew how to release. Perhaps here was one of their bridges.

“Put your arm around me. Lift with your legs.”

The towels Steve put over their shoulders helped them grip one another. Once standing, Billy halted, “Wait. Take these off.”

To each of their credit, neither made a joke as Billy’s trousers and underwear landed with a wet slosh next to Steve’s pile. Steve wrapped his towel around his waist once Billy sat on the bed. With his hands freed, he went about drying Billy’s hair with his towel and opening the bed for Billy to fall into.

“Have you taken any meds?”

“Nothing spectacular.”

His head sagged on the pillow, following Steve to the bathroom, where he found an ibuprofen bottle and shook out two tablets. His eyes followed Steve’s hand raking his hair off his face, and the movement of his throat around a swallow. The filling of a glass at one of the sinks.

Billy let him wrangle a pillow underneath his body so he could swallow the pills with ease. Before he did so, Billy informed, “The blue pill bottle is sleeping meds.”

Steve went and read the label, even peeling the thing off to read the lengthy underside. “When did you last eat?”

“I’ll eat tomorrow. I need to rest now.”

But Steve went into the living room and pilfered through the mini fridge. He returned with apple juice and a granola bar. “If you take this on an empty stomach, you might vomit. I’m not letting you suffocate in your sleep.”

“They put that on there to avoid lawsuits,” Billy complained even while he accepted the juice bottle. He munched slowly, almost carefully on the sugar-glazed nuts of the granola bar while…

Steve got dressed. In Billy’s clothes.

He crouched right in between Billy’s suitcase and the open wardrobe to select one of his long-sleeves and boxer briefs. Billy blinked softly, feeling warmth blossom through his chest and sink through his belly.

Regardless, he sassed, “You’re not gonna sleep naked with me?”

Steve climbed next to him, facing him as if he intended to get up again soon. He tore into his own granola bar. “I don’t know what to expect with you. I’d rather not be forced out of the building naked.”

Billy’s hand touched his leg as he bit into the bar. “Nothing’s going to happen. There’s a menu on the table out there. Order room service.”

“Tomorrow,” Steve refused with a cheek full of almonds. “We’ll eat tomorrow. Or…when the sun’s up in two hours.”

Billy didn’t ask him to, but Steve stroked fingers through his hair after Billy took his sleeping medicine. “Don’t leave,” he moaned tiredly, the force of the little pill dragging him under.

“I’m not leaving. But you can’t octopus me in your sleep.”

Billy sighed, intending for more words to come out than the ones that did. “…test me…”

When his breaths came and went like the heavy sway of the ocean, Steve kept petting through his hair. Even though Billy couldn’t hear him anymore, Steve sighed, “Scared the shit out of me, idiot. I missed you. Don’t do that.”

Billy hummed in his sleep as if he heard him. Even drugged unconscious, the man tried to retort.

Steve leaned down to kiss his temple and tucked him in to keep him warm. When a knock on the door sounded, Steve donned one of the bathrobes and held a shoehorn behind the door as he answered. The shoehorn was a ridiculous ornate thing from the wardrobe; more like a walking stick than a device to help a heel slip into a boot.

The woman on the other side of the door dressed as expensively as Billy and appeared just as austere. Steve had never seen her before even though she acted like she knew him. “Is he well?”

“He’s asleep. What do you need?”

“To go over his intended schedule for today.”

“Reschedule it. He isn’t doing anything for at least two days.”

She did not look anxious. Merely…disappointed? “That will be…difficult.”

“He’s a difficult man,” Steve sighed, his posture tilting back into the room and warranting an end to this discussion. “Whoever expects to see him likely knows that.”

“Good morning, Mr. Harrington,” she dismissed.

“What is your name?” he halted.

“Elena Varma. Hargrove knows me as Elicit Vagina.”

Steve’s jaw went slack, and if she were anyone other than Billy’s secretary and personal guard, now would be the time to take his head off. Instead, she elaborated, “I’m a lesbian.”

“Right,” he nodded dazedly. “Are you single? I know somebody.”

Her dark eyes narrowed at him, but her mouth and brows moved with amusement. Like a test, she inquired, “Are they butch?”

“No,” he said a bit perplexedly, thinking of Robin’s amber blond bob and all of her many-colored Converse on which she doodled.

A pause. Then, “Does she have bad taste?”

“Yes.”

“Good. We’ll be in touch.”

Steve exhaled, “Great,” under his breath as he shut the door. Crossing over to the living room, he set the shoehorn down and picked up the room service menu.

When Billy’s eyes next opened, it was to the beckoning of dishware clatter and summons of browned butter and tangy, aromatic cheese.

Steve sat much as he last remembered, sitting facing Billy while a tray sat where his pillows ought to be. A cart of more food stood by the food of the bed. Billy’s blurry gaze traveled back to Steve, who chewed on a croissant with a newspaper, of all things, in his hand.

It was perfect.

Minus the abhorrent headache and parchedness of his throat.

“Coffee.”

Billy couldn’t not smile at the wide eyes that lifted up to him. Steve rushed to swallow the lump in his cheek and handed him his glass of water from the tray. Billy shook his head. “No. Coffee.”

“Water first.”

Billy sighed and leaned over as much as his injured side allowed him to. He drained the glass. And he never got his coffee. Steve made him drink a strong cup of tea, as if that would replace Billy’s usual espresso in the morning.

“Your, um, personal assistant came by. She knows to reschedule all of your—whatever you do. I said you need two days.”

“Two days?” Billy chirped in the middle of grumbling over his tea. “That’s a vacation.”

Steve huffed a sound, but looked toward the window and it’s sheer, white curtains. “What street are we on?”

“What was that sound?” Billy diverted.

Steve looked at him. “What sound?”

“The sound you just made.”

“You mean the sound of you complaining that I work too much but consider two days a vacation. That sound?”

“Yeah, that sound,” he remarked. “I stand by what I said. You don’t need two jobs.”

“Billy, you got stabbed yesterday. Twice. Or whatever the hell happened to you.”

“I’ll have you know I was only stabbed once. The side mirror of a moving car clipped my other side.”

Whatever mirth he intended to be in that statement wilted in the face of Steve’s glare. Billy took the silent admonishment with grace and, after a moment, said, “I’m not the criminal you think I am.”

“I never said you were one.”

“Walking around with a stab wound and clear assault damage isn’t helping my case,” he responded with another unhappy sip of his tea. At least Steve put milk and sugar in it. Dessert for breakfast.

“Long story short: I got a job and the old man CEO noticed me. He liked me a lot. I was the one male secretary in the place; it was easy to notice me. The women liked me—”

“Women have always liked you,” Steve retorted quietly. But he set his things on the tray and laid across the bed to pillow his head on Billy’s thigh.

He gazed up at him while Billy continued, “It was easy. If the head of a building likes you, job promotions come fast. Training happens in the boss’s own office. Then the asshole died and both his heir, and the board, did not take it well to my name being in the will. I’ve been cleaning up a lot of their mess.”

Steve listened and processed, “This heir was driving the car?”

Billy snorted and instantly grimaced for the pain it caused him. Steve began to get up for the painkillers, but Billy’s fingers plunged into his hair; not gripping him, but softly holding his head. “Stay. I’m fine. No, I doubt the idiot even has a license. He can’t aim a blade, either. He’s running out of money, that’s why he’s so desperate.”

“Where is he now?”

Billy’s head tilted almost piteously at him. “Do you really want to know that?”

“Well I can’t decide which is more romantic: inviting me into a shit storm, or making sure I’m safe first.”

He could see some of the tension leave Billy’s face and shoulders as he reached for Steve’s tray and took his other croissant. “He’s in the hospital. But I don’t know if he’ll make it.”

Steve could read between the lines. “Us trust fund kids. We’re not built for street fighting.”

That earned an animated frown from Billy, who spoke regardless of his full mouth. “You gave me a hell of a wallop once.”

“I lost that fight.”

“You didn’t have a homophobic, retired veteran waiting for you to bring your sister home. And this guy clearly doesn’t have a pretty boy waiting for him or he might’ve won.”

Steve laughed but it faded as he just…marveled at Billy. They had never talked this openly before. However proud of Billy he felt, though, the nagging dark corner of his brain turned his thoughts onto himself. He let slip:

“You work so much harder than me.”

Billy immediately wasn’t having it. His head tilted again but instead of pity, it was chastisement. “Steve.”

“No, no—I just mean I’m proud of you.”

“You can be proud of me without sounding like I’m about to toss you out onto the curb. I just told you the very idea of you helped keep me alive.”

“And I abandoned two jobs and an overpriced apartment to be here, so I hope you mean it. You might be keeping both of us alive for a while—Hey.”

In between thrown bits of croissant and grapes, Billy chided, “I’ve been. Trying. To convince you. That I mean it. And it takes a drive-by to. Get. Your. Attention.”

“Okay! Okay—this is disgusting. Stop it!”

Steve reared up only to be ensnared by Billy’s overstretched arms. Steve caught himself on Billy’s collarbones so he did not press on his chest, tugging the skin on his sides. “B! Be careful.”

A hand cradled the side of Steve’s head as a soft smirk lifted Billy’s mouth. “Let me kiss you.”

Steve, defiant till the last, pushed him down so he didn’t exert himself. Then he kissed Billy slowly, reverently. He liked kissing Billy a whole lot. Loved it. He liked Billy’s taste and the sound of their lips parting before meeting for more. He liked the puffs of Billy’s breath across his cheek and his hands reaching for Steve. Finding him. Holding him.

Eventually, though, Billy whispered against his lips, “Why did you ask what street we’re on?”

Steve rolled his lips together, perhaps seeking a balm for being chapped from kissing, or nerves. “It’s fashion week. We might be able to see stuff from the window.”

Billy claimed one more kiss and then released him to clean up the bed and scout the street below. Billy managed to reach the bathroom on his own, where he took another pair of meds and readied for a day in. With Steve.

Steve, who insisted he stay in bed.

Steve, who found a full-length mirror in the wardrobe and held it half out the window so Billy could see the horizon of the street reflected from his place on the bed. He watched Steve more than anything. His giggles at how ridiculous it was to hold a mirror out the window. When his features relaxed as he watched the traffic and people arriving to a place a few blocks down. When he asked Billy if

“Can you see the red coat? That thing’s massive.”

And, “Somebody famous just got there. The paparazzi are going nuts.”

Steve really should have expected the events of the next day, but Billy still faced the stern glare and long blinks when he sighed. “B, you’ve only rested a day. Your stitches could still tear.”

“One runway isn’t going to kill me. We’ll pop in and not attend the after party. Elicit’s already managed to get tickets—”

“Her name’s Elena,” Steve frowned with his hands on his hips.

“No, it isn’t,” Billy scoffed, and went to dissect Steve’s luggage himself...

He grasped the linen shoe bag, recognizing the shape inside. He lifted one of the Hot Chick 100s. “You took packing seriously, huh?”

Steve seemed to be really grappling with patience. “I didn’t know what you needed. A nurse or a kinky leg to hold onto.”

“So I got both,” he grinned.

A reluctant, little smile pulled at Steve’s face. “I’m not wearing those out.”

Billy had already set the pair on the living room table when he grimaced, “What? Why not?”

Steve glanced at the windows like they might hold an answer. “Because I’ll be giant and make more noise than anyone else in heels.”

Billy wasn’t buying it. He held onto the back of the couch to help himself stand and then made his way to his own clothes. “If there’s any time to wear what you want and get away with it, it’s fashion week. Come here, no one’s going to let you wear jeans beside a runway.”

Billy had way too much fun dressing him. A quiet little warning bell went off in Steve’s head over this, but he couldn’t listen to it without also admitting that he enjoyed himself. One of Billy’s silk button-ups around his body felt nice.

Intimate.

A black suit jacket over it made Steve feel chic and professional. And when Billy asked him to lift his foot onto the bed, Billy double wrapped the chain of his pendant around Steve’s ankle. Amber and opals on one side, and a golden saint on the other.

“If you’re tired or hurt at any point, tell me,” Steve lectured in the car.

“Yes, dear.”

“I mean it,” he insisted, but Billy’s hand on his thigh tightened.

“I know, baby. I’m okay. The show’s not even two hours long. Try to relax. You look real hot.”

Steve snorted and rubbed the silk of his shirt between his fingers. “Is this shirt new?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“I’ve never seen you wear it. And it would’ve matched my green shoes,” he added with slanted eyes at him.

“So what if I wanted to match my partner? Try and sue me.”

Partner. Steve caught his face in his hand, eyes aching with the moisture overflowing from his heart.

The car pulled up alongside a bustling street. Elena Varma accompanied them through the open double doors, but she kept to herself. She sheltered Billy’s other side while Steve slid an arm over Billy’s shoulders and held onto him. If a pair of eyes scrutinized them, Billy was hardly the only rich man with a pretty thing in heels on his arm. And people only had compliments for Steve’s classic choice in shoe.

The off-duty models sitting around them in the chairs along the runway were very sweet. Steve and Billy kindly refused their inquiries over attending the later afternoon events, but gratefully accepted their information about the show.

Models talk. And in this world where everyone knows someone who knows everyone, the models explained the architecture of the runway, the designer’s vision, the gossip about the model opening the show, and the model closing the show, etc.

“I like the butterflies,” Steve said, pointing to the ceiling, where a myriad of paper butterflies on wires fluttered with the air conditioning ventilation.

“I like you.”

Steve pointed flustered but narrowed eyes on him. “Are you even paying attention?”

“To the important things,” Billy replied, leaning back with an arm over the back of Steve’s chair. He did contribute, “I like the columns. The effect of the eroded marble and gold filigree is interesting. I enjoy looking at it.”

Steve leaned into him, resting a hand on Billy’s thigh as the lighting changed and the show began. The fashion proved largely sculptural instead of practical, but Steve pointed as models went by.

“My mom would know what that means.”

“If the designer was inspired by Greece, then it’s something mythological. Greece seems to be very in right now.”

“You read my magazines,” Steve accused with a smile.

“I smell the colognes.”

That earned Billy a soft nudge before Steve’s jaw relaxed in sight of a male model striding past them. “You’d look really good in that.”

“The gold speedo?”

“No,” he lightly slapped Billy’s knee. “The shirt.”

“I don’t really go for pastels.”

Steve turned soft eyes on him. He touched the underside of Billy’s chin with a fond knuckle. “You and your jewel tones.”

Then a model turned onto the stage wearing a sweatshirt totally encrusted with jewels. Steve and Billy exchanged looks, which ended with Steve covering his laughter and Billy pressing his face into Steve’s shoulder.

Steve and Billy left the show with at least one pocket full of models’ agents’ business cards. Steve had taken the time to write the models’ names on each card along with a descriptor, as if they actually intended to remember and reach out to them later that night, should their plans change.

Their plan did not change.

If anything, Steve and Billy only more firmly wanted to retire to their hotel room after they ordered coffees—and Steve nearly broke his ankle stepping off the pavement.

“The puddle lied! The water lied to me,” he lamented through laughter, having thought that the water was far shallower than it actually proved to be. He powered through their venture in the coffee shop, but as soon as they were in the car, Billy pulled his leg up to inspect his ankle and Steve held up one of the shoes.

“Holy shit. Look at that.” The flat of the heel now had a harsh angle to it, as if he’d worn these shoes for a decade instead of thrown off his stride by a waterlogged pothole. Both shoes had water and grit on the insides too.

“I’m sorry, B. These might need some work—Oo!”

Billy had touched his ice coffee to Steve’s ankle. “Don’t worry about it. Did you have a good time?”

“Yeah,” he said on a lighter note. “The ladies we sat with were really nice.”

“What about the show?”

That gave Steve pause. “Um. Honestly? They all walked too fast for me to really see much.”

Billy laughed so hard his stitches made him stop.

#harringrove #deeper than skin #neonponders #pondermoniums

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gale-gentlepenguin · 4 years ago

Text

ML Fic: Nathalie’s Gift Part 1

She sat up in the middle of the night.

She took a moment to let her eyes adjust to the darkness. She knew it was late, likely an hour or two away from sunrise.

She examined her surroundings until she saw him. There he was, sleeping in the chair at the end of the room. Gabriel Agreste, her boss, her ally, and the one she had fallen for, was asleep in a chair several feet away.

Ever since the defeat of the guardian and the plan to use Chloé to get the miraculous, she had been far too weak to be as mobile as she was in the past. Gabriel had set her up in his quarters, despite the mansion having dozens of rooms. He had reasoned that Adrien would never walk into his room without permission, so that it would never become apparent how her condition was deteriorating.

His logic wasn't entirely unfounded. She was constantly teetering towards the brink. Overuse of the once broken peacock miraculous has left her bedridden most days. Despite the miraculous no longer having such a negative effect now, she knew the damage was already done.

Yet he hasn't discarded her, was it out of loyalty that he felt the need to care for her despite being more of a burden? Did he perhaps start to feel something more for her as this whole debacle went on.

The later of which was unlikely, she knew better than anyone that Gabriel was far too loyal to his wife to entertain such a notion. So long as he believed there was a chance of bringing her back, he wont stop. She could never be Emilie Agreste, the love of his life and mother of Adrien. She was Nathalie Sancoeur, trusted assistant, and partner in crime.

She forced herself out of bed. Moving quietly as to not awaken the sleeping mogul.

She snagged her tablet, and the peacock miraculous that was next to it.

She moved to the office and sat in the office chair. Perhaps she could get some work done while she was awake. And should she feel the need to speak to someone, the blue bird Kwami would be a fitting companion.

She started looking through work but her mind kept wandering to one thought

So long as Emilie could be brought back, he could never love me. I could never replace her.

She coughed.

“Not that it matters, I am on borrowed time as it is.” She commented to herself.

She stopped herself as she let her own comment sink in.

She was on borrowed time.

With how she was now, how much time did she have, a few months? A year? Maybe a decade if she really tried to take care of herself. But it wasn't like she was sick with a normal illness. But would Gabriel be able to get the miraculous? Even with everything they had, Ladybug and Chat noir always seemed to best them at every turn. At the rate things were going, she would likely end up in a glass coffin as well, and if Gabriel fails...

In that moment of worry. An idea that could fix everything slipped into her brain.

It was a long shot sure, there was a possibility that everything will backfire. But she needed to do it.

She exited out of her work and went into the security feed using her tablet. She disabled the secret camera hidden in the lair below.

She started making a few preparations.

_______________________________________________________________________

Gabriel awoke to his phone’s sudden vibrating.

He quickly shook himself and looked at his phone.

“The alarm was tripped. Someone damaged Emilie’s chamber!”

The fashion mogul rushed out of the room. His thoughts were firing through his brain a mile a minute.

Who found the lair? Was it one of the heroes? A spy? Who would dare desecrate my beloved wife’s container?

The fashion mogul made his way to the secret elevator.

A purple Kwami emerged from the pocket of the rushing fashion designer.

“Is something wrong master?”

“It appears there is an intruder in the secret sanctum.”

“What are you planning to do?”

“Im going to show them the error of their ways. Nooru, Dark wings rise.”

Gabriel transformed into the villainous hawkmoth, His face covered by a silver mask, and is candy cane color scheme replaced with a purple suit.

He was armed and ready to fight should.

As the elevator reaches the bottom. Hawkmoth dashes out as soon as it opens.

He would strike quick, and take care of the intruder before they realized who they were facing.

As he approached, he stopped dead in his tracks. As he noticed someone standing infront of the Glass container.

“Hello?” The figure called out. Her voice having a familiar tone that caught the butterfly villain off guard.

As his rage diminished, he felt his vision clear and noticed the shattered glass on the floor, along with the glass container that was now broken.

“It... It can't be...” Hawkmoth’s words escaped as he realized who was standing in front of him.

“Can you tell me where I am? I woke up in this... thing over hear. Im not entirely sure what’s going on.”

“Emilie... is that you?” Hawkmoth questioned, unsure if this was a dream, or if by some miracle the love of his life was indeed back from the abyss.

“How do you know my name Mr. Masked man?”

“Nooru, dark wings fall.”

The blond woman watched as the costumed stranger revealed himself.

“Gabriel? Is that you?”

A tear spilled from his eyes as he rushed to her.

“You're here. How is... How is this possible?”

“I... I dont...” She started to stumble as she walked towards him. Her vision was starting to fade and the world was spinning.

Gabriel quickly moved to catch her as she suddenly fell.

He felt his heart panic, but he could hear her breathing. She was simply sleeping.

“Perhaps it would be best to take her out of her.”

Gabriel walked to the elevator, his wife in his arms, asleep yet very alive.

His mind had 1000 questions, but in this moment, he didn't care. He was holding the woman he loved in his arms again, and thats all that mattered.

___________________________________________________________________

“Gabriel!” She cried out as she woke up.

Sunlight was beaming from the window, it was clear it had been bright out for sometime.

She felt sheets underneath her. What she expected was a hard floor in a weird sanctum but now she felt the comfort of a room that felt familiar.

She heard the door open and looked to see her husband carrying a tray.

“Oh good, you're awake.” He spoke with soft relief.

She looked at the tray.

“Are those.”

“Lemon tea cookies. Your favorite.”

She smiled at him as he brought the tray to her bedside. Allowing her to snag a bite of one of them.

“So good!” She said as she finished her first cookie. “I feel like I haven't eaten in years!”

Gabriel’s expression faltered. She could see the pained expression as she said that.

“Gabriel... how long was I gone?” Her question verbally stabbed him.

He took a moment to process the curious expression on his wife’s face as she continued eating the tray of treats.

He looked down at his hands.

“A year and 6 months.”

She gulped down her cookie hard at the revelation.

“Wow... I've been gone for so long... Adrien must be taller then... ADRIEN!”

Emilie grabbed her husband by the collar.

“Where is Adrien?!”

“He’s at school” Gabriel answered.

Emilie blinked.

“School? You mean he is no longer being homeschooled?”

“He still has some lessons, but he was insistent on trying to go to school like other children his age. It was more ideal for him to go out than for him to be stuck here most hours of the day.”

Emilie processed that information.

“I see, I am surprised you said yes. You always said you hated public schooling.”

“I still believe the school systems are... inferior, but Adrien’s grades haven't faltered according to Nathalie. So I don't bother intervening.”

“My boy has grown up so much since Ive been gone. Wait, is he dating yet? Please tell me I didn’t miss his first crush!”

“Emilie, I am sure that you didnt miss anything. You and Adrien can catch up once you are rested and he is back from school.”

Emilie took a deep breathe.

“Okay, You're right. It will be nice to hear everything from him.”

She looked around the room a bit and noticed the vase full of roses.

“Oh, fresh roses. Gabe-y you cheesy romantic.”

Gabriel felt his cheeks go pink.

“It was... the room needed some color in it.”

“Much like those red pants you insist on wearing.”

“They are fashionable.”

“If you were in charge of candyland perhaps.”

Emilie loved to tease him about is fashion calls.

“Who is the fashion designer here?” He said with a mock stern tone.

“Speaking of fashion, that costume that you were wearing. That didn’t look like the peacock miraculous.”

Gabriel’s tone shifted to genuinely serious. He figured the time would come to answer that question.

“It is the butterfly miraculous. After your...departure. Nathalie and I investigated the temple where you and I had found the peacock miraculous. We discovered a new miraculous, one that wasn't damaged.”

Gabriel felt a twinge mentioning Nathalie. When he had rushed to bring Emilie up here, he felt guilt and relief that his assistant wasn't in the bed. He would have quite a difficult time explaining that one, even if nothing happened.

“So with that miraculous you were trying to find a way to bring me back.”

“It was a means to an end.”

Emilie processed the information she was told.

“Gabriel, I want you to do something for me.”

“Anything.”

“No more miraculous. None.”

Gabriel blinked.

“But...”

“Those jewels are nothing but trouble. It has only caused our family suffering and pain.”

Gabriel was surprised by the claim, but he knew she was correct. The miraculous have been quite the curse on the family, despite the powers they gave.

“It will take time for me to stop using it outright, there is a... situation with how I’ve been using it. Your sudden appearance and the disappearance of Hawkmoth might be suspicious.”

Emilie looked at Gabriel intensely.

“Hawkmoth? Gabriel what did you do?”

“Well... in order to try an bring you back, the butterfly miraculous wasn't going to be able to accomplish that goal. So the only way I could bring you back with certainty was to attain the ladybug and Cat miraculous.”

The former actress listened as her husband explained how he became a super villain for the sake of getting the jewels.

“Unbelievable.”

“I admit, explaining it makes it sound a lot worse than it actually is. I planned to fix any damage caused once I got the jewels”

“And what if people found out your identity!? You would have been thrown in prison and left our son an Orphan!” Emilie pointed her finger in his chest.

“It was the only way I could think of to attain the miraculous. How else would I have been able to confirm the miraculous were in Paris?”

Emilie was ready to let him have it. But she felt herself calm down. She had to admit, in a weird way, it was quite romantic. Something out of a tragic romance novel.

“I should be angrier with you, but I know if the situation was reversed and I had a way of bringing you back, I would have likely tried the same thing, albeit in a smarter way.”

Gabriel felt a bit of relief seeing his wife not so cross with him.

“So we figure out how to orchestrate your ‘Defeat’ and then we say good bye to the miraculous for good.”

“We will plan it out when you are completely better. Though this does raise the question. How are you back?”

Emilie pauses, she tries to think back.

Protect the Agreste family... no matter what.

She heard that phrase echoing in her head. But she couldn't figure out why. Who said that to her. Why is everything so fuzzy?

“I don't know... I remember hearing glass shatter, and a flash of blue. But the next thing I remember was... seeing you.

Gabriel looks at her, he could tell from her eyes she was telling the truth.

“I will look into that later. In the meantime, you should rest. I will check on you in a few hours.”

He moves the empty tray from the bed.

“Wait.”

Gabriel stopped.

“Get Adrien here. I want to see him now.”

“Dear, he is in school. It will dismiss in a few hours. Besides you should rest.”

Emilie got up from the bed.

“Nonsense. Ive been resting long enough. I am sure Adrien can miss a few hours of school. I want to see my baby boy.”

Gabriel wanted to find some way to dismiss her request, but he knew he couldn't say no to her. She was far to headstrong and determined... and man did he miss her.

“Okay, I will have his driver go an pick him up.”

“You aren't going to pick him up yourself?”

“Emilie I have work to do. Besides that is why we have...”

“You can take some time off to bond with your son. Seriously, you need to stop putting up walls Gabe-y.”

Gabriel took a calming breath to compose himself.

“Very well. But do use this time to rest.”

She moves to kiss her husband.

“I promise.”

Gabriel’s expression turned into a soft smile.

“I will be back with our son shortly.”

Gabriel left the room to go pick up Adrien.

Emilie smiled as she moved to vase of roses. She picked on up and sniffed it.

The rose in her hand began wilting and shriveled up.

She looked in the mirror.

“Everything went perfectly.”

______________________________________________________________________

End of part one

(Should I continue? Let me know your thoughts)

#nathalie sancoeur #ml #miraculous ladybug #ml fic #miraculous fanficiton #Gabriel agreste #emilie agreste #ml angst #hawkmoth #adrien agreste #Nathalie's gift #Nathalie's gift au

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emilyoftheshadows · 4 years ago

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Person A catches a bus home everyday, but today, they're so exhausted that they fall asleep, suddely they feel a light tap on their shoulder and open their eyes to see a cute guy/gal/person smiling at them. "Sorry to wake you, bit this is your stop, i hope you slept well"

So, this is the first piece I have written and posted here! This is a fluffy drabble loosely based on the prompt above as well as some tik tok ideas i've seen. I hope you enjoy and don't judge too hard :)

~~~~~~

Aelin never knew that she could feel such a wide range of emotions in such a short amount of time. The hectic events she had endured earlier in her day had left her drained and in dire need of sleep.

She started out her mornings as usual - brewing her coffee with the help of an overly excited Fleetfoot. On the subway ride to work, coffee in hand, she explicitly remembered checking her emails for any important notices regarding her job. As an advertising agent, she dealt with multiple clients at one time. With her meticulously organized calendar and the help of her overworked assistant Marion, she was usually able to keep everything in check. Today was not one of those days.

As she entered her office, Marion greeted her with her tablet in hand- Aelin’s schedule color coded, labeled and sorted by hour.

“Good morning Ms. Galathynius, ready to hear your schedule for today?” Aelin nodded, sipping her coffee as Marion listed her client meetings for the upcoming day. As they entered her office, Aelin paused.

“Marion, could you please repeat that first meeting again?”

“The Havilliard Scotch pitch at 12?” And that was when Aelin knew she was fucked. This pitch was meant for a well known drinking company in New York, fast on the come up. Havilliard Sr. was known to be picky about his branding, scrutinizing most agencies that had helped him before. She had barely gotten this client, practically begging Nehemia for the job. As she worked the branding, she had become worried about the content she was producing.

She was so worried about this pitch, that she had taken her laptop home last night in hopes of triple checking her work for mistakes and to fine tune some details. And that's where her laptop was at that moment. At her apartment, across town, sitting on her desk, collecting dust. Her mind raced at how to solve her predicament. The subway ride to and from her apartment was too long of a trip to make before the meeting and, like an amateur, she hadn’t saved her files anywhere else but her laptop. She was completely fucked.

Marion stood in the doorway, confused on what was going on in Aelin’s head. Aelin decided to finally release herself from her stupor. “Marion, could you please go find Aedion for me? And tell him it’s an emergency.”

With a determined look on her face, her assistant went as fast as her short legs could carry her to Aedion’s office on the adjacent part of the building floor she was on. Within minutes, Aedion was standing at her door, panting like he had just sprinted the fastest race of his life. The good thing about having her overbearing cousin work with her, is that she knew that in any problem he would help in an instant. And this was one hell of a fucking problem.

“What happened Aelin? Are you okay? Were you hurt? Do you need an ambulance?”

“You idiot I am physically fine, but still screwed and I need your help.” Aedion released the first breath Aelin had seen him take since entering her office.

“You know, when Marion power walked into my office saying you had an EMERGENCY and she didn’t know what was wrong with you, I definitely thought you would be passed out on your floor with blood on your face. But, you know, thanks for the heart attack. Really woke me up this morning.”

Aelin rolled her eyes at him. He was more dramatic than her, and that spoke volumes in itself.

“Aedion, please it really is an emergency. I have the big pitch for the Havilliard Scotch today and I left my laptop with the presentation at my apartment.” Aedion’s eyes widened in surprise. He knew that Aelin had been obsessed about this pitch and that mistakes like this only happened to her once in a blue moon. Aelin saw understanding dawn on his face and took that as a sign to continue.

“Now, I know a while back I sent you the rough drafts of the branding from when I first got the pitch. Is there any chance that you have the email or presentation saved still? If I have the basis of the presentation, I have an hour to build on it and hopefully fix this.”

Aedion’s face fell at the request. “We can go look, but you know I’m not the best at organizing my files Ace. It could be anywhere on my computer or not at all.” With those reaffirming words, Aelin and Aedion walked at a brisk pace back to his office. Combing through Aedion’s computer was an agonizing process. There were files saved from years ago that should’ve been deleted, and backtracking through all the contents of his computer made Aelin want to stab her eyes out. But it was all worth it, because hidden in the depths of this man’s terribly organized computer was the presentation. With a quick click of a button, she emailed the document to herself. She gave a half ass hug to Aedion, then practically ran to her office to start reworking her pitch on the computer there.

Aelin believed it was pure adrenaline that enabled her to finish her pitch in time for the Havilliard meeting. With a strong foundation laid out before her from her first draft, she had constructed almost her exact pitch that was left at home. Aelin waited for the Havilliards in the boardroom, smoothing out her clothes as she paced at the front. Far too soon, Marion escorted Havilliard Sr., Dorian Havilliard, and their close friend and partner Chaol Westfall into the room for her presentation. The three men had sat down in silence with no introduction, except for a small encouraging smile from the younger Havilliard. Taking that as her sign to start, Aelin cleared her throat.

“Hello gentlemen, today I want to present to you the future of Havilliard Scotch…”

---

As the men had exited the room single file, Aelin finally allowed herself to relax. That had felt like the longest pitch of her life. Going into the meeting, she had known the men were notorious for being extremely serious and critical of their agents. What she had not expected was the whispered words between the men after she had finished her presentation. As she looked on, Dorian Havilliard had finally broken away from their circle to address her.

“Miss Galathynius, thank you for your time. We will get back to you shortly about our decision to run with this branding or not.” With a quick nod and gesture to his companions, the trio had stood up and left the room. She was utterly shocked. Aelin had poured her sweat and tears into this pitch, quite literally, and they had just thanked her and left. No critiques, no opinions, no nothing.

Quite honestly, Aelin was exhausted. She had spent most of her brain power reworking that pitch in that 45 minutes before that meeting and she had nothing left to give today. Yet, she still had a full schedule left to woo clients and work on her other projects. By the time Aelin trudged back to the subway, she was ready for a nice dinner at home followed by a restorative night of sleep with Fleetfoot at her side.

Now, as she entered the subway, she immediately noticed the mystery man sitting down a few feet away from her. The man was moderately built, with muscles that were outlined by the fabric of his long sleeve t-shirt. His style was simple with a pair of nice jeans and Doc Marten boots, but that just allowed one's focus to settle on the beautiful creation that was his face. Mystery man had a strong jawline, lined with a bit of stubble and scruff. His eyes were a beautiful shade of green like none that she had seen before, his head topped with luscious silver hair. As the subway started, Mystery Man continued to sketch drawings into his book. Now, Aelin was never one to back down from an opportunity to flirt with one of the most attractive men she had ever seen. She was a single woman in a big city, why the hell not. But her day had taken a toll on her, and she just didn’t know if this was the right time or place. So, she opted to put in her headphones as she waited for her stop, listening to relaxing music to calm her anxieties regarding the failed Havilliard pitch.

Seeing that her stop was next, Aelin rose from her seat to wait in line for the doors to open. As she waited, she felt a light tap on her shoulder. Low and behold, there was the Mystery Man standing next to her with a piece of paper in hand. As she pulled her headphone out, the man silently handed her the paper. Looking down, she saw a pencil sketch of herself on the subway. The drawing was beautifully done with bold lines and harsh shading, contrasted by highlights created from the fluorescent lights of the subway. Her eyes welled up, immediately grateful for this thoughtful gift after such a horrible day. The Mystery Man saw her emotions, startled to see tears welling up in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude on your privacy. I just… I like to draw and when I saw you… I mean, it’s just you’re so stunning..” The man’s face flushed red as he tried to justify his beautiful art. Aelin laughed out loud for the first time today at his misunderstanding of her swell of emotions.

“Oh no, these are just tears of..uhmm.. happiness? I guess…” She started to flush at her own awkwardness, trying to explain her emotions this time.

“I just had a really rough day and feel like shit. But this drawing is beautiful and I really am grateful that such a talented artist like yourself chose me as your muse today.” Aelin watched as the Mystery Man reacted to such a lavish compliment, somehow developing an even deeper blush with a shy smile . Gaining confidence from his reaction, she decided to make her move before she exited for her upcoming stop.

“Hey, Mystery Man, why don’t I give you my number? Seeing that I am your muse and all, I would really like to learn more about your art.” It was a subpar pickup line at best, but hey, she had a long day and for the circumstance she thought it good enough. The man gave a deep timbered laugh at her pickup line, clearly enjoying their conversation now.

“I think I might be one step ahead of you actually. Flip the drawing over.” As she flipped the paper, she saw a messy scrawl with the name Rowan, and what she could only assume was his number. The sight of these two things brought her complete giddiness. Giddiness that made you want to jump in the air and pump your fist because you're so excited. She looked up at Rowan, smirking as she tucked the piece of paper into her purse.

As the subway doors opened and they were pushed apart by bypassers, she turned around one last time to look at the man who had brightened her day beyond belief. She winked at Rowan as she walked away, not missing the wide smile he gave in return as the subway doors closed and continued on to the next stop.

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official-michael-afton · 4 years ago

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Could you teach me how to draw please? I love fan art but cant draw it ( also I’m failing art class so..).

Anon, that is... a very loaded question. Considering one can draw literally anything, I can't really give you specific advice. I'll try to give some general tips though!

For your art class- I'm going to assume you're in high school, apologies if I'm wrong(I doubt you're taking college-level art courses if you don't know how to draw, no offense XD ... And I hope there aren't middle-schoolers under the age of 13 here sjbjdksf) But art class is a class, therefore has assignments and a whole grading system other than "does it look good". If you can, talk to your teacher, try to find out what it is that's making your grades drop. I haven't taken an art class since I was 12 so unfortunately I can't pin down what exactly the issue might be. But talk to your teacher, maybe they can help!

For actual art advice, again, I don't know what you're trying to draw so I can't give anything specific, but some general advices I want to give are:

PRACTICE

I know that doesn't seem very helpful, but one doesn't become a doctor in a day, one doesn't become an athlete in a day, and one can't become a great artist in a day. My motto is "the only way to be good at something is to be really bad at it for a long time". As you practice and grow more, you'll discover how to better use your tools(whether that be a tablet+software, paint, pencil, etc), what methods work for you, what you like and don't like, and generally get the muscle memory for it!

USE REFERENCES

Seriously, this will save your life. The internet is a blessing for artists, make use of it! Look up images of what you're trying to draw, study how things look so you're not just trying to create something from scratch. Use tutorials to figure out how to get that effect you're going after! There's countless resources that will help you get specifically what YOU want, way better than asking someone on Tumblr could XD

THE CHERRY-PICK METHOD

This is a term I've coined for myself. For me, I tend to mostly draw humanoids, that's been my main thing ever since I got into art as a kid. But you can tell by my art style... it's not mimicking any thing in particular, it's kind of a hodgepodge of all sorts of other things making it's own style... my style! I like bold lineart, bright colors, big eyes with expressive faces, rounded shapes, cell-shading, etc etc. I didn't all pick this up at once though, over the years I picked things that I liked, and tried to put them into my style! It was shaking at first but through trial and error I found things I really like to draw and put them in my style!

My advice here is: if you see an artwork or an artist you REALLY like, try to figure out WHY you like their art. Is it the way they color? Is it the way their piece seems to look so fluid? Is it the expressions? So on and so forth. Try to study their art and find out how they make it the way they do, and take some notes so you can try similar methods or stylization choices!

SIMPLE FIRST, COMPLEX LATER

Sometimes a piece of art can be daunting, like, where do you start? My best advice is: Start as simple as you can, and go from there. Humanoid bodies are just a bunch of shapes thrown together with details. Nearly everything you want to draw can be built with circles, triangles, and squares. Start simple, then move on to details, shading, etc. Backgrounds used to terrify me until I realized you can just- block in a bunch of super simple shapes, and then add small details as you go until you're happy with it. For example, here's one piece I made a couple months back(featuring humanized versions of my dnd ocs because heeheehoohoo):

See how their faces are similar to circles? The torso and limbs are just rounded rectangles? And the background: almost entirely made of simple rectangles. Just start small and work your way up, it'll be WAY less daunting.

HAVE FUN

BIGGEST piece of advice I can give. Because artists are NOT going to be good when they start, and I've seen plenty of people beat themselves up for not being "professional" right off the bat. But if you're not having fun making art... then why are you making art?(Not directed at you anon, just an existential question to my fellow artists) The joy in making art should come from "Hey look I made a thing!" So don't sweat it if things don't look good off the bat, or if something you try fails. Art should be fun, so draw what you want to draw and have fun with it!

I hope these tips help!

#bad dad advice #idk if i have a 'bad dad advice' on this blog or if thats only on main...#long post

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etlunainmorte · 4 years ago

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The Sick Rose ( V X Reader )

~ A request by a lovely friend from Twitter about a Modern College AU V helping a dear underclassman reader with her assignment. I hope you like it.

***

There. He saw her sitting on her own again on that old bench next to that tree.

And this time, she's reading something. Seemed like an old book.

She never noticed or suspected anything. Or maybe he was just too careful not to be noticed. But, whatever the case was, V would always see her sitting there, alone, and minding her own business. And she would never notice anything else while she's preoccupied in that tiny, private bubble of hers.

Normally, V would be minding his own business, as well. Either going to his next class alone while streaming Paganini or Debussy on his phone for his ears only, or listening to his best friends, Nero and Nico, talk about their favorite games and movies on their way back to their dorms. V has always been preoccupied with something else to notice anything.

Until this freshman, that is.

It began just a little over a week ago. And it was during one of those rare occasions where some seniors would get the opportunity to observe the junior literary classes. Or sometimes, take over as "assistant professors" for these underclassmen for a while.

During that time, the poor professor had to go to the clinic due to a very unsavory reason he opted not to disclose, and kindly asked V to take over for the meantime. He was teaching the comedic works of William Shakespeare.

While most of the students were clearly bored out of their own wits ( some were extremely interested for reasons V chose not to overthink about ), he noticed one person who looked genuinely interested in the topic.

That girl from the last row.

V noticed how she listened to every explanation and every word he said. Every so often, he would see her nod as she took some notes. And one time even, she tried to raise a hand to ask him something but, she somehow withdrew at the last moment. V honestly wondered why, because he would've gladly answered any questions she would ask.

The next day, V noticed her sitting on that bench with her headphones on while doodling something on her tablet. He tried to get her attention but, he chose not to since he didn't want to bother her, or anything. And the day after that, on that very same spot he saw her writing something on a journal, still with her headphones on. Either way, ever since that impromptu Shakespeare lecture, V found himself somehow a bit drawn to her and her sunny, and yet curious vibes. He would be lying if he told himself that was not the case.

It all began just a little over a week ago, and she didn't even notice him looking at her, not even once.

However this time, V noticed there was something off about her. Like something changed in that light - hearted disposition of hers that always drew him in. He tried to pinpoint what exactly, and after a short while, he noticed her intense facial expression as she poured all of her focus on that old book she most probably borrowed from the library. There was something a bit tense in the way she flipped those pages, the little trembling of those fingers as they moved, and the way she curled her lips as they slightly opened and closed when she read.

And most importantly, it looked like she needed some help. An urgent one.

Excusing himself from his two best friends, he composed himself and went towards her. Brushing an almost invisible crumb off his crisp white shirt, he cleared his throat and thanked the Gods above that he somehow remembered her name.

"Miss (L/N)?" He awkwardly began. Then, seeing that she didn't hear him, he spoke once more. "Miss (L/N)?"

Oh, the way her eyes widened when she finally noticed! The way that mouth of hers dropped and the way she almost lost her composure the moment their eyes met.

It's as if the girl didn't really expect that he would casually approach her like this.

And honestly? It kind of made V's heart jump. But only a little bit. He really wanted to help her, so he tried his very best not to get swept off by his own emotions and focused on the problem ahead.

"Mr. Sparda!" She stuttered, scrambling on her feet. "I d - didn't expect you to - "

"Please, no need to worry." V reassured her as calmly as he could. The girl remembered his name as well, and his traitorous heart did more than just jump this time around.

Relax, V. Relax. He thought. You're here to help an underclassman.

"You seem to be,... ahh,... having a little difficulty on that,... book of yours." V went on, in a voice he hoped was calm enough. "Would you indulge this fool and let him help you with whatever you need?"

There. He said it. Did he sound too strange? Was he too forward? Did he sound creepy? She did look like a meteor has just crash landed in front of her.

But, whatever the case was, there's no turning back now.

"Umm," She began as she handed V the old book.

And by Jove! V almost flipped when he realized what it was! It was none other than Blake, himself! His favorite poet!

"I quite don't understand William Blake." The girl went on. "His words are simple and yet, when I try to explain them, or make sense of them, ahh,... I don't know! The words just avoid me." She collapsed on the bench and sighed as she massaged her temples. The works of Blake seemed to give her such headaches.

Sitting right next to her, he asked, "What do you find difficult about Blake's work?"

"You see, about this rose thing." She said, leaning slightly closer to him as she pointed at some words on the book on his hands.

Her hair smelled nice,...

No, V! Focus!

"I don't know if it's talking about an actual plant, or something that is actually sick,... "

"Love."

"I'm sorry?"

"Oh! I mean,... " And for a moment there, V felt his sweat run cold the moment he uttered that word.

And the girl? She seemed to tense when she heard the very word.

Like he somehow hit a deep chord within her.

"The Sick Rose is about love."

"Love?" She repeated. "You mean, a sick kind of love?"

"Well, yes." V said with a knowing smile on his face. "You know the saying love is blind? Most of the times, love prevents you from seeing the whole truth. Thus, the invisible worm."

"And the crimson joy?" There. Those glistening eyes of hers as she hang onto his every word,...

"The crimson joy means deep, dark love. The kind of love that destroys the purity and innocence of the rose."

"I,... see,... " The girl uttered, more to herself than to V.

Seeing that she's still not somehow convinced, he explained further. "You know when you love someone too much to the point of blindness, it destroys not only the person but yourself, as well. The true meaning of your feelings would be replaced with that of obsession, of selfishness. Of destruction and corruption. Of wanting this person only to yourself and no one else's. You keep this person enclosed deeply inside your own affections until the purity and innocence of their own feelings towards you die. And sometimes, this sickness grows too large, it affects other people as well. And that is the death of true love, as we know it."

The girl pondered for a while, thinking about everything V has just told her. Then, after a while, she shook her head as she grinned and chuckled to herself. And V found this quite amusing.

"Yeah, like," She said in a low voice, like a penitent confessing her sins before a priest. "You're loving someone too much, you fail to notice how destructive it has become to them and to yourself. The invisible worm. I get it now." She faced V once more, and with a bright smile, she said, "I guess I don't want to write an analysis on The Sick Rose, after all!"

This made V's eyes wide with both shock and surprise. "Oh, that's,... I see! Well, you - "

"But, thank you so much for your help, Mr. Sparda. It truly feels like you've taken a peek inside my deepest and darkest secrets."

"Pardon - ?"

"Can you help me choose a different Blake poem, instead? Something that feels lighter and brighter?" And just like that, after having a small glimpse of her own precious thoughts, V felt that she closed her doors on his face once more. Of course, there was something more about this girl, something that made him see a different color about her. Something,... intense for a change, that clashed with that sunny vibe she often showed to most people. And to him.

And it made her even more interesting to V.

This mysterious girl,...

... he has to know more about her.

"What about The Cradle Song?" V offered as he gestured towards her headphones that he saw peeking from her school bag. "We can listen to the actual song instead of me explaining it."

The girl smiled and she nodded, accepting the offer. "Sounds good to me."

It was safe to say that V and the girl has established some sort of solid connection between the two of them after listening to that song. Afterwards, she even recommended him one of her favorites, a song called Honesty by someone who wears pink and sweats a lot. At least in V's understanding of that particular band's name. Nevertheless, V enjoyed that one, and more other songs she recommended whenever they get the chance to see each other, whether to study, read books, or to just hang out.

As friends? Maybe yes. Maybe not. Who could say?

All V knew was that he was glad he approached her that day when she needed help with that Blake poem analysis. And those conflicting feelings she chose not to reveal at first.

***

#vitale #dmc5 #devil may cry 5 #devil may oneshot #v x reader #v x you

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yourmidnightlover · 4 years ago

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SSA Hotchner: chapter 5 - childhood

TW: case-typical violence, case involving child abuse, description of abuse, panic attack, kiss *let me know if i missed anything*

WC: 6,421

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two weeks had gone by before you had gotten a new case with the team. it had been pretty slow, something you were rather grateful for. but you could guess it was just the calm before the storm.

just being called in so early left everyone on edge as you entered the bau, drudging into the conference room to be briefed on the new case. you sat in the chair beside derek and spencer as you waited for penelope to enter the room.

"alright my friends this case isn't very bright," penelope greeted upon entering the room. "although none of what you do is bright. anyway, there have been three murders along the gulf coast of men. they are manually strangled and then... well, you can check that out on your tablets," she motioned as she took a seat at the table.

"they're thrown away like garbage," you spoke up. "he has a complete lack of remorse for these men."

"the manual strangulation suggests that the unsub is passionate about this kill," spencer added.

"they were only a week apart and the last death was three days ago," derek reminded us.

"which is exactly why we need to leave soon," aaron told the table. "wheels up in 30."

—

you sat on the chair across from the couch that spencer was sitting on. morgan was beside you as emily and jj were in the seats across the table. hotch and rossi sat facing one another.

"so there are ligature marks and bruising which suggests torture post-mortem," rossi stated as he browsed on his tablet, his face grimacing as he scrolled upon a particularly gruesome photo.

"maybe these men remind him of someone from his past that wronged him?" emily guessed, looking towards you for agreement. "or he could feel emasculated by these men."

"the guys he's killing don't scream "tough guy" to me," you shrugged.

"okay so back to the man that wronged him theory..." jj spoke up. "maybe he's warming up to this specific guy?"

"if that's true then he's going to wait until he perfects his kill," derek stated.

"and from the looks of it he still has a long way to go until it's perfect," rossi scoffed.

"we need to look into these victims lives," aaron interrupted. "figure out what overlaps with what. something about these guys makes the unsub want to kill them and we need to figure it out. i want emily, y/n, and spencer to go to the most recent victims house and talk to their wives," you three nodded in agreement. "rossi and morgan go to the morgue to analyze the body further. jj you're with me at the precinct to see what the locals know."

—

you sat in the passenger seat, theories running through your mind about what could have been going on that made them a target for such murder. each of the men had children and wives, a life waiting for them at home. they had good jobs, they were financially stable so they wouldn't have owed anybody money.

"whatcha thinkin over there?" emily asked, peering over at your clearly confused state.

"just how it doesn't make sense that these men were killed," you furrowed your brows. "they had a family, a life to go back to. it just... it's not right."

"that's why we're here," spencer spoke up from the back seat. "to figure out why this is happening and put the killer away."

"i know," you sighed, turning to look out the window once more. "... i know."

"we'll figure it out, y/n," emily placed her hand comfortingly on your thigh. "we always do," she gave you a smile.

"right," you have her a tight-lipped smile in return.

once you arrived at the most recent victim's, christopher taylor's, house, you both noticed how nice the neighborhood was. it was a huge, two story house with an equally large backyard with a pool.

it reminded you a lot of your childhood home - the late nights beside the pool, waiting for your dad to get back home with you brothers, long before dad turned to alcohol. and then the very same house was tainted with violence and screaming, fears and hiding from your own dad.

not now, you thought. i need to focus.

walking up to the door, you rang the doorbell apprehensively, a little nervous to meet the grieving family. after a few seconds, the wife opened the door with a, clearly fake, smile adorned on her face.

"hi," the wife, stephanie, greeted you. "come on in," she stepped aside to allow you three inside.

"thank you, ma'am," you thanked her as you stepped inside. "i'm so sorry for your loss."

"oh um..." she trailed off. "thank you, it means a lot," she guided you all to the living room. "please, uhm - please, have a seat."

you sat between spencer and emily as stephanie sat on a chair adjacent to the couch, facing you all.

"would you like anything to drink? water? tea?" she asked eagerly before a child came running down the stairs, making their way beside their mom. "what're you doing, love bug? mommy has to talk to the police," she said sweetly to the 6-year old child.

"when's daddy coming home?" he asked with a sad tone, but something didn't sit right with you.

"he's not," she sighed as she placed a kiss to his hairline.

"what?" he asked in surprise. "he's not coming home?" his eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened in shock.

"no, he's not, bug," she brushed his hair behind his ears, clearly trying to ground herself and not break down.

"here," emily spoke up. "why don't you go with ms. hotch and dr. reid and show them your room?" emily said excitedly to distract the child.

"yes! i just got a new race car i can show you!" he exclaimed as he jumped down from his mom's lap.

you and spencer gave her a smile as you got up from the couch, following the eager child up the stairs to his, rather large, room.

the room was spotless, not a toy out of place from his shelf as his bed was perfectly made. a little boy's room, especially one this young, would normally be a bit more disorganized. he didn't have any colorful art on his wall, no important pictures adorning his wall either. the personal aspect of his room was lost within the blue and yellow wallpaper, trapping his childhood and joy in the obvious restrictions placed on him by... not his mother.

she was loving and kind to him, she didn't fake her adoration for her child. so it was probably his dad, placing responsibility on him by making him be the "man of the house" at such a young age. but how far down did that responsibility go?

"hey james," you bent down to his level, speaking in a high register voice. "how about that car?"

"dad won't let me play with it because it's a collectible car but it looks really cool on the shelf!" he pointed up on the shelf to a level he wouldn't be able to reach. "super cool, right?"

"so cool, little man!" you exclaimed. "did your dad not let you play with these other cars?" you asked curiously.

"only at a specific time with his permission. he doesn't want me to break anything again, and neither do i..." he trailed off with big eyes, reliving the time he might've once broken an item.

"what happened when you broke something," spencer piped in, bending down to his level to talk in the same voice you had earlier.

"oh, that," he sighed as he sat down in the chair by his desk. "one time i was playing with a car i got for my birthday when he didn't tell me i could and then when i accidentally knocked over a vase in the living room, he wouldn't let me play with them for a whole week! then he started yelling at mommy for letting me make the mess so i told him it was my fault and he spanked me really hard because i was being bad. so now i don't touch my toys unless he says so," the boy shrugged.

"where did your dad spank you, james?" you asked l, apprehensive of the response.

"he spanked me with his belt on my back, but the bruises went away after a while," he shrugged.

you looked over at spencer, giving him a look that you shared. the little boy didn't know he was a victim of abuse. then that feeling filled back up inside of you... the feeling of fear and worry.

no, you thought once more. i have to focus.

"you won't have to worry about that anymore, buddy," you gave him an apathetic smile, rubbing his back gently.

"i miss my dad," he frowned, walking closer into your touch.

"i know buddy," you enveloped him in your arms, brushing through the hair on his scalp to try and calm him down.

because you understood the pain. you didn't know why your dad had been so cruel, but that didn't stop you from missing him after his death. the confusion, the mixed emotions. while you wouldn't have to face the harshness of his hand or the angry tone of his voice, you would never get to ask him why. why he was so angry all the time? why he would always blame his family for a rough case? why he ruined your childhood...

"hey guys," emily knocked on his door. "we can uhh... make our way out now."

"alright," you pulled back from james. "if you need anything, ask your mom to call ms. y/n, alright? she has my number."

"alright ms. y/n," james agreed, wiping the tears from his face.

"i know how confusing you must feel right now, james. but just know how much your mom loves you," you smiled. "and know that you didn't deserve anything your dad did to you. it's not your fault, none of it was."

"thank you," he grinned weakly before you stood up and left the room, not failing to give him a kind smile as you walked out of the room.

when you caught up with spencer and emily, you joined them in the car.

"christopher was abusive," emily said blatantly.

"he beat james and yelled at his mom because james had broken a vase," you informed emily.

"he would constantly abuse his wife, verbally and physically. she tried to deny it before she just admitted outright that he was violent and aggressive," she told you and spencer. "are you gonna be alright on this case?" she looked over at you.

"yea, of course," you chuckled before giving her a look and adding, "why wouldn't i be?"

"right," she nodded curtly. "sorry."

spencer wasn't stupid.

he was a profiler. he could pick up on your odd behavior. the way you comforted james was all too familiar to you, as if someone had comforted you that way as a child. and he heard the way you reassured james about his father's violence. while in the back of his mind all he could focus on was how great you were to the child, imagining you as a mother yourself, possibly to his children - which he knows is extremely premature - he couldn't help but profile how you had acted. but he also wanted you to want to open up to him about it, so he wouldn't bring anything up.

so he acted like he wasn't there.

—

"alright, so we're presenting the profile in a half hour," aaron announced to the team. "we need to emphasize the importance of keeping this under wraps. this unsub is killing for attention, we shouldn't give it to him because that would make him kill even more."

maybe you were anxious. scratch that. you were anxious. how were you supposed to catch a killer ridding the world of abusive fathers? an unsub who was abused himself and wanted to lessen the pain of wives and children? it just didn't make sense to you, which wasn't ideal since you had to catch the killer, no matter what it took.

"y/n?" spencer's voice broke you from your own thoughts, you hummed in response. "you alright? you were pretty out of it there."

"right... sorry," you chuckled. "i'm alright," a pitiful smiled displayed on your lips.

"are you sure?" he placed a gentle hand on your back before sitting in the seat beside you. "if you need to talk about it, now or later, i'm always open."

"thank you, seriously, but i'm alright," you assured him, placing a hand on his forearm.

he opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by morgan knocking on the door, announcing that they were preparing for the profile outside.

you walked out into the pit, helping set the board up with the information you had found out about the victims. you turned around, facing the entire police station, ready to tell them about the killer who was bound to go on a spree.

as your brother began speaking, you got lost in your own thoughts once again. wondering if you would have to kill the unsub. wondering what would happen to all of the others business fathers and families if nobody stopped their torment.

thoughts... memories... emotions flooded your memory. your mind was clouded by the past.

your heart began racing.

your vision blurred.

before you knew it, your feet were carrying you out of the building, trying to get yourself some fresh air. you sat down on a nearby bench and buried your face in your hands, between your knees. once you felt your breathing had evened out, you rose your head from between your knees to take a deep breath. you wiped your face if any remaining tears just in time, because spencer slowly sat down beside you on the bench, a pitiful smile on his face.

"what?" you huffed, placing your head back into your hands.

"you just..." he trailed off. "i know something's wrong, y/n. whether or not you'll admit it, which you need to do. pushing it all down won't help anything."

"i'm fine, spencer!" you shouted. "god, why can't you just accept that i'm fine? i'm alright. i'm totally fine with the fact that we have to imprison a guy who's killing terrible fathers and probably making the world a better place! i'm fine with the fact that the families are better off with those men dead! and most of all, i'm fine with the fact that my dad is dead and i don't have any answers as to why he..." you trailed off, sighing as you calmed down a little bit. "i'm sorry."

"you don't have to be sorry," he smiled, placing a hand on your back. "look... i didn't want to say anything, but i think i know what's wrong."

you lifted your head to see him, "you do?"

"yea, i do," he reached over to wipe the tears you didn't know were still flowing off your cheeks. "you don't have to talk about it yet, or with me at all. but when it gets too bad and you need to speak with somebody just know i'm here."

you didn't really know what to say. you yelled at him and he's offering you support. what would've normally warranted someone getting angry and storming off made him kind and supportive.

"uhm, than-thank you," you leaned into his touch, eyeing his lips as he did yours.

you brought your hands to hold his forearms and cup the back of his neck. you pulled him in closer to your face slowly, both unaware of why you were doing so but feeling the need to. like a moth drawn to a flame, you had to have him. you had to know what his lips felt like against yours, what he tasted like. would he passionate, or gentle? maybe a mixture of both. regardless, you had to know. you had to find out.

and then emily busted through the doors of the station, leaving the two of you to jump to opposite sides of the bench.

"y/n," she greeted you, her brows furrowing when she saw spencer with you. "... and spencer... are you alright-y/n, that is."

"uhm," you cleared your throat, rubbing the back of your neck. "yea, i'm all good," you eyed spencer, who was staring straight at you, surely wondering what would've happened if emily hadn't came out of the building.

you almost kissed spencer. you wanted to kiss spencer. you still want to kiss him.

"spencer here talked me through it," you chuckled, nudging his shoulder slightly to draw his attention back to emily, away from you.

"yup," he gave a tight-lipped smile.

"oh, that's a relief," emily sighed. "well garcia called in the middle of the profile and said she created a possible victim list the unsub might target next based on the geo profile reid created."

"that's great! how long is the list?" you asked eagerly, leaning forward to show your engagement.

"there are 4 possible locations and because the unsub has been decreasing his cool-down period, we should all split up and go to each house to ensure their safety," emily listed off to the two of you. "i'm here to tell you how were splitting up. it'll be you two, morgan and i, jj and hotch and rossi will be by himself. there sending a few swat agents with each of us to ensure safety."

"alright. i'm assuming garcia will send us the address?" spencer asked.

"yup. they should be on your phones now," she confirmed. "we're still going to try and connect leads while separated, this is purely just a caution so we don't have any more victims while we're here."

"of course. that makes sense," you agreed.

"alright, well, you have the keys to an suv?" she asked, making sure you could drive yourselves to the location.

"yup, they're right here," you dig into your pocket and showed her the keys.

"so i'm gonna go see if morgan is ready to go," she announced as she walked back into the station, the two of you following behind to grab your go-bags.

when you arrived at the o'connell's home, you were quieter than anyone had expected. could anyone blame you? you were in the house of an abusive father in order to protect him.

"alright," the mother, julie, began, "i've set up the spare room for the two of you, if you decide to rest, that is. it's right by the front of the house, so if anything happens you would be right there."

"alright, ma'am," you smiled. "thank you."

"i'll be in my room if you need me; jonny is in his room, and my husband will be with me," she announced before walking up the stairs to her room that was adjacent to jonny's.

"i don't think i'll be able to sleep," you whispered to spencer once you had gotten into the room, sitting on the edge of the bed. spencer sat down beside you, placing a gentle hand on your knee.

"okay," he squeezed with the slightest pressure, only enough to ensure you knew he was there.

"maybe that's best. so i'll be fully alert if the unsub gets here while you're asleep," you stared blankly at the floor, your feet dangling off the edge of the bed.

"you'll wake me up if he does come?" spencer asked for the reassurance; you nodded your head 'yes.'

you finally broke your attention from the floor and scooched up to the headboard of the bed, your back against it. you looked over at spencer who was just staring at you confused.

"are you gonna sleep or what?" you smiled before he returned the favor, scooting up to meet you on the bed, only he rested his head on a pillow.

after about two minutes, you felt his arm being thrown over your lap, moving you closer to him before he nuzzled into your stomach. he used his other arm to secure your position with him, sighing into your tummy contently. you brought your hand to his hair and began playing with it mindlessly.

you didn't sleep at all.

you were wide awake while tracing spencer's skin or playing with his hair. nobody came-not even a car drove by. spencer had woken up at one point, only for you to hum him back to sleep after ensuring that everything was alright.

garcia had gotten a list of the possible unsubs, everyone who had abusive parents, anger issues, and lived 5-10 miles around the comfort zone. you studied the files the entire day, not having a single break through. it was very dull.

the next night, however, was a bit more hectic.

you had been awake for over 36 hours, so you had been feeling that tired-high that kept you going. this time, you were reading a book spencer had let you borrow when you heard something at the back door. your phone was in your bag, which was in the living room. luckily, you had your gun beside the bed, like always. you maneuvered around spencer so you could stand up, wanting to be sure there was danger before disturbing him.

you recalled the facts of the case - the profile.

he would enter through the front door, clearly not this time since he had heard of the police presence. he would ensure the child's sleeping before subduing the wife in order to strangle the husband.

which meant you needed to go check on jonny.

you carefully trudged up the stairs, gun in hand as you made your way to his room. the door was cracked open, so you carefully peered inside. the man was hovering over the child, stroking his hair softly.

in order to ensure the child's safety, you backed away from the door so you could attack as he exited. you didn't expect the floor to creak - rather loudly - as you retreated.

you looked up to see the unsub wrangle jonny in his arms before you came through the door, gun ready and raised.

"let him go!" you sternly ordered as you realized who the unsub was.

michael burns.

his father had been so abusive, he not only killed his mother but almost killed him. he was 7 when he saw them get into a heated argument, his father ended up beating his mother to a pulp that night.

"no! i'm saving him!" he shouted back, pointing his gun at jonny's head.

you heard footsteps behind you, leading down the stairs. it was spencer taking the parents out of the house.

"do you really think killing him would be saving him, michael?" you asked in a soft, concerned voice.

"i wish someone had done it for me! it would've saved me all the pain!" he cried out, you felt his pain through his voice.

"i know you think that would've saved you from the pain, but how do you know what's best for jonny?" you asked.

"because i do!" he pushed the gun further into jonny's head, hearing jonny's whines echo even more. "put your gun down before i shoot him!" he ordered.

"okay, okay," you bent down on the floor, placing your gun down before you heard footsteps approach behind you.

"put the gun down!" spencer had ordered from behind you, you turned around to see him in a bullet-proof vest, gun raised directly at michael.

"no! NO!" he angrily chanted back at spencer.

"michael, focus on me," you put your hands out and up in defense. "just let jonny go, alright. we'll make sure his father pays for what he's doing to him and his mother."

"no you won't! it never works!" he held onto jonny tighter.

"i promise you, i promise, that we will make it work. we will make sure that jonny is never hurt again. we'll make sure his father goes to prison for a long time, alright?" you slowly walked closer to him, so he pointed his gun at you instead of the child. "see? that wasn't so hard, right?"

"stop it!" he ordered so you stopped your movements forward.

"it's alright," you softly announced before asking. "me for him, alright? just... just let him go."

"you're lying!"

"no, i'm not. i swear to you i'm not. i understand what you went through, okay? i know what it's like to not understand what you did to deserve the abuse and hurt your father put you through. but killing jonny won't fix anything," you told him, he softened a bit from what you revealed. "i had my brothers by my side when that would happen, so i can't imagine how much worse it was for you, michael. but i know that jonny deserves to live. he deserves to see tomorrow and feel the love he deserves, right?"

he slowly released his grip on the child, jonny ran straight into your arms as spencer grabbed his handcuffs and put them on michael, reading him his miranda rights.

"keep jonny safe. keep michael safe!" michael announced as he was escorted out of the room by spencer.

jonny was crying in your arms, clinging tightly to your shirt as he tried to calm himself down. but he didn't need to calm down. he needed to let it out. he deserved to let it all out. he deserved to cry as much as he wanted. and you couldn't help but cry with him. you tried to hold it all in, to be strong for the child in your arms, but you cracked the slightest bit as you felt him quivering in your arms.

"let it out jonny," you stroked his hair. "you're safe now," you placed a kiss on his hairline. "you're safe."

"thank you ms. y/n," he whispered a few minutes after he stopped crying, allowing you to pick him up and carry him to the back of an ambulance.

you didn't even know where his parents were. and quite frankly, you didn't care. you just needed jonny to be safe.

"it was absolutely no problem," you held his hand as the paramedics checked him out.

he didn't want to leave your side at all. when you went back to the precinct, he sat in your lap on the drive there and while you waited for his grandparents to arrive to pick him up at the police station. he cried when he had to go with them, not wanting to leave you after everything that had happened. so, upon his leaving, you made sure to give his grandparents your number so he could call you when he wanted to.

his grandparents were his mom's parents and were very kind people. you knew they wouldn't hurt him as his mom went through her in-patient victim counseling and his father was in jail.

"i don't wanna go," jonny whispered into your neck.

"i know, but nana and pawpaw are really sweet, right?" he nodded his head. "so if you ever need to talk to me, you can ask them to call and they will. i promise i will always answer," you squeezed him a bit tighter before releasing him from your embrace.

once boarding the plane, it was only five minutes after takeoff that you felt your phone ringing. you excused yourself as you took the call at the back of the plane. everyone noticed your exit.

"you think she'll be alright?" morgan asked spencer, whose gaze was still on where you had walked off.

"she's strong, independent, and resilient," spencer replied.

"that doesn't answer the question, reid," he squinted his eyebrows at the younger man, his attention finally going back to morgan.

"i think... i think she needs to work through her past. and we all have things we need to work through - myself included. i just want her to feel comfortable enough with us to... open up," the brunette doctor sighed, focusing back on his book for a millisecond.

"you like her," morgan smiled, jolting spencer's attention back onto morgan.

"what? why would y- you can't- just... shut up," he smiled, rolling his eyes at the more than accurate accusation.

"alright, pretty ricky," morgan chuckled, raising his hands as you came back to sit beside spencer, mumbling a gentle 'sorry.'

"was that jonny?" spencer asked quietly.

"mhmm," you smiled. "he's settled in at his grandparents house already. he said that they're already super nice to him and let him have dessert before dinner," you laughed quietly, yawning softly halfway through.

"you haven't slept in 47 hours," spencer announced. "try to rest."

"right, i probably should," you smiled before trying to get comfortable in your seat.

"you can lay in my lap if you'd prefer," he offered, lifting the armrest that was separating your seats.

"really?" he nodded his head before you curled your legs behind you in your seat.

you rested your head in his lap, your face nuzzled into his tummy as your arms mindlessly took his torso in your arms, much like he had the past couple of nights.

spencer had begun tracing the skin along your arm and running his hand through your hair as you slept. he smiled when he felt you squeeze him the slightest bit tighter in your sleep.

"pretty boy," morgan laughed at him. "you've got it bad, don't you?"

"again," he started. "shut up. she's sleeping; she hasn't rested in 47 hours."

morgan raised his hands in defense, knowing there was no other way to get himself out of trouble with spencer unless he just shut his mouth.

aaron knew his sister. he knew how she acted when she had a crush. he also knew how she acted when she was afraid of said crush. which means he knew that she had a bit more than a crush on spencer. you had been clinging to him in your sleep but when you were awake you tried to hide your need to do so. needless to say... you've got it bad for spencer. and aaron didn't even care because he thought - no, he knew - spencer was good for you.

"y/n," he whispered, gently nudging your shoulders to wake you. "we're back now."

you opened your eyes to see you were in a bureau-issued car. you wondered how you had gotten there before spencer informed you, "you were so knocked out i just carried you in here, don't worry," he stroked your hair as you sat straight up, rubbing the remnants of sleep from your eyes.

"uhm, thank you," you stretched your back before you got out of the car, grabbing your things and making your way back inside the building, stumbling over your own feet as you do so.

once you were inside and grabbed your keys, aaron was behind you and cleared his throat to announce his presence. you turned around slowly, brows furrowed as you made eye contact with him.

"i don't think you're awake enough to make the drive back to your place," he said in his protective voice.

"are you kidding? what should i do? just stay here tonight?" you scoffed.

"no, reid will take you home," he motioned his head towards spencer, whose attention was just caught with his name being said.

"sir?"

"you're going to take y/n home and make sure she gets inside safely," hotch practically demanded, you sighed.

"sounds good," he did his signature 'white guy smile' before you handed your keys over.

"you get the weekend off!" he called out to the two of you as you walked away.

you nearly fell as you walked to the elevator so spencer had put his arm around you to keep you balanced. you leaned into his touch as he guided you to your car, helping you get in before he went to the driver's side.

"thanks for driving me," you mumbled as he drove.

"you're welcome," he smiled, looking over at your resting state.

your eyes were closed as your head lolled forward in the seat. he slowed the car down before he reached over, pushing your head to the side so you would curl into the seat, preventing you from getting a crick in your neck. you brought your hand to cup his as it lay over your shoulder, bringing it down to your lap and intertwining your fingers. he rubbed circles on the back of your hand as you fell asleep once again.

when you woke up, you were being carried up to your room by spencer. your arms were around his neck and your head rested against his chest - a rather firm chest. you squinted your eyes as they adjusted to the darkness.

"shh," he whispered to you. "i'm just gonna lay you down and head out, alright?"

"mm-mmm," you disagreed.

"no? you don't want to lay down?" he asked as he stopped in the doorway of your room.

"don't go," you pushed your head into his chest, breathing in the scent of him.

"what?" he asked as he continued his trek into your room, moving the sheets down so he could lay you down peacefully.

"stay here - with me," you held onto his hand limply to keep him from going. "please?" your eyes were a little glassy from the lack of sleep you had gotten.

"are you sure you want me to-" you interrupted him as he released your hand so he could take your shoes off for you.

"i don't want to be alone right now. so please just - just stay here," you tried to reason with him, pleading all that you could with as tired as you were.

"okay, i'll stay," he whispered, pressing a kiss to your hairline before walking to the other side of your bed, presumably kicking his shoes off somewhere along the way.

when he finally made his way into the bed, you turned on your side to face him. you brought your hand to cup the side of his face gently, stroking the light stubble that traced along his face.

"when i was around 3, i believe, my dad started drinking," you began speaking to him softly. h brought his hand up to cover the one that was on his face.

"you don't have to tell me yet if you're not ready," he reminded you, squeezing your hand tenderly.

"i know. i'm ready now," you took a deep breath before continuing. "the stress from his job was a bit much - being a lawyer would do that to you," you chuckled. "he drank every day and when he would get back home from a rough case, he started to get aggressive. at first, it was just with his words but then... then it got physical."

spencer saw your eyes water as you continued telling him the history of your childhood. the pain, torment, trouble you went through as a child - a toddler. he couldn't help but realize that that's why hotch is the way he is. that's why he's guarded and stern - protective. he's just been accustomed to it since he was a child. he turned his face to press a gentle kiss to your palm, bringing a faint smile to your face.

"he first hit my mom. one day, i tried to stop him from hitting her," the tear trailed down your cheek. "only he hit me instead," spencer wiped it for you, keeping his hand there. "aaron and sean were always out for football practice or something with school. it was never their fault. i was just... i didn't realize that it was wrong, i suppose. i thought that i had done something wrong, so i'm getting punished. it made sense to me," you shrugged.

"but when aaron and sean were there one night when dad was angry, aaron had come out of his room and pulled dad off of me," you choked on a sob. "that night was a really bad one," you recalled. "but... as time went on, dad's health got worse. eventually, he died; he had a heart attack," you sighed. "and with his life went my answers as to why he did what he did."

there was a moment of silence between you two as if he needed the time to digest what he had been told. only he wasn't digesting it. he was more so admiring you. admiring your strength and persistence.

"some people say that a common trauma response in childhood results in just forgetting that it ever happened," you broke the silence. "i wish i had forgotten. i-i wish i had never remembered the man my father was. part of me feels terrible for saying this but i hate him."

"you aren't terrible for that," now spencer's face had tears that you wiped. "that's a more common response to trauma than forgetting it happened. please just don't say you're horrible for living through what you did. you're not terrible. saying 'you're terrible' is a paradox itself," you sniffled, smiling at his joke. "there she is," he smiled, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, watching as it bounced back into place.

"spencer..." your voice trailed off as your face inched closer to his.

and that curiosity you felt only days earlier of wanting - needing - to feel, and taste him was relinquished. your hand brought his chin closer to yours to connect your lips. it was a tame and light kiss as if he were frightened he might hurt you. it was when you applied more passion and fervent that he reciprocated the eagerness.

when you finally pulled back for air, his hand had been tangled in your hair as yours grasped his chin in an attempt to keep him here.

"wow," he whispered against your lips.

"yea... wow," you chuckled against his skin.

and for one moment you felt at peace with your past. you felt hopeful for your future. possibly the future you might have with spencer, if you'd let yourself think that.

but soon that moment would end and along with it the hopes of a future with spencer. the sun would set and rise as it once had with your mind racing along with the 'what-if's and 'maybe's.

but for now, you had spencer. and peace. and quiet. and sleep.

i don’t know if my current taglist would like to be added to the series taglist, but if you do please let me know!

#ssa hotchner #y/n hotchner #hotch #spencer reid x reader #Spencer Reid series

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