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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 1 year ago

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Only - a Magnus Archives Fic

There are multiple versions of everyone here. At least two Martins, a few Jude Perrys, even three Georgies.

But it seems there is only one Jon - and no clear answer as to why.

Judging by Leitner's response, Jon isn't the only one hungry for answers.

Spoilers for the whole show. This is post-MAG 200.

Part three of the Magnus Monsterverse AU.

AO3

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Leitner had set his office in a radiating chapel. Eerily, it reminded me of Jonah’s old office, and I couldn’t put my finger on why.

Ah, that was it: pretentious as hell.

Behind the desk rose rose seven tall, narrow, stained-glass windows, each split in the center between lighter panels and dark, as if telling two halves of a story. Bookshelves lined both walls from that window to the door. The ceiling was high, the area rug thick, and the three seats before the substantial desk quite comfortable.

It all managed to be welcoming—a cozy gathering before the hearth of Leitner’s attention, insulated in colored light and academia.

Of course, the weapons ruined it.

One shelf of nothing but blades, all lengths, weird and curving shapes. One shelf of virulent-colored flacons that competed for vibrancy with the sun-lit panels. A shelf of distinctly occultic accoutrements, with candles and bones and feathers. A shelf with stacks of paper and chalk, pots of ink, and ofuda with elegant script. A shelf with six guns of varying size on little stands, grips out, ready to be drawn and fired.

None of that came close to the danger of the books beside them, though—books practically vibrating with power, sending off little beams of light or wisps of smoke or weird, tentacular distortions I was fairly sure no one could see but me.

Dear lord. This place was a powder keg.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” said Leitner on his throne, with what I imagine was the same hubris he’d had in my world before his precious library was plundered. “Though I see from your face you find it a bit more intimidating than intended.”

“I’m not entirely sure what kind of person would find it less intimidating,” I said, hunching a little into the armchair.

“Fair point! Lolly?” And he held up a little jar of them.

They were the kind one used to receive after visiting a doctor, back in the day: small, round, and wrapped in twisted clear plastic.

I stared at him. “You’re making this surreal on purpose,” I accused.

He laughed.

Had I heard him laugh before? I must have; it was familiar, though I couldn’t place it in our brief and abruptly ended conversation. Then again, I had hardly been in my right mind, having just learned some god made of Fear had claimed me.

I wasn’t in my right mind now, either.

“Well, maybe a little,” he finally conceded, putting the jar back on the desk. “I only get to induct you to all of this the once, you know.”

“Nonsense. You’ll do it whenever you find another me.”

“There isn’t another you,” he said matter-of-factly.

I stared at him.

He looked back.

There wasn't even a ticking clock in here to make the silence less rigid.

I frowned. “That makes no sense.”

“I’m afraid it’s true.” He steepled his fingers. Backlit by stained glass, the green of his little round lenses made him seem part of the ornamentation, a new and three-dimensional form of story told in images.

“Sorry, I,” Martin said, stood up, and moved behind my chair.

“It’s all right,” said Leitner. “If you need to leave, it’s also fine.”

“No,” said Martin. “No. I’m staying with him.”

“However you wish.”

I reached my hand up, over my head. “Are you sure?”

“More than anything.” He took it.

I kept hold as I spoke. “Explain that. What do you mean, I’m the only one?”

“I will be happy to—though you’ll have to forgive my layman’s terms; Manuela got stuck in the lab today, and will have to catch up with you later.” He rose and came around to the front of the desk and sat against it, arms crossed, a “cool teacher” pose if I ever saw one (which I had—I went to Oxford). “This all started because of Gertrude.”

I made a little grunt. Why did it just figure that this somehow went back to Gertrude?

I don’t know what my face did, but it must have been really something, because he laughed again. “Goodness,” he said. “Did you know her? What a look!”

“I… just keep going, please,” I said, because that can of worms still had sharp edges.

“Very well. I was told you were the Archivist at the Magnus Institute in your time, yes?”

"Spoken as if there is no such institute here."

"There isn't. This particular world is precious because it lacks all such institutions and organizations. Similarly, there is no... what was it, Martin? Solus Shipping. No Circus. It's a remarkably pristine world, even though the Fears are here - and we are going to keep it that way."

I stared.

"Regardless," he said. "You were the Archivist, yes?"

I had absolutely no idea how all of that felt. Strange? Aching? Vaguely shameful, for reasons I couldn't yet parse; a deep relief that, if there was a Jonah Magnus in this universe, he'd either never chosen the Eye, or hadn't lived long enough to create his horrid empire.

“Yes.” So strange, that my identity should bring shame.

“That makes this easier to explain. In 1965, Gertrude—then a lowly assistant to Archivist Angus Stacey—encountered an unknown creature in the Magnus Institute. She called it the Grinning Wheel, though we've been utterly unable to identify it.”

I couldn’t help myself. “It was a chimera.”

“A what?” said Leitner, his tone so light, so interested (so damned familiar).

My face burned. “Ah. I call them that. It’s when the Fears choose to work together directly—not even via human servants, but through a monster they co-create. It’s quite rare—they don't generally enjoy sharing—and tends to be something of a horror. In this case, it was a creature of the Spiral, the Web, and the Eye.”

Leitner stared. “You know this?”

“I do.”

“What else do you know?” he said, leaning forward a little.

I stared up at him. “Keep talking, and maybe I’ll tell you.”

He laughed again. “You've got backbone! I like that for you. Never met you, you know, in my timeline; the you from my world died as a child.”

“Mister Spider?” I guessed.

“Yes, actually—would you be willing to tell me how you survived after I answer your question?”

“I... maybe.”

Martin’s spare hand moved to stroke my hair. The tension left my shoulders.

“Well! At any rate, this… chimera… resisted all her attempts to slay it. It murdered Stacey, ripping off his face, then came for her, as she was the only remaining living person in the Archives. She managed to fend it off, but in the process, angered it severely. It became obsessed.”

“She didn’t kill it?” I said.

“She did, in your time?”

“Yes. With fire.”

“Fascinating,” said Leitner. “She did not try that. Instead, the thing haunted her; began taking out people she knew and loved, hanging about outside her flat, generally being a nuisance.”

I felt pale. “A nuisance. Murdering her loved ones.”

“I am giving you her words, Jon, not mine.”

Chiding. That was chiding. Why the fuck was he being—

No, he wasn’t chiding. He was defensive, because I was picking apart his story when we didn’t even know each other. “Sorry,” I say. “I’m… I’ve lost whatever limited knack I had for talking to people.”

"Oh, don't fret over it too much.” He waved a hand. “You should hear the things I put up with from my own staff.”

Barely audible, Martin mumbled, “Maybe if you were less theatrical.”

I snorted.

Leitner raised one white eyebrow. “Someone has to be, hm? Anyway. Shall we continue?”

I stroked Martin’s hand with my thumb. “Please.”

“It pursued her. Resisted all attempts to banish it, kill it, drive it away. Finally, she had enough, and when, in 1974, she located the hair of one Agnes Montague in the ashes of a place called Hill Top Road, she got an idea. She used her knowledge as Archivist and her connections with various Powers to create a ritual.”

I got an odd feeling. “Wait. Who was working with her at that point?”

“Pardon?”

“You said, ‘connections with various Powers.’ Who?”

“Oh. From what she wrote, it seemed she knew avatars from most of the Powers; they were all willing to do her a favor and lend their aid.”

I stared at him.

“What?” said Leitner.

“She… didn’t go on a killing spree, is what you’re saying.”

He looked alarmed. “A killing spree? Gertrude Robinson?”

We gawked at each other.

“Every time I think I know what to expect,” Leitner said, uncrossing his arms and pushing up his green spectacles, “someone goes and surprises me. That is to say, she is certainly quite capable with weaponry, but are you actually telling me—”

“She is capable? She’s alive?”

"Yes, this world's version of her is alive. She works for me. I’ve never even heard of a murderous Gertrude.”

I sputtered. “What, this isn’t—wait a damn minute. I thought we were all from the same timeline. Martin is from my timeline, isn’t he? So how don’t you already know this?”

"Only up until 1974. Besides which, Martin has yet to tell me much about what happened to him,” said Leitner. “I’m hardly going to force him.”

I twisted to look back over the top of my chair.

Martin was barely visible, cast in shadow. He looked back at me, eyes soft, still green, but faded.

Right. My need to know things would wait. “I think we’re about out of time,” I said, turning back around.

“It’s okay, Jon,” Martin said. “Finish.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ll hurry,” said Leitner, hands up. “The point is this: her ritual was… quite bad. Wrong, in fact. It shattered reality.”

“Shattered?”

“It…” He sighed. “Manuela can explain it precisely, including the mathematics involved. Suffice it to say that Gertrude created a…” He considers. “Like an ice floe with with cracks in it. Chunks can break off at any time, carrying whoever may be atop it away with them.”

That was a startlingly clear visual. “She did that?”

“She did.” He sighed. “I’m afraid I barely knew her, so I can only tell you what little she said and the statement she left behind—one which we managed to gather before fleeing that dying world.”

“So… whatever she did meant that…”

“It meant that whenever one of your particular group—tied to the Archives via actual employment, or having given a statement, or through some other means—made a major decision, it split off a piece of that ice floe. Eventually, there was nothing of the original left, which is when my world ended.”

Oh, I had so many questions.

I also had so little time. I licked my lips. “How did you survive that? Not to mention get into… whatever all this is?” I said, one hand-wave taking it all in—the leather, the weapons, the width (approximately half of the Leitner I’d met).

“Gertrude got me into it. We met at an off-the-book black market for occult wares; I could never tell you fully how it happened, but we ended up having a wild adventure that night—car chases, firebombs, a few things I genuinely thought were demons until she taught me otherwise. Then we parted ways, and I never saw her again… but I’d already caught the bug.”

“The… the bug.”

“The drive. The desire. For knowledge, for adventure. It’s contagious, you know—being a hero.”

Good lord. “Yes, well, Sasha said I’m immune to everything now, so,” I snapped before I could think.

He chuckled—a dark sound this time, and I had no idea how to interpret it. “Regardless: here is what you were truly asking. These timelines all ended. One after another, they sank. Manuela believes that they were never… whole? Exactly? Never stable enough on their own to remain afloat, but the curious thing is that the people who made the decisions that broke off those pieces were also the ones to end them.”

“To end them for the Fears.”

“Yes.”

“Every time? None of them ended in nuclear war, or something?”

“None. Though war was often involved; that usually came down to the Slaughter or Desolation.”

So many questions. It’s challenging to pick a single line of inquiry. “None of this explains why you claim there’s only one of me.”

Leitner rose and walked over to his bookshelf, where he peered at spines for a moment.

With his back turned, it felt less rude to rise from my seat and press against Martin. He leaned in as though I were a much larger person; his little exhale seemed grateful, as though I gave him warmth.

“Here we go,” said Leitner, and offered me a book. “This involves many of the calculations Manuela has been making. It’s all Greek to me, but perhaps your… particular insight can clarify?”

“So you’re saying you don’t know?” I blurted, feeling vaguely offended.

“Oh, I can tell you what was observed,” said Leitner. “You always die.”

“I… I die?” I felt pale again.

“Always. Usually in childhood; more often after you’ve taken your job at the institute, though sometimes, it happens before. One of those Georgies out there sacrificed you, in fact, by accident, to the End.”

I suddenly regret having stood so soon. “What?”

“You. Always. Die. Frankly, I don’t understand why that is. She’s charted all the offshoots at this point, or so she believes; we know every single world, and who ended them. Jon… you are the only Jonathan Sims who survived.”

My legs were definitely made of eyes, because standing on them suddenly became incredibly difficult.

Martin held me up. “Steady,” he murmured against my ear.

“That’s… that’s ridiculous.” I swallowed. “Look, we haven’t even gotten into the… the incompatibility of time itself! I was where I was for nearly a thousand years! At least! How did… I don’t understand!”

“Right, that is technical information which you’ll need to get from her—and I can tell Martin is about at his limit.”

Damn it. I hadn’t meant to do that. “I’m sorry, Martin.”

“No,” he said. “No. We don’t go until you’re fed.”

Fed.

He wasn’t wrong.

But I…

“Suffice it to say yours was not the last world found, but it took far longer than others to die,” said Leitner.

“What?”

“We only bring one of the Lost here after their world has ended; to do otherwise would be heartlessly cruel—leaving those who survive at the hands of their chief Fear, without restraint. Most end within a span of fifty years, Jon. The longest—apart from yours—lasted a full seventy-five. ”

"Why was mine so different?"

"We don't know."

I shuddered. “So… you could rescue all the people from those worlds. And you don’t.”

“Please, Jon. Be practical. Where would we put the population of another Earth? How would they eat? Live? Even work? Think. I know this seems cruel, but it is not—you are discussing taking the entirety of the Titanic onto a single lifeboat. No one would survive.”

“Then why are you doing this at all?” And I yelled it.

I hadn’t meant to yell. I…

I have no right to yell. I did this. I ended my world. Where the hell did I get off, being angry at anything?

He watched me, silent while I twisted, as if giving me a moment to reach that conclusion before speaking again. “I am determined that this world will not die. Determined. And the best way to do that, in this case, is deterrence.”

“Deterrence?

“Mutually assured destruction.”

“You have completely lost me.” I trembled.

“I’ve got you,” Martin whispered.

“This world has its Fears. It has its avatars, its monsters, its power-hungry beasts—but now, it also has those who have suffered the price of their hubris, and who will go to any lengths to ensure that end does not happen again.To put it bluntly, we ensure it is simply not worth it to attempt the ending—not for anyone, at any time.”

I stared at him. “You’ve brought… world-ending people together to prevent further world-ending?”

“Yes.”

“That’s… that doesn’t work at all!”

“Except, of course, that it has.”

“You can’t tell me for one moment that everyone you… rescue is on board with this!”

“They aren’t. Those ones, however, are hardly given free rein.”

I stared. “Nikola.”

“Oh, you heard? Yes, she’s one of the few we couldn’t convince to fight for the side of life. Unfortunately, that means she must be detained. Not cruelly. But… there it is.” He shrugged.

I didn’t remember taking the book he held out, but it was in my hand. I realized because I wanted to throw it at him. “‘Fight for.’ What does that mean?”

“It means, through Manuela’s calculations and certain… abilities of our employees, we are able to seek out those who would end the world here and stop them. With extreme prejudice, if necessary. Usually, however, they can be convinced, and the threat passes.”

“You can’t know…”

“We can. Some of my rescuees are Web.”

My shaking grew worse—and not only from shock.

I’d been floating in the same information, the same memories, from centuries. This was not just new information. This was wildly new, and the Eye sang in me, blooming like a flower, and my own soul spewed light like a sun rising over the hill, and I wanted more, so badly. I wanted to know everything he knew about all of it.

Through my shirtsleeve, Martin’s hand on my arm had gone cold. I was out of time.

One… just one more question. “Why do I always die?”

“I have no idea, though Manuela might. The thing that interests me, Jon, is that you’re tied so keenly to almost everyone I rescue—the sole exceptions being those who died before you were born. Even in my world, my world’s Gertrude ended up involved with your grandmother because of your disappearance. Is it coincidence? Manuela says there is no such thing… but suffice it to say, it seems worth looking into. We searched for a long time before finding you.”

Again, I didn't know how to feel. "My world."

"Yes. And we had to wait, as stated, for it to finish its... final cycle."

"So it's dead."

“Yes. Dead. I’m sorry.”

“No, I… I knew it was dead.” I swallowed; my throat felt dry (not enough aqueous fluid, I suppose). “It was all… the memories all became one circular thing. I knew. Though I had no idea how long it had all gone on.” It didn't feel like a thousand years.

It felt like... a solid week of fever, dizzying and spining, but surely not as long as all that. Surely.

It was, the Eye told me, a pleasure in Its wordless exclamation.

I shuddered. I turned to wrap an arm around Martin's waist.

“We can continue this later, of course,” said Leitner, almost kindly. “But I think you have an idea why I wanted to see you today.”

“To see if I’m on board with saving the world.”

“Something like that.”

“I have no interest in ending it again, if that’s what you wanted to know.”

“Excellent! We can discuss it further later—I think it better if you take your lover and go, yes?”

My lover.

My… My Martin.

“I’m sorry,” I said, looking up at him.

His breath felt cold. “No, Jon. I could’ve left any time. Don’t you try to take my choices and blame yourself for them. We’re not doing that.”

What an odd thing to say. “That was a loaded statement,” I murmured.

“Not here,” he murmured back.

“Off you go! I’m sure you’ll have more questions,” said Leitner. “I’m very glad to finally meet you, Jon. That’s all I wanted to say.”

Familiar.

Something about… how he said my name, or…

“Tell me next time how your world ended,” Leitner added. “I try to record these things so we can avoid the same mistakes.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “Thank you for your time.” Damned politeness, ingrained even after being a floating monster for a thousand years.

“We’re going my way this time,” said Martin.

“Pardon?” I said.

Martin took a handful of lollies, smiled at me like the peaks of ice-capped mountains, and pulled me into the fog.

#tma #tma fic #magnus archives #magpod #the magnus archives #the magnus archives fic #magnus monsterverse #jurgen leitner #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jmart #jonmartin #tma spoilers

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derireo-galge · 2 years ago

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Same Wavelength | 2k | yoonmin✍🏼

A radio hosts au where they work the opposite shifts and communicate through notes and clips.

[ soft, happy ending ]

(Yoongi)

The night fell on the city of Seoul.

Yoongi took a late bus and put his headphones on to shut all the surrounding sounds. It's been pouring all day but the rain dwindled by the evening.

His usual night shift will be easy to handle since he slept through the afternoon with no worries or interruptions.

Working the night shift was never a plan but he took this opportunity a bit later after graduating in the end of last spring.

His job of producing and music engineering gave him the freedom of flexible working hours and steady income.

He always wanted to try hosting a radio show. His small group of friends convinced him he has the voice just for that.

He loved the show.

He was able to talk freely about the topics of anxiety, burnout, depression, achieving dreams and day to day struggles.

He loved having the opportunity to play music from not very well known local indie artists instead of manufactured pop that stuck to ears of general public like a gum to a shoe.

Sometimes he would take calls to broadcast people's stories - real, down to earth opinions instead of scripted interviews with fast fame celebrities.

It got him some time to attune because he wasn't a fan of phone conversations but he grew used to it.

It felt good to listen and share things with someones who might be struggling too but silently.

He arrived a little earlier than expected and had enough if time to savor his big cup of coffee.

Night shifts were truly a blessing.

Even though he wasn't the only one at the station's office, it was much more crowded in the daytime.

The only thing he wasn't happy is the name, but weirdly many people loved it.

He got comfortable in his chair, sipping his coffee and scrolling through twitter feed.

Everyone seemed excited for "Pillow Talk", getting cozy and ready to dissipate the day's worth of stress and worries.

His listeners were anticipating today's topic, which was on a lighter side (but really, it depended on the situation).

He moved closer to the computer to pull up the script on a screen bigger than the phone and noticed something in the bottom right corner.

Now, he wasn't the tidiest, be it in real life or digitally, but his desktop was almost empty.

And now there was a new folder named...

"Hello, Suga-ssi" - it read.

- Hello?

What was that, Yoongi thought.

He tentatively clicked on the folder and opened it.

There was only one file, a video.

The thumbnail showed a young man. Possibly younger than him.

With burning curiosity, he put on his headphones and double clicked on it to play.

It was undoubtedly recorded right here in this studio.

The man introduced himself as Park Jimin, a new addition to their company and a radio host to a morning show "Early Birds".

The man was gorgeous and had a soft beautiful voice.

Yoongi flushed when he heard the reason for the video message.

He saw that Yoongi was the only host on a night shift and decided to meet him this way, since he couldn't do it physically.

Cute.

Maybe he should give his show a listen.

When it was time to start the stream, he may have announced today's topic too enthusiastically, chuckling inside at such coincidence.

"First Meetings".

***

Yoongi collapsed on a heap of blankets, having no energy to make the bed ready for sleep.

He couldn't be bothered to put his sleepwear on, having spent most of his mana on work and the journey home.

He turned on the small radio on his bedside cabinet and tuned in.

And indeed, there was that soft voice, greeting everyone who might be awake.

That must be a good start of the day, he thought.

Jimin didn't talk about anything heavy, but it wasn't the usual gibberish you'd hear on any other station at 7 a.m.

He told funny little stories and read his listeners' tweets he probably collected throughout the previous day.

This morning they talked about unexpected things that brought positive consequences in a person's life.

Yoongi hadn't noticed the moment that melodious voice sent him to sleep.

The next day he came to work earlier than usual on purpose.

He adjusted the webcam on yhe top of the monitor and ran a hand through his hair.

Shit.

Was he really gonna do that?

***

(Jimin)

Jimin felt a twinge of disappointment when he didn't get any response from his night shift colleague.

But to be honest, he wasn't getting his hopes too high.

Suga was a famous radio person, from what he noticed online. He must be really busy.

Jimin's morning routine was nothing extraordinary.

Except he didn't like mornings too much.

So he conditioned himself into coming to peaceful terms with them.

He rolled up his yoga mat and went straight to his freshly made smoothie.

He worked up quite a sweat: this morning was warm and humid. He showered and put one of his pretty sweaters on.

Yes, Jimin worked on the radio station but he needs to feel the best.

He had a good feeling about today.

Besides, he might feel like posting a selca.

When he got to his workplace he noticed some changes to the desktop.

There was a folder named "for park jimin" now and the young man's heart did a little leap.

He hastily put on the headphones and clicked on it.

Surely, there was a video file inside.

It was definitely from Suga.

Jimin felt tingly all over.

His cheeks were warm and he was all but bouncing in his chair. He didn't expect to receive such cute message.

And get complimented by..

- Suga-hyung, - he whispered.

The young man had to admit, there was a possibility of him having just a tiny crush on the host whose show he used to listen to on a regular basis.

Okay, maybe he has been a big fan, sue him.

And now he had a personal message from Suga.

This day just became a hundred times better.

He diligently worked through this morning's stream and finished off his paperwork for today.

Lately the scripts flew from under his pen like birds to the seed.

Maybe he had a new source of inspiration.

He looked at the time to check there was still an hour before he had to step aside for another show's host.

Jimin checked himself in the mirror, ruffled his hair and applied a little bit of lipgloss.

He didn't have any specific message he wanted to leave for hyung. But he loved all things unscripted.

Jimin was aware he could just ask for his number but where was the fun in that?

After making sure he was satisfied with the way he looked he went to his work desk again.

Part 2

#ai-ee au #ai-ee au sfw yoonmin #yoonmin #yoongi #jimin #bts fanfction #bts au fic

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mdverse · 3 years ago

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the kurt art was just so absolutely gorgeous and it inspired a new ask !! what do you think the vb au characters would wear in their day to day lives when theyre at home? - space :)

space coming in strong with another vb au we truly love to see it! i was gonna wait until the airport tmo to answer this but clearly i have no self-control when it comes to vb au my most beloved <3

ok anyway regular outfits!

santana tends to gravitate towards sporty but comfortable streetwear? like here, sports bras/graphic tees and sweatpants, stuff like that. occasionally she'll switch it up to jeans and a leather jacket (the rosa diaz aesthetic) but only when she's going out. her style doesn't really change much when she's at home, but i reckon she has stolen at least one of finn's shirts and/or hoodies and wears those in bed or when she's feeling particularly homesick

kurt likes to dress well, even if he's working on stuff at home, so he'll usually be wearing a button up and unnecessarily tight pants. cardigans if he wants to feel nice and cozy. if he's sewing and knows he'll be working for hours, he'll wear short sleeves so they don't get in the way. if he's just chilling, he will 100% switch to sth much comfier like sweatpants and those like,,, super thin hoodies he wears in s4? like the one he's wearing when he meets cassie july? i spent ages looking for any gifsets with that specific scene and i cant find a single one smh my head but yeah hopefully u get the picture

finn is a simple not very fashionable man. large shirts, sweatpants or basketball shorts and he is happy. he also tends to dress like s4 teacher!finn with soft warm neutral colours, oversized sweaters, etc. kinda similar to reid in criminal minds but lighter brown colours. it was 100% kurt's influence that made him dress better when he started teaching i don't make the rules here

britt sometimes dresses similarly to santana's sport streetwear but with much brighter colours. in general tho her style is probably the most inconsistent of them all, because she just wears whatever she feels like wearing. in every single video she has posted to youtube (aside from vb practice/travel stuff), all of her outfits are wildly different from one another. at home, she is a big fan of pyjama pants with lil animals/prints or plaid, and will combine it with completely differently-patterned tshirts. kurt is simultaneously horrified and charmed

sugar is rich and it shows. she'll wear casual chic stuff but in very bright colours (pink-orange-yellow usually) and it's all very fashionable and expensive and i love it for her. she's a big fan of accessories, too. at home she sticks with that colour palette but will have a lot of like,,, fluffy stuff? fluffy socks, fluffy sweaters/hoodies with lil animal ears, fluffy sweatpants, you name it and she probably has it. there is fuzz everywhere. bright coloured fuzz everywhere you look. you can't escape it

quinn's aesthetic is very cottagecore. if she weren't a pro athlete living in a big city, you'd think she was some sort of gentle forest spirit. lots of pastel/floral dresses, skirts and blouses, very much the opposite of what she's like on the court. at home its just like,,, sweatpants, college tees, very comfort-based. she is way too exhausted to care what she wears at home so she'll just throw on whatever is clean

tina's style is kind of a cross between sugar's and quinn's, in a way? she's one of the more fashion-conscious girls; she leans more towards dresses than sug does but with earthier tones? also,,, idk how to explain this better so like,, look up mondrian and you'll probably see a bunch of these paintings,,, she would wear dresses that have this kind of aesthetic too. at home she'd probably dress similar to quinn - sweats/leggings, tshirts (but not oversized)

as you have probably noticed, i rarely draw the girls in anything other than their vb uniforms and that's just cause im too lazy for patterns. that and i like drawing them when they're playing so i gravitate towards the uniforms anyway lol but seriously i hate patterns and i should practice them more

#thank you for this ask space i love talking about them #the vb gang such dorks #ask md #space 🪐#anonymous #vb au asks #also santana def complains about kurt's tight pants and he ignores her

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leviackermanscleaningbuddy · 4 years ago

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BTS DRABBLE

It’s never difficult to be around Hoseok or Jimin. Hobi is the actual human form of sunshine 98% of the time, and Jimin is so lovely and sweet and perfect that you wonder on a daily basis if he’s not actually an angel. You’re lucky-you always realize that-but on days like today, when you’re tired and stressed and more than a little crampy-it hits you all over again-just how lucky you actually are. Because with these two men, nothing goes unnoticed, and you never go unloved.

Or rather, Jess writes a fluffy, purely self indulgent, domestic relationship AU featuring JiHope in honor of Hobi’s birthday week. Happy Hobiuary! 💜

Tags: BTS, Bangtan Boys, Bangtan Seonyendan, Bulletproof Boy Scouts, Beyond the Scene, Jung Hoseok, J-Hope, Hobi, Hoseok, Park Jimin, Jimin, BTS x you, BTS x reader, Poly!BTS, Hoseok x you, Hoseok x reader, Jimin x you, Jimin x reader, Hoseok x Jimin, JiHope, Fluff

Genre: Tooth Rotting Fluff

Title: Champagne Bubbles

It had been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

As soon as you had gotten into work that morning, the vet on duty had instantly started yelling-overwhelmed and swamped by cases already-and scared of angering her any further, you hadn’t stopped running since 6 AM.

Cut to the last hour of your shift, and you had somehow managed to get every animal substance known to man on your scrubs-you were fairly certain that last rowdy patient had peed on you more than once-and you looked, and smelled, like someone who was at the end of their metaphorical rope.

However, you still had to take an exam at the nearby university before heading home, and so, throwing your coat on over your soiled clothes, you headed for the library, the world-dark when you left the apartment that morning-dark once more as the moon crested over the nearby buildings.

You failed the exam.

It was hard to drive home-what with the darkened streets and the exhausted tears starting to brim and overflow-but you managed to make it, and pulling into your spot, you allowed yourself to just sit for a moment, forehead resting forlornly on the cold steering wheel.

This day could not get worse.

Famous last words.

Cut to now, as you’re walking up the last flight of stairs to your apartment, and you start to feel the telltale cramping low in your abdomen, the kind that makes you wanna crawl in bed, throw a blanket over your head, and curl up-fetal position-around a hot bean bag.

“Dammit, why.” You groan out, reaching the landing, as you blindly dig your hand into your purse to search for your keys, a simple task, that feels like an impossible trial in your tired state.

Good thing you had been prepared and put in a tampon that morning when you had woken with the impending signs of doom and a headache.

Finally locating your keys, you unlock the door to the darkened apartment and let out a sigh of tired relief as you let your bag slide to the floor right in front of the entrance, kicking off your worn and smelly sneakers without a thought.

Well, without a thought other than getting into a hot shower and falling into your bed with a heating pad and a blanket over your head.

It’s quiet in the apartment, and you wonder briefly, if Jimin and Hobi are already asleep as you creep quietly toward the hallway. You are home a lot later than normal.

You all rise early together every day and split ways in the parking garage-you headed for the emergency vet clinic, Jimin waving cheerfully as he leaves in his old beater for his job as manager at the local coffee shop, and Hobi driving off far too fast on his scooter toward the local arts college, where he teaches dance classes.

You all usually go to bed early too, at the same time, together, but tonight, you’re far later than usual and the apartment is lacking the sunshine of Hobi’s bright smile and Jimin’s soft welcome home embrace.

Your footsteps falter at the kitchen, and suddenly, you let out an audible groan, as your eyes are drawn to the kitchen sink sitting dark in one corner.

Dammit. You still needed to do the breakfast dishes.

Shuffling across the tile of the kitchen, you turn on the hot water and let it wash over your cold, chapped hands for a moment, before your reach into the sink blindly, searching for the first dirty dish.

You glance down in surprise when-after moments of fruitless searching-you find nothing in the sink, and note, suddenly, that it is empty and spotless, the dishes already done and put away in the cabinets.

Interesting.

You don’t allow yourself to dwell on this for long however, before your tired, aching feet are leading you down the dim hallway once more, toward the safety and warmth of the bathroom and the delicious idea of hot, steaming shower for your tired and dirty body.

Pushing open the door, careful to be quiet, in case your boyfriends are truly sleeping like you think, your eyes widen once more in surprise for the second time in as many minutes.

The bathroom is softly aglow with the light of candles, the atmosphere warm and scented like roses and champagne, and in the flickering light, you note that the small bathtub in the corner has been filled to the brim with steaming, lapping water, perfumed with the oily slick of some sort of bath salt.

“What the hell-” You breathe out beneath your breath, and suddenly, you don’t feel so tired anymore, and the corners of your mouth are tilting upward in the start of a fond smile, as you observe the carefully presented scene before you.

First the dishes, and now a bath?

The boys are definitely up to something.

Shucking your heavy coat off onto the bathroom floor, you trek back the way you have just come, and without knocking, push open the door to the bedroom.

The room is dimly lit by the string of clear lights that adorn the wall above the bed-giving it a cozy and soft glow-and by the flickering of a movie playing quietly on the TV.

You lean against the door frame and take in the scene for a moment, the smile on your lips growing unwittingly bigger as you observe your boyfriends, curled up in the middle of the queen bed, piled under several blankets, looking soft and ethereal and altogether incredibly comfortable.

Jimin looks up first, large dark eyes reflecting the light from the tv screen, blonde hair ruffled in an adorable way, as if he has just taken a shower, and smiles when he sees you, eyes creasing into half moons. “Baby girl! you’re back!”

Hobi glances over at Jimin’s words, chin resting on the shorter man’s head where it lays on his chest, and offers you one his breathtaking smiles, and the room becomes a million times lighter, as if the sun has just peeked through the curtains. “Hey beautiful! Long day?”

“Incredibly.” You nod, glancing over to the movie they’re watching. Some action flick you’ve never seen. “What’d you guys do, by the way?” You ask nonchalantly, slightly teasing, as you draw your attention back to them once more.

“What do you mean?” Jimin asks, sitting up now, full lips drawn into an incredibly cute pout that you struggle to resist.

“You know.” You motion vaguely over your shoulder. “First the dishes, now a bath?” You grin teasingly, shrugging, suddenly all too aware that you’re still in your stinky scrubs. “You guys must have done something really bad to suck up like this.”

“You’d think, right?” Hobi jokes back, laughing loudly, as he slides away from Jimin and stands, and you note, as he comes toward you, that he’s wearing the plaid pajama bottoms you had tried so hard to throw away last year.

He pauses in front of you, quirking his head in an endearing way, and reaches out to tuck back a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Actually though,” He offers you the hint of a soft, heart shaped smile. “We just wanted to spoil you after a long day. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Give us some credit, baby.” Jimin has joined you both at the doorway now, and he yawns, reaching up to ruffle his already disheveled hair, before he shoots you a mischievous smile that makes his eyes light up. “We’re not completely dense.”

“I know.” You laugh now, and the tiredness is showing through again, straining your mirth. “Thank you.” You give them both a fond, affectionate half smile, the best you can do for now.

You have to admit, the bath is calling your name.

“Your bath is gonna get cold.” Jimin states, as if he has read your thoughts, and he leans forward, whether to push you toward the bathroom, or hug you, you don’t know, but you avoid his hold by stepping backward.

“Ew. Don’t touch me, Chim.” You wrinkle your nose as you glance down at your soiled work clothes. “I seriously think I was peed on like fifteen times today.”

Jimin’s brow crinkles, and he shoots you a teasing look of disgust. “Okay. You don’t have to twist my arm. I’ll wait till you’re clean.”

Hobi laughs, and the sound gives you the motivation you need to give them each a little grin and wave, before heading toward the bathroom and the much awaited bath.

******

The bath rejuvenates you, and by the time you return to the bedroom, wrapped in a towel and skin red and raw from soaking, you feel like a completely new person.

Though you can still feel the exhaustion creeping up your bones.

The boys are back in the bed, cuddled up like before, but there is another movie going on the TV now-a chick flick-and the bedside lamp is on.

“You started another movie without me?” You ask playfully, digging through the dresser to find your pajama shorts and tank top, one hand holding the towel securely at your chest.

“You took too long.” Hobi complains around a mouthful of popcorn, his free arm looped loosely around Jimin’s shoulders. “We thought you drowned.”

“And you didn’t check to see?” You jab back, glancing over your shoulder, as you finally locate your clothes, and shoot Hobi a playful glare, eyebrow raised in the man’s direction.

He shrugs. “Didn’t want to miss the movie.”

You roll your eyes, and start to slip your now clean legs into the pajama shorts, beginning to shiver now in the cool air of the room.

“You know, baby girl.” Jimin speaks up now, and his normally lilting tones are darker, sultry, suggestively playful. You glance at him, and he raises a brow at you, teeth sunken slightly into his plush, bottom lip, as his eyes scan the naked expanse of your legs. “You could cut down on time. Just not wear anything. Merely a suggestion.”

You roll your eyes once more, and stick your tongue out at him, before pointedly holding his gaze as you finish putting on the rest of your pajama outfit.

Sliding hurriedly into the warmth of the bed next to Jimin, you are caught off guard to feel the heat of an already hot heating pad beneath the covers, and you glance over questioningly at the two men beside you.

Jimin grins in a way that makes your stomach warm with love and fondness. “Don’t tell me you didn’t think we knew.” He cocks his head at you, blonde hair falling into his eyes. “Come on, baby. You’re as easy to read as a book. And you know we keep track.”

You consider making a teasing remark in return-about them keeping a calendar or something in their phones about the dates of your period-but instead, you decide to simply utter a soft “thank you” as you situate the heating pad, and snuggle down beneath the blankets next to Jimin.

He slides his arm beneath your body and pulls you against him, and his body heat is instantly making your eyes droop slightly and a heavy feeling of comfort wash over your tired muscles as you allow your head to rest heavily on his chest, heartbeat steady beneath your ear.

You glance at the TV and recognize the movie scene that is being played.

You groan. “You guys know I hate this movie.”

“Which is why we’re watching it.” Hobi teases, letting the hand that is resting on Jimin’s shoulder flick so that his long fingers tickle your hair and the top of your head. “It’s time for you to realize what good media is, beautiful.”

“Whatever.” You grumble out, burying your face into Jimin’s side, your eyes already closing, as you breathe in the smell of him-sandalwood and vanilla and something soft that feels like home. “I’m not gonna watch it anyway.”

You feel Jimin press a kiss to the top of your head, and Hobi rest his hand on the crown of your hair, and the affectionate gestures-just to let you know they’re there, that they’ll always be there-make you feel as if you’re home.

You are home.

Because you’re so lucky. Lucky to have them both in your life. Lucky to have two people who make you feel as if home is not a place, but a feeling.

You are the luckiest.

And you realize that every single day.

But days like today-that are terrible and horrible and no good-yet still end here, curled up next to your two favorite people in the whole world, make you realize that the most.

26 notes · View notes

pensivetense · 4 years ago

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A List Of (Mostly TMA) Fic Recs Sorted By Vibe

Not an exhaustive list by any means, just a few favourites that caught my fancy. I shortened many of the summaries for space.

I’m going to pin this here and update it as I go.

Also, I’m pensivetense on ao3

MELANCHOLY VIBES

for when you want to feel comfortably muted

(sad but not utterly bleak endings here)

Hope, Etc. (Dickenson, et al.) by yellow_caballero

Jonathan Sims, six months after the Unknowing, wakes to find himself without a daemon - without humanity, without a soul. It’s a cursed half-life, but existence as a shell without a heart isn’t so bad: between solving the mystery of a persistent illusion cast over his friends and some light pseudo-cannibalism, a life as a monster is better than no life at all. At least, it would be, if it wasn’t for the fucking Owl.

A freaking. Amazing. Daemon au. Ties the lore of Dust with TMA lore very satisfyingly, but is mostly about Jon navigating what it means to be human, or, in the absence of that, a person, and doesn’t require prior knowledge of His Dark Materials. Cannot recommend highly enough.

after one long season of waiting by nuinuijiaojiao

Annabelle is not used to having nice things. or, Annabelle heads to Upton House, muses a little, and gets some well-deserved rest

I love survivalist Annabelle and also the concept of the Web as kind of a horrible Patron, actually.

i love you. I want us both to eat well. by SmallishWormMasterOfTheUniverse

At the safehouse with Martin, Jon decides it's time to quit statements once and for all. The Eye disagrees. Martin just needs Jon to be okay. It's quite possible that nobody is going to get what they want.

Scottish Safehouse Era, Jon and Martin coping with their respective Entities... really, really good.

the friend by doomcountry

He always greets a new spider when he meets it. It’s instinct, born in childhood, the same way he instinctively counts magpies, or flicks salt over his left shoulder. A little harmless superstition. A bit of politesse.

A great Martin character study with eldritch spider horror included. The imagery regularly haunts me (in a good way).

autumn’s rare gift by bee_bro

Annually, the two meet, renewing the binding ritual where it had all started. The procedure simple: a waltz.

Singlehandedly made me ship Gertrude/Agnes so there’s that. It’s so bittersweet and bee_bro’s writing is, as always, incredibly poetic. (I’d recommend everything they write, actually.)

smile, you’re trending by Goodluckdetective

During an encounter with another Avatar of the Eye, Jon faces his past, Martin takes a turn at playing Kill Bill and Basira has a second look at the monster she’s determined to see. For three people associated with the Eye, they could all use some perspective.

Features an original Eye Avatar character who’s a YouTube personality; she is infuriating and inspired and genuinely frightening and I cannot say enough good things.

Humility by The_Lionheart

have you no idea that you're in deep?/i've dreamt about you nearly every night this week,/how many secrets can you keep?

An OC centric story but don’t let that put you off, it’s amazing. Very heavily focused around Jonah Magnus and the other Avatars as they change through the years. Also, I’d die for the OC.

oh, for one sweet second without the eye series by faedemon

Beholding does not like in the way humans do, but it likes its Archivist all the same.

I’m just so fond of the way this is done stylistically. I have a great weakness for dialogue only/dialogue heavy writing, not to mention all of the wonderful character beats and interplay of humanity/inhumanity for Jon and Melanie.

Rewind by WhyNotFly

It takes eight days of forced confinement for Jon to start hallucinating. [...] It’s Martin, though, that his exhausted brain conjures, because of course it’s Martin. After all this time, of course it’s Martin.

Jon willingly allows himself to be confined rather than hunting for statements, and examines his relationship with Martin.

for a firmament series by supaslim

There is beauty in destruction. There is art in becoming. In which Jon becomes the Archive, and the Archive becomes Jon.

Part two posted this morning and uhhh. Good. Also if you’re here for weird eldritch body horror (I am), this one’s for you.

ONES THAT JUST HURT

for when you want to feel sad

(somewhat bleaker endings here/everyone is NOT okay)

Feste by yellow_caballero

If asked, Martin would say that he became the shadow director of the Magnus Institute by accident. But nobody ever asked, and nobody ever cared, and it was in this way that Martin stopped lying to himself. Or: break free, Martin. All you have to lose are your chains. And your sanity.

Oh, this one totally didn’t go the way I expected it to. A study in isolation. Could go into the category above, as the ending is not bleak, but the tone of the whole is somewhat more depressing than most there.

Ghosts of Love by RavenXavier

Nothing made Martin more grounded in the world than yearning for Jonathan Sims.

Lonely!Martin that really captures a sort of visceral ache. Hurts me and yet I keep rereading.

i do desire (we may be better strangers) by godbewithyouihavedone

For ages, it only knew how to worship, taking human bodies and living off the fear of those who remembered. It never knew love until it became Jonathan Sims. Now it must fight against every instinct to save Martin Blackwood. Archivist Sasha, Not!Jon/Martin, and the worst kind of Fake Dating AU.

Oh, this one just made me sad. The poor not!them, which is something I never thought I’d say.

Apple Of Your Eye by fakeCRfan

In which the Eye is fond of Martin. Perhaps a little too fond for comfort.

Somehow manages to be both sweet and horrifying—the characterisation of the Eye is incredible. ‘The Eye loves Martin’ is a scenario that’s so utterly doomed to failure and yet the writing is packed with so much pathos that I just want them all to be happy. A fantastic use of themes of agency and choice, and the single best use of Beholding as a source of horror I’ve read.

The Last Press by copperbadge

Jon Sims is awake, and has begun preparations for the Rite of the Watcher's Crown. Peter Lukas, who woke him, would be content to rule at his side. Martin is very upset about all of this, and the Lukases aren't thrilled with it either.

I really can’t say anything without spoiling the end and it’s so good. An alternate take on the Watcher’s Crown. Not a pairing that I ever thought would work for me, but this made it work.

watch the blood evaporate by 75hearts

It starts, like so many things in Jon’s life have started, with a nagging itch of curiosity. Jonathan Sims uses his healing abilities throughout s4. Read the tags.

Dear God please read the tags. But this is some high quality pain if it’s for you.

the lighthouse series by low_fi

Peter Lukas is a lighthouse keeper. One evening, he gets a call from a cryptic overseer tasked with monitoring his work.

This is such a vivid and yet subtle story—from the setting to the emotions portrayed, it creeps up on you slowly. The ending was like the gentlest possible gut-punch. The sequel just completed, and yeah, just as wonderful. This one is very much LonelyEyes but I listed it here because it is just exquisitely painful.

SATISFYINGLY HOPEFUL VIBES

for when you want to feel cozy

Clutching Daffodils by Gemi

Martin has always liked the idea of love at first sight. It’s such a romantic idea, the whole thing of it. Seeing someone and instantly feeling that strange, twisting feeling deep inside that every single media likes to obsess over. Of knowing you are in love within the day, petals falling from your mouth and warmth filling your chest as love burrows deep, vines twisting through your lungs. He always liked the idea of it. And then Jonathan Sims starts working at the Magnus Institute.

Somehow manages to be lighter and fluffier than most hanahaki fare, despite the setting. I’ve reread this one a lot.

the least he could do by Prim_the_Amazing

Martin should in fact not pick this man, specifically because of how attracted he is to him. It would be the responsible thing to do. Except he’s already following him. And he’s hungry.

Fluffy vampire au which everyone’s probably already read, but was too good not to mention.

rather interesting by bee_bro

Jonah Magnus realizes that, for some reason, when he comes in contact with weed, Elias Bouchard's consciousness will come into his life banging pots and pans.

Oh boy. So these are all favourite fics but this one is a favourite amongst favourites. The way Jonah is characterised (i.e. incredibly sensitive to scrutiny) is my favourite depiction of him, and the slow-burn between him and Elias is far sweeter than it has any right to be. Also, it’s hilarious.

The Magnus Records series by ErinsWorks

In a world parallel to that of the Archives and the Institute, a supernatural sanctuary stands against a cruel and uncaring world: A world of bureaucracy and tyranny, of murder and carnage, of loneliness and surveillence, of plague and death. But in this world of fear and misery, 14 entities born of the hopes of the world have emerged. And one of them has made their home here, at The Magnus Sanctuary. Perhaps, the employees within may lead happier lives than their counterparts did in the Archives.

This is just so goddamn pure. The author writes a really imaginative, fleshed-out alternate world and alternate Entities with engaging, well-written short statements. All of the character voices are absolutely on point, and it’s overall absurdly hopeful without ever feeling overly saccharine. I love this series so much, you guys, you don’t even know. I want to print it out and paste it on my wall. I love it.

HARD APOCALYPSE

for when you want to feel dark and angsty (and eldritch)

Most of these are shorts/oneshots because it’s just that kind of genre, y’know?

Ashes to Ashes by marrowbones

A conversation at the end of the world.

Oliver Banks is one of those minor characters that I am overly attached to. Love him here.

Employee Benefits by equals_eleven_thirds

The Magnus Institute offered some normal employee benefits: a pension plan, holidays, travel subsidies, free lunch on the last Friday of each month. Rosie makes it work.

This manages to hit that perfect sweet spot of satisfying and hilarious. Rosie gets to torment Elias, as she well deserves.

a rose by any other name by Duck_Life

Part of Jon blooms in Jared Hopworth’s garden.

This one was sad and honestly too gentle to really belong in this category, but I love it.

Eye to Eye by Dribbledscribbles

In which Jonah Magnus attempts a post-apocalyptic pep talk.

Unreliable narrator at its finest, and the implications are suitably horrific.

commensalis by doomcountry

The tower is endlessly, impossibly tall, but Jon’s work is taller.

If you’re here for the eldritch imagery, then this has some of the best.

SOFT APOCALYPSE

for when you want to feel gently triumphant

apocalypse how series by sunshine_states

Humanity adjusts. The Entities have Regrets.

Some nice vignettes set in a kinder apocalypse.

ceylon series by Sciosa

The one in which Jonathan Sims decides that no, actually, he isn't going to let the world just end.

I include this only for the sake on completeness, as everyone has no doubt already read it.

rituals by doomcountry

Martin is the first person to knock on the Archivist's door since it arrived, fully, into its little waiting temple. The Archivist saw him coming from down the hall, but decides to feign interest when the knob turns, and Martin—still a little bit smaller, a little more translucent than before—stands uncertainly just outside the room.

This one’s a little less focused on the world at large and more on JonMartin specifically.

we raise it up by savrenim

Jonathan Sims reads a book and saves the world; although maybe the real salvation is the friends he makes along the way; (although perhaps the world itself and the darkness that exists behind it isn't quite as out to get everyone as it seems).

More ‘soft revolution’ than ‘soft apocalypse’, but has the same vibe. A time travel fix-it. Incomplete but worth it if this is a mood that appeals to you.

Scarred Ground by DictionaryWrites

“You see," Elias said softly, "people always have this idea that only living things can be scarred - and they're right, of course. But a building is a living thing, Martin. And the ground can be scarred, too." "I don't have any scars," Martin said. "Yes, you do," Elias said. "You just need the right light to see them.”

Falls somewhere between ‘Apocalypse’ and ‘Soft Apocalyse’ but I’m putting it here because I feel like it. Also technically a LonelyEyes fic. I found it hard to follow at first but it’s worth sticking with; things will eventually begin to make sense and come together.

LONELYEYES

for when you want to feel lonelyeyes

marrying anguish with one last wish by procrastinatingbookworm

In which Elias isn't Orpheus, and Peter isn't Eurydice, but Elias brings Peter home anyway.

Lives in my head rent free forever. My favourite lonelyeyes fic.

ouroboros by Wildehack

“You know,” Jonah says, a muscle in his calf quivering agreeably where it’s slung over Mordechai’s shoulder, “it’s really quite--fortunate--that I don’t care for you at all.”

Oh, this one hurts in the best possible way. The endless cycle of their relationship, the way it comes full-circle... yeah, good. Actually, no, this one might be my favourite. It’s a tie.

Breaking all the Rules by Thedupshadove

Elias proposes a somewhat...unusual wager.

Soft lonelyeyes? In my recs? It’s more likely than you think. Short, sweet, and... sweet.

Threefold by Sprinkledeath

Peter Lukas breaks three rules.

I’m just a slut for mythology allusions I guess.

Luck Be A Lady Tonight by prodigy

In 2014, Elias Bouchard takes a rare trip outside of his comfort zone. Peter Lukas wastes a bunch of money. You'd be surprised how many things can go wrong for two beings of cosmic power.

I love the sense of the history of them you get while reading this.

love is just a word (the idea seems absurd) by kaneklutz

"Something's wrong. It's stopped hurting" An avatar of the Lonely and an avatar of the Beholding walk into a bar relationship. It was bound to blow up in their faces.

Short, sweet, painful. Excellent exploration of their priorities.

Victor by penguistifical

elias tries something with his powers that he hasn't attempted before

The one where Elias tries to raise the dead. Not incredibly LonelyEyes centric but that’s still the pairing.

Simon Says by penguistifical

“Peter asked me to drop by and have a word with you, and, so, here I am.” Simon chuckles at Elias’s disbelieving stare. “Well, he asked in his own way. He’s not a complicated man, you know. He either comes from your arms looking like a stroked cat that’s been given a dish of cream or looking like he’s been in that toy boat of his out in an unexpected storm. He was far angrier than normal, so I daresay you weren’t cream today.”

I mean personally I’d just go ahead and rec all of penguistifical’s LonelyEyes fics but this is a standout for me.

AROMANTIC AND ASPEC MOODS

for when you want to feel Seen

The Aro Archives series by WhyNotFly

These are all just really really good. From Aro!Peter to two different aro-spec versions of the Scottish Safehouse to a long and beautiful aro hanahaki fic, this series is uniformly wonderful. The two Scottish Safehouse ones (Torn Edges and Murky Water) are my comfort fics.

and now all fear gives way by j_quadrifons

Before he can think it through, he murmurs, "Is that what it feels like? Being in love?" Martin's hand stills in his hair and Jon's stomach drops.

This one just. Wow yeah this is how it be. Another absolute comfort fic of mine.

Sweet As Roses by Prim_the_Amazing

Jon takes Martin by the shoulders, leans up on the tips of his toes, and kisses him.

I’m going to be honest—I didn’t know where to put this one. But it ended up here because the real standout of this fic for me is the portrayal of Sasha, and especially her portrayal as an aro character. So I’m putting it here. Mind the content warnings with this one!

HUMOUR

for when you want to feel delight

The Torment of Sebastian Skinner by Urbenmyth

After the Eye's victory, the statement givers are trapped in their horror stories, living them over and over again. Naturally, this works out better for some then for others.

Premise? Delightful. Execution? Fantastic. I read this one to cheer myself up when I’m sad.

Unlucky by VolxdoSioda

Jon’s dice betray him

Short, sweet DnD au, and the reason I cannot get DM!Elias out of my head now.

Voracious by beetl

A bird hits the window. Jon experiences The Flesh's thrall.

“Dead Dove: Do Not Eat” but make it literal.

The Stupid Endings by Urbenmyth

There are a lot of very deeply thought out and creative AUs on this site. These aren't among them. These ones are how the story could have ended, if Jonny Sims was a dumbass.

These are just uniformly hilarious, I cannot recommend them highly enough.

PODCAST CROSSOVERS

for when you want to make one of those “if I had a nickel for every time...” posts

The Sabbatical by morelikeassassin

Nicholas Waters is in need of an all-knowing eldritch entity beyond the confines of human imagining to help with his latest ritual. He'll have to settle for Jonathan Sims, who happens to have nothing better to do.

Crossover with Archive 81 (s3, specifically). Both fun and bittersweet.

The City And Its Sorrows by cuttooth

“What makes you think your friend is in Eskew?” David asks. He feels he can risk the scrutiny of the city that far. “I read that this is a place people end up when they get lost,” says the man. “This is a place people end up,” David agrees./The Archivist comes to Eskew.

Contemplative piece, and I love the way it presents David’s relationship with Eskew, the way he finds it horrible and hates it and yet belongs to it, is almost proud in the way he shows to to Jon. Great little vignette of two people oppressed by eldritch powers, intersecting.

Hiatus by bibliocratic

My name is Jonathan Sims, and I am in Eskew. (Jon gets lost in a Spiral city. It is not as easy as escaping.)

This one is far more focused on Jon than David, and is honestly more Eskew-weird than Spiral-weird. In the best way. Told in Eskew episode style, and is very good.

Sweet Music by Shella688

Eskew has a music to it, if you know how to listen. The percussion beat of thousands of footsteps, the melody in the squealing of the trains overhead. Today, the music of Eskew comes in the form of nine musicians, playing outside my office. My name is David Ward, and I am in Eskew.

Not TMA, but since a lot of Mechs fans go here—this one’s a Mechs/Eskew crossover. Short and simple, mostly David Ward centric, just a little well-written one shot I had to mention because I enjoyed it but it doesn’t have much traffic. Nice portrayal of the Mechs from an outsider’s perspective, and how genuinely strange and frightening they’d come across (especially if you’re already being haunted by and eldritch city). If you like Eskew-style storytelling, check it out!

NOT TMA

...but good enough that I physically cannot make a recs list without including them. Here!

#tma #the magnus archives #fic recs #long post #i'm not kidding you guys it's long #so be warned before you click read more #pinned on my blog

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1-800-roflmao · 4 years ago

Text

Wash Day Delight Pt. 2

Fandom: Undertale (Video Game)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Warnings Apply

Relationships: Papyrus (Undertale)/Reader, Papyrus (Undertale) & Reader

Characters: Papyrus (Undertale), Reader, Original Characters, Original Female Character(s), Mentions of other AU Papyri and Sans

Additional Tags: Reader Is Not Frisk (Undertale), Reader Is Not Chara (Undertale), reader is poc, reader is mixed, Reader has curly hair, Undertale Monsters on the Surface, Friendship, Wholesome, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, I’m Bad At Summaries, Not Beta Read

*Anyone else have that one curl that is your favorite? Like you just can’t stop messing with it? Also, promise the other skeletons will be joining in soon. For now, enjoy some fluff.

PREVIOUS || NEXT

As soon as she heard the bell above her door ring and the door settle closed with a click, she was rushing around her office tidying up and filing paperwork. She knew Papyrus would not waste any time if he could help it. She only hoped he took it easy on the little old woman. She had a feeling Mrs. Ida was tougher than she looked, but considering this was only their first meeting, she couldn’t help thinking she looked as fragile as a porcelain doll. “Please don’t break my client, Papi,” she pleaded, shutting and locking the last drawer on her desk for the day.

Her business was still small so she didn’t have any need for filing cabinets just yet, but it had been picking up. Most of her clients were elderly, which was to be expected when one dealt with wills, funerals, and burials. She wished more young people thought of wills. A properly notarised and established will could ease the mind, not only because it dictated what happens to your earthly possessions after death. No, a will could make sure your body and memory is honored how you wished despite you no longer being there. She had witnessed one too many funerals that were practically an insult; honestly, some it would have been less offensive to simply spit on the dead’s grave.

Just as she felt her brows pinching, she huffed and closed her eyes as she took in a few calming breaths. It does no one any good getting mad on her own. A little snort escaped her at that thought. Her getting “mad on her own” was the catalyst for her to start her own business. “ANGER IS NOT INHERENTLY BAD. IT IS JUST HOW YOU DIRECT IT!” She made a mental note to thank a certain tall, pointy skeleton in her life for those words. She sent a mental thank you to his therapist as well.

As her mind jumped from one subject to the next, her hands and feet had stayed moving. By the time she zoned back in, she had finished tidying up and sanitizing the office. “Bad habit there,” she muttered, tossing the soiled paper towel into the bin tucked underneath her desk. A quick peek inside determined it wasn’t nearly full enough to toss and nothing in the bin would smell or pose a hazard. It could go another day.

Peeking at the clock as she locked the windows and pulled the curtains closed, she noted it had been only a couple minutes. Papyrus wasn’t back yet, surprisingly. She should be thankful as that means he didn’t rush and possibly her client wouldn’t be recovering from whiplash. She swears that skeleton could give a cheetah a run for its money. What’s terrifying is he is not even the fastest of the monsters she has met. Monsters were something else.

A couple minutes later and she had finished all her closing tasks: office locked up, hall and waiting area swept and wiped down, the last of the windows curtained, and furniture and often touched places sanitized. She’d even given the guest bathroom a quick clean up and gathered the dirty mugs and empty plate from the little refreshment corner she provided for clients waiting. Slipping her phone from her pocket, she checked the time with a quick double tap. Goodness, had Mrs. Ida parked that far down? Maybe she didn’t like parallel parking on these streets and instead parked in one of the hidden lots just off teh main road? Or had the two gotten lost?

A bubble of anxious energy caught in her throat as her mind jumped to the possibility that they were in trouble. She forced herself to take a breath and simply breathe. No, this was a safer area. She’d moved and chosen to place her business here for that reason. It did little to comfort. She was not ignorant to the fact that no matter how “safe” a place is, it is not completely immune to danger and the unfairness of life. Plus, Papyrus was a monster. And sadly, the portion of humanity that didn’t like change, didn’t like different, turned their prejudices to them or just broadened their spectrum of hate. What was even sadder was that some people of color, people who should know better and know how it feels to be treated as subhuman, hopped on the bandwagon; they were just happy it wasn’t directed at them anymore.

The pinch and strain in her forehead told her she needed to calm down. She breathed in slowly, deeply, and held it, counting down from ten as she rolled her shoulders back and let them drop. Once she hit zero, she let the air held in her lungs out in one long, even breath. She could feel the tension melting off, the bubble gone, and overall she felt lighter. Mal would be proud. She almost missed the munchkin flicking her forehead any time he saw her frowning. It reminded her of her mother telling her to “fix her face.”

Moving on, she saw she had a few notifications, but none were messages from her friend. She wished he sent something if it was going to take time for him to get back. She peeked out the front door and squinted down the street, both ways, trying to locate the two. She couldn’t see either, but she did see Papyrus’s red sports car parked just in front.

The area she lived in was considered the downtown area. It was mostly small businesses, shops, restaurants, a couple bars further over, and if you traveled just a few minutes further, you would hit the residential area. Well, the official residential area, anyway. And in the opposite direction was the main center of Ebott. Most business owners in downtown lived above their work space and some even rented out rooms. Her little office was on the quieter of the two main streets that had mostly offices, a little cafe, and a couple shops. This was Eighth Street. If you wanted to party, go to Sixth Street. That was where all the bars, clubs, taverns, and odd little gems were. She enjoyed going to hunt down her favorite food vendor.

Stepping outside, she sighed as the cool night air kissed at her cheeks and the exposed skin of her arms, causing goosebumps to rise. She was tempted to wait outside for him, but he expected her ready to go once he got back. One more glance at the clock on her phone and she decided to wait for him inside. He was an adult. She needed to have faith he could take care of himself. Plus, she had no clue which way they had gone and it would do no good to possibly wander in the wrong direction searching for them. She muttered a quick little wish for their safety before turning around and going back inside.

Like others on this street, she lived above her office space on the second floor. It felt nice to know her mortgage payments went to owning both her home and place of business one day. It also just felt good to have a space all to herself. She loved her mother and siblings, but she had been ready to go. Scooping up the dirty dishes on her way back to the little hallway, she balanced the tray in one hand and fished out her keys with the other. She could thank those years of waitressing and retail for two things: multitasking skills and patience. Keys secured, she found the right one, and unlocked the doorway to her haven. She left the door unlocked and just slightly ajar to let Papyrus know where she was and to let himself in.

It was clever how the building was set up. The ground floor had an office space, waiting area, guest bathroom, and small hallway connecting all three. The extra door in the hallway just looked like it would lead to a broom closet. It tickled her inner child each time she had to slide the false wall away and reveal the stairs that led up into her second story home. Stepping up the first few steps, she slid the wall back into place, then flicked a switch to turn on the lights in the stairwell before she quickly ascended the rest of the stairs.

On the landing, she tapped a foot on a nearby standing lamp and it filled the living room with gentle, warm light. She prefered using lamps over built in lighting. Most lighting in apartments were bright white and blue toned, while she had grown up with warmer, off white bulbs. She also was simply used to a dimmer environment back in her mother’s house. They didn’t keep lights running all day long. Only time the lights were on was at night for a bit and if you needed to look for something. She liked to consider her home cozy and welcoming despite the low lighting.

This space was enough. It felt bigger than it was since it was just her living here. It was hers, and it felt amazing every time she walked around her home how she wished, cooked what she wanted to eat, placed things where she wanted, and one day, she’d maybe get a pet. Removing her shoes at the landing, she slipped on a pair of slippers and padded across the vinyl flooring. While it was nice not having an inch of permanent carpet in her home, she had learned these sorts of floors could be chilly and it was a habit not worth breaking to wear house slippers or slides inside.

She beelined for her bedroom after dropping off the dishes in the sink to take care of later and tossing her mask into the trashcan. Now, she needed to get changed and do something about this hair. The “previous arrangements” Papyrus had spoken of was their weekly workout session. Usually, he would pop in after she had closed up and the two of them would take a jog or walk around the block, then hit the local gym. Her hair being down during a workout was just asking for frizz, tangles, and possibly it getting in the equipment at the gym. Plus, it was just hot as hell to keep it down while moving that much.

While she just wanted to toss off her clothes and bra without a care and face plant on her bed, maybe veg out on the couch, she knew she couldn’t cancel on Papyrus. Her drip for today was a four piece pantsuit gifted to her by Black and Edge for her birthday not long ago. Something about her needing to look powerful as a business woman and “none of her current attire was up to their standards.” The two had amazing taste though, so she couldn’t get too mad at them dissing her wardrobe. The blouse was made from a soft fabric in her favorite color. A black corset style vest with an honestly beautiful work of art of the back comprised of hand stitched embroidery and silk fabric, with matching silk lacing. The pants were custom fit--how they knew her measurements was still a mystery, but she suspected Wine had something to with it-- and also black. The long trenchcoat that matched with it that she hadn’t worn today was made of a heavy fabric in her favorite color with that same patterned silk lining the inside. It was hanging in her closet. She carefully removed the peices she wore before laying them on her bed neatly to avoid unnecessary wrinkles. She was pretty sure this suit was the most expensive thing in her home.

Digging through drawers, she picked out a pair of athletic tights, a sports bra, and a t-shirt the pun lovers of the skeleton family had given her. While it didn’t have a pun on it, it made for a lot of fun interaction when she wore it. Across the chest was written “Bet you Can’t Read the Back of This Shirt” and on the back “Bet You Can’t Read the Front of This Shirt.” The amount of people who try to slyly look at the other side after reading one then slinking away after realized they had been tricked was always amusing.

It took less than a second for her to unclasp her current bra and throw it into her hamper. It took a bit more time to slip on and clasp her sports bra. She took a moment to debate using the the j-hook before deciding it couldn’t hurt to have a little more stability. She froze as she heard movement in her house, something sliding, and then footsteps. She only began moving again after hearing Papyrus annouce his presence. She practically ripped her tights up her legs as she was very aware of the sound of his now bare feet clicking across her living room and getting closer. Her shirt was tugged over her head and arms slid through her shirt sleeves just as he poked his skull through her bedroom door, which she had apparently left open in her haste. Whoops.

Once Papyrus was sure he wouldn’t look like a nightlight bobbing along on his way back to his friend’s home, he finally left the cover of the bus stop and back onto the sidewalk. His mind was running over everything that had happened that evening. He wondered what possibly led the elderly human to assume he and his friend would be… canoodling, canoodling was a word he could handle to describe what she was hinting at. He preferred his magic to stay put right now. An exasperated sigh fell from his parted teeth as he considered the possibility that he was just overthinking and overanalyzing. The elderly human was probably just pulling a dirty jape on him. The next time they met, he would have to return the favor. Of course with a more classy, sophisticated jape, but a jape none the less.

“Papi!” she greeted with a little wave, blowing at her now mussed up hair from rushing to get dressed. She eventually had to push it out her face as it simply kept falling back. She was sure she looked a right mess at the moment.

∆∆∆

His sockets took in just how dark it was getting. How long had he been out? Did it really take that long to pretty much jog to the bus stop? Or had he taken that long to recover? A glance at the sky revealed the stars were in full view now, but the moon was still low. He focused on his hearing, but didn’t hear the usual ruckus from Sixth Street; so, it couldn’t have taken too long.

“NO SENSE IN WASTING ANYMORE TIME STANDING HERE!” he declared with a little stomp of his foot. “AND NOW I HAVE NOTHING HOLDING ME BACK!!” he practically cackled as he launched into a sprint, tearing down the sidewalk. She had better be prepared, especially considering all the extra time she had been given unintentionally. He refused to fail in his duties as her best and greatest friend. One such duty was pushing and supporting her goals. He had been ecstatic when she had told him she wanted his help with improving her health and getting in shape that first time. Not only had she come to HIM out of everyone, but now he could hang out with her even more.

Papyrus didn’t stop running until he had to hit the brakes infront of her front door. He noted that the lights had been turned off downstairs, but he could see warm light filtering through the second story window. Making his way inside, he closed and locked the front door, sliding the bolt at the top of door to secure it. There was two ways in and out of her home, this front door and the “back door.” The back door actually led to a side patio that wrapped around back to connect to a second staircase outside. He locked the doorway in the hall as well before practically bounding up the stairwell.

He made sure to call out your name once he reached the landing, “READY OR NOT, I HAVE RETURNED!!!” he added with his best impression of Edge’s cackle for humor. As he removed his shoes and set them on the rack against the wall, he could hear shuffling and little thumps from across the small, cozy home. His toes lightly clicked against the floor as he made his way to her room. As he got closer, he could hear the shuffling get more urgent and a little curse here and there.

“HUMAN, ARE YOU ALRIGHT IN HERE?” he didn’t know what he had expected when he peeked into her room, but his teeth clicked shut audibly as he tried to stifle a snort and keep himself from grinning. The human had apparrently been hurrying to finish dressing and had just pulled her shirt down. He had peeked in just as her head finally popped through her collar, or rather all he could see was an adorable fluffball. Her curls which had been relatively neat and orderly before was now... well, everywhere. He could see her lips which were now pouting after a failed attampt at blowing her hair out of her face. Her nose crinkling cutely in aggravation as she brings a hand up to shove the errant curls back.

His sockets focused on her fingers which had been all but swallowed up by her hair. The digits sinking in and he couldn’t help wondering how it would feel to tangle his own digits into her tresses. Was it as soft as it looked? Or would it be coarse? It wasn’t his first time wondering such things. She had a habit of playing with this one particular curl at her nape. He would often catch her twisting, pulling, and twirling that one lock of hair endlessly. That one curl now sticks out cutely anytime she wears her hair down and his phalanges itch to play with it like she does anytime he sees it.

“Papi?”

The skeleton jolted as he refocused on the present as her voice, so much closer than before, and a fleshy palm passing his vision. He blinked as her face came into view, looking up at him with a warm flush to her face. Well, what of her face he could see as she had released her hair and some had fallen back in her face again.

“I know my hair’s a mess right now, but I didn’t think it was so bad to leave you speechless,” she muttered, looking away as her hand came up to play with THAT curl again. He tore his sockets from her fingers deftly twisting the curl and brought a hand to catch hers, moving it away. She released the curl with little resistance, but still refused to look at him. That little curl snapped back and while he wished he could appreciate and marvel at how it did that, he had a friend to comfort.

“WHILE YOUR HAIR, YES, IS A MESS RIGHT NOW,” he held back a wince as her shoulders hunched a bit, “I DON’T THINK THAT’S A BAD THING!” he added with a bright smile. He could see her chancing a peek up at him from the corner of her eye. If she didn’t like people touching her face suddenly, he would have simply turned her head himself. Good- NO, GREAT friends respect boundaries. “IN FACT, I THINK IT’S VERY… OH, WHAT IS IT YOU HUMAN’S SAY?” he paused, pretending to think for a moment before snapping his phalanges, “CHIC!!! NO, FIERCE!! YES, I LIKE THAT ONE MUCH BETTER!” Was his volume control out the window at this point? Yes. Did he care? No. Because now she was looking at him fully, head tilted back and forcing curls to fall away. Her flush seemed to have worsened though.

Papyrus watched her as she took a minute to suck in a deep breath and exhale, closing her eyes briefly. The shock had apparently worn off as she now looked up at him bashfully from under her lashes. “Papi, has anyone told you you’re too much sometimes?” she asked with a little shake of her head as she seemed to be fighting back a smile.

Leave it to Papyrus to bring her mood back up in mere moments and hype her up to a point she might consider leaving the house like this. If only her hair didn’t pose a safety hazard at the gym and didn’t trap heat like a lion’s mane in the savanna. “Thanks, Papi,” she wiped a tear that had gathered in her eyes and took another moment to calm down and catch her breath.

He knew it was probably one of those questions that humans didn’t expect answers to, but he just grinned wider and answered anyway. “NOPE! AFTERALL, THE KEY TO POPULARITY IS LEAVING THEM WANTING MORE! NYEH HEHEH!!” And now his evening was even better as her laughter rang in his skull and she was smiling again, genuine and joyful.

∆∆∆

“ANYTIME FOR MY FAVORITE FLUFFY HUMAN!” her skeleton friend boasted. She just quirked a brow at the affectionate descriptor. She couldn’t say anything about it though, since half the skeleton household had nicknamed her as such. She couldn’t even argue that it didn’t fit. It was better than “Curly” atleast, or the various food and drink related nicknames Sugar and Oak had tried on her.

Sighing, she loosed her hand from her friend’s grip and stepped back. “Come on, let’s get out of the door. Can’t be good for your back and neck,” she ushered him in with a gentle tug to his hand. He stepped inside with little urging and almost immediately he was rolling his shoulders and stretching. He must not have realized how long they had been in the doorway. Thankfully, her home had higher ceilings than normal, but sadly the doorways were still made for average sized humans so anytime the Papyri or Oak visited, they had to duck through the doorways. She was saving up for renovations for atleast the first floor to be more monster accommodating one day.

Letting go of his hand, she padded across her room and into her private bath. While her bathroom wasn’t extravagant, it atleast was nicer and bigger than any bathroom she had used before now. Correction, it was the nicest before she visited the skeletons’ house. She could have lived in that tub. The water pressure in the shower had been amazing as well. Stepping up to the sink and vanity, her eyes scanned the counter top for a particular item. “There you are,” she mumbled as she picked up the spray bottle. It was filled with water and detangler, just the miracle she needed to help her tame this mane and hopefully get it pulled back into atleast a ponytail. Maybe she should go with a pineapple puff? No, too many loose ends to get caught on equipment. A bun then? Or a braid? After checking how easy her hair would cooperate, she settled on two thick french plaits.

She hadn’t even gotten to pull the trigger once before she heard Papyrus in the doorway as he ducked through and stared at her with curious empty sockets. Even without eyelights, she could feel where his focus was. It was on her hand poised with a spray bottle aimed at her hair. Rather than saying anything or asking what he wanted, she pulled the trigger and started the process of dampening her hair. It wasn’t until her curls started to get weighed down with moisture that Papyrus finally spoke up.

“HUMAN, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Her gaze locked with his visage in the mirror as he had moved closer. His gaze wasn’t on the spray bottle anymore and rather on the top of her head. What was so interesting that he had to move closer? While this bathroom was on the bigger side, it wasn’t quite big enough to not feel cramped with a towering skeleton monster sharing the space as well.

“Taming this hair down,” she stated simply and she could see his teeth part to ask another question, most likely “why” she was doing this after his encouragement. “Papi, you do remember where we’re going tonight right?” She didn’t continue speaking until he nodded, “Sorry to tell you, but this FIERCE hair is a little too much for the gym. It gets caught on a shit around here, rather not think of what it could get caught on at a place with heavy weights, equipment, and the occasional fool who can’t keep his or her or their hands to themselves.” She’d started off wanting to play it off lightly with a joke, but some frustration had leaked into her voice as she remembered there were still people who didn’t understand you couldn’t treat others like a petting zoo.

It’s not like touching her hair is completely off limits. Just ask first, most times she’s fine with it so long as they don’t over do it. Plus, she worked to hard to ensure the health and texture of her hair for it go unappeciated by not only herself, but those close to her. Strangely, none of her skeleton friends, except one, had recently tried or asked to touch it. Only one had tried and she had gotten on him about consent. That had been Cash, back when they had first met, but now he was pest about it and she had taken to telling him no just to spite him.

Papyrus had originally ducked into the bathroom to ask if he could get himself a glass of water while he waited, but had been struck with curiosity as he saw his human friend aiming a spray bottle at her head, more specifically her hair. It was similar to the spray bottle they had used to discipline the cats back home at one point. He was aware that humans had various products--thousands he had discovered--for their hair. Especially the women of the species, but the men weren’t exempt either. It had been overwhelming the first time he had stepped into a store on the surface. They just had an overwhelming amount of choices for pretty much everything.

Zoning back in, she noticed Papyrus’s teeth had just closed, “Sorry, did you say something? Fraid I missed it,” she piped up apologetically as she started wetting her hair again. Maybe it would have been easier to just duck her head under the shower at this point. “Papi?” she called as he didn’t answer, peeking up at him again in mirror, but he ssemed to be lost in his thoughts again. Sighing, she left him to it and picked up a wide tooth comb and began working out knots gently as she could.

∆∆∆

He wandered closer for a better look as she began spritzing her hair. He could smell that the bottle didn’t just contain water. It didn’t smell bad though. No, it smelled warm and comforting, just like her. His sockets locked onto how the water seemed to bead and run down her hair, reminding him of how water would just roll off a duck’s back. Some of the beads got caught on the kinks and turns her hair would make, but her fingers helped to gently coax the water to absorb until her hair started to lay down with the excess moisture. He’d asked what she was doing, but much to his shame, he was hardly focusing on her answer.

He nodded to her question. Of course he knew where they were going, but wasn’t quite understanding why the place mattered? Then again, now that he thinks about it, he had never seen her wear her hair down when they went to the gym or on runs. He’d simply assumed it was her preferred look for those moments and he enjoyed seeing all the different updos she could manipulate her hair into. He wasn’t afraid to admit he didn’t want her to “tame” her hair as she had put it right now.

He more heard her explanation, rather than actively listening, but understood what she saying. It made sense. It was practical reasoning. He kept quiet as the last bit registered with him and held in a dejected sigh. He had hoped Cash was pulling everyone’s legs about her not liking others touching her hair. His alternate was almost also pulling pranks and getting lectured for it. “Of All Things For Cash to Be Serious About…” he muttered, not caring if he was pouting.

He let himself get lost in the practiced movements of her hands. She hadn’t shooed him away so he guessed he was permitted to stay and watch. He took note of how she worked a comb through her hair, the teeth were wider than the gag comb Sans carried in his hoodie pocket and she gently worked out knots starting at the ends and moving up. Once she deemed her hair knot free, she had grabbed an even funnier looking comb. This one had thinly spaced teeth, but had a long piece extending from the relatively small comb part. She used the long tapered part to part her hair down the middle then in what seemed effortless, she twisted one side of her hair and stuck the long bit through it like a hair pin. To his surprise, it stayed in place and didn’t unravel. Was she going to do this to the other side as well? Combs were an odd accessory, but he wasn't judging.

His head tilted as it almost looked like she getting her fingers tangled, but he finally figured out what she doing once she started moving. He watched in muted amazement as she braided with practiced ease, fingers gathering new hair to work in as she moved from her temple to her nape. The braid was chunky and laid neatly against her scalp, while the rest rested against her shoulder and neck as she finished it. She plucked the comb from her hair and ran the teeth through the end of the braid before twisting. The end result was a neat curl at the end that worked like magic to him keep the entire thing from unraveling. His jaw had dropped open without him noticing, only clacking closed as heard her giggle. Her fingers were already braiding the other side as she smiled teasingly up at him in the mirror.

Cheekbones flushing pink with magic for the second time that evening, Papyrus was thankful there were no windows in this room as he was sure his friend would not appreciate him throwing himself through it to get away from his embarrassment. “IT’S RUDE TO STARE,” he griped, only flushing more as she smiled more. “NO, STOP THAT. CEASE!” he commanded, straightening up with a flustered glare as she was practically grinning up at him now.

“Stop what, hmm?” Oh no. “And what do you mean it’s rude to stare? Weren’t you staring at me this for the past… ooooh, couple minutes?” Damn it.

Papyrus had nothing to say in defense, but a mess of words poured from his jaws and stars, maybe he should try throwing himself through that wall there. It couldn’t be that thick. He was sure he was practically glowing by now and he should just respond with his normal snark, but his usually brilliant mind was failing him at the moment. Once again he found himself muffling an embarrassed screech in his palms as a human woman laughed. Atleast this time, said woman was trying to comfort him and bring him back down to earth with familiar warmth and comfort that was all her.

#papyrus x reader #papyrus x self insert #papyrus x y/n #papyrus x you #papyrus #poc reader #curly haired reader #thick hair struggles #undertale #undertale au #fanfic #fic #undertale fic #fluff #oh so fluffy

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softjeon · 5 years ago

Text

Rewind | Pt. 3

• Pairing: Yoongi x Robot!Jungkook • Genre: Fluff, Angst | Rating: Mature | Robot!AU • Words: 6,7k | AO3 • Disclaimer: nsfw-content

written with @cassiavioletblue

↳ “Tadah!” They shouted in unison, with Tae raising his hands to wave some little birthday flags while Namjoon and Hoseok clapped their hands and began to sing again, “Happy Birthday to you…” This was a joke. This had to be a joke and they made that man deliver an empty box. There was no way they had gotten him a Bot.

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Yoongi woke up with the sun in his eyes, blades of lights knifed through the blinds and mocked him. He didn't stir, just opened his eyes as he tried to think of any reason not to get up and stay a little longer inside this coziness, when a soft giggle reached his ears. It was nothing more than a faded laugh, sounding like it came from the living room and he turned his head, listening closely. He could decipher the noise of the tv being on and Yoongi furrowed his brows, stiff like a board as if someone had dared to trespass and enter his home. His heart was reacting to his wariness, beating a little faster, before his mind caught up.

“Jungkook?” Yoongi’s voice was a sleepy mumble, nothing more when he got up to see what his robot was up to.

Jungkook sat on the ground, blanket draped over his knees as he looked up at the big tv screen. There was a big smile on his face, while being so immersed that he almost didn’t hear Yoongi coming closer.

Yoongi had tried to sneak past the robot but in the end he got caught. When the other realized that Yoongi was awake and on his way to the kitchen he was trying to get up and Yoongi gently placed a hand on his shoulder to keep him there. “Morning, Jungkook. Did you sleep okay? You don’t need to get up, I’m not that hungry yet. I could make us hot cocoa? It’s a perfect way to start a lazy morning.”

Jungkook blinked up at him, confused why he sounded so nice, so early in the morning. “You want to make me something?” The robot sounded doubting, quickly turning off the tv to concentrate solely on Yoongi. “But I can’t drink it.” Jungkook pursed his lips into a pout, ignoring the question about how he had slept on purpose. He had been resting for a couple of hours, not long until his shoulders began to ache and he had climbed out of the box again. Surely, he had noticed the cushion, but Jungkook didn’t believe Yoongi had been the one giving it to him. Maybe he had simply forgotten that he took it with him.

Yoongi froze. “Wait, what? You can’t drink? So... you don’t eat or drink at all? But what about romantic dinners or going out for pizza and all that? Isn’t that a part of a relationship as well?” Surely they couldn’t make sure that their robots were able to do a hundred sex positions and then forget something as simple as food.

Jungkook shrugged his shoulders, not really sure why he couldn’t eat. “Wouldn’t it be waste? I don’t need it to survive, so I think this way it’s better.” He got up to be at the same height as Yoongi. “Do you want to go out for a romantic dinner sometime?” His eyes began to shine as he thought of a night out with Yoongi. He really wanted to hold his hand again. “We can do other romantic things then,” He bit his lip, “Like I can feed you and we can hold hands over the table like they do in the movies.”

“But, wait, I know Tae can eat. And he can drink. Like a lot. He even gets intoxicated when we go out for a drink at the bar. So is this like an extra option they forgot when they bought you?” It bothered him a little more than it probably should but he loved watching the ones he cared for enjoying a good meal. He always bought his friends lunch or dinner whenever they had achieved something and they were going out to celebrate so imagining Jungkook always sitting in front of him without taking a bite while watching him eat was making him uncomfortable already.

“What kind of production line is he?” Jungkook asked warily, not sure why this was something Yoongi was confused and sounding rather bothered by it. “I…I am not sure. Didn’t you read the manual?” Jungkook sounded more than confused himself, feeling unsure about what he was programmed for. “I can eat for you, if you want. I can try, I don’t care.” He hastily said, roaming around in his system to find anything that he was allowed to eat until he found something. “I can swallow cum though.”

“I’m not sure, I think it was something with ‘Dream’ in it. But I can ask Hoseok next time one of us calls. I did read your manual, but.. not fully. It was late and I went to bed.” He didn’t have to tell Jungkook that a whole chapter on sex positions had made him want to take a break from reading. “No, you don’t have to eat if you don’t like it or worse, what if it damages your system and...” He stumbles over his own words at the others abrupt confession and when he spoke again he sounded angry, not at Jungkook but at the company for designing the boy like that. “I know and that’s what pisses me off because what the hell would I need that for and I also don’t need a page-long description of your dick-sucking-qualities, thank you very much. What I would have liked was enjoying a hot cup of cocoa with you, not even because I’m especially fond of that sweet stuff but I knew Jimin likes it and you are a little like him sometimes and so I thought you might enjoy it. I was just.. trying to be nice and try to be normal with you as if we were roommates or something and now we’re talking about robot stuff again!”

Jungkook startled from the sudden aggressive tone in Yoongi’s voice. Suddenly his heart ached, and he wanted to eat and drink so badly just to please Yoongi, to make him happy again. Jungkook averted his gaze, feeling like it was his fault. He was the robot, not Yoongi’s roommate or boyfriend. In a quick-hearted decision, Jungkook turned on his heel and stormed into Yoongi’s bedroom, scanning the room quickly to find the manual and go through it. Again. And again. He didn’t want his human to send him back to get fixed or to get exchanged. Jungkook’s heart was racing, beating fast like a drum as he turned another page, quickly reading over it and then again. His cheeks were blushing at the descriptive scenes of his abilities and he tried to read a little faster. He may have known about his special characterizations for Yoongi, but the hell did he know about what exactly he was able to do. Jungkook was naïve, a young man that was just a little too confused about what he was even made for, reacting mostly on his programmed instincts. But none of them had gotten him any closer to his human.

Yoongi went after him, finding the robot crouched on the floor, skimming through the pages as if he wasn’t reading but the way his eyes moved told Yoongi that he was reading indeed, just too quickly for a human. “Jungkook, what are you doing?” He squatted down besides the younger, “I won’t let you eat anything if it puts you at risk; I’ll call the company after breakfast and then we’ll see what their answer will be. Maybe I can bring you back in and they can fix it or add that feature or something like that?”

“No! No, please,” Jungkook shook his head, eyes flickering up and down until they came to a halt. He gasped and then pointed at the paragraph, pushing it into Yoongi’s hands hastily and creasing the pages with it. “Here! It says I am on a default mode to not be able to swallow anything as I am from the ‘HotBot Line’” Jungkook cringed at the name, trying to speak quick as if Yoongi would decide if he wouldn’t try and change his mind fast enough. “It says you can change the status as I am designed both ways. Please. There’s no need for the service. Don’t send me back.” His eyes were glistening as he gazed at Yoongi, trying to find comfort in his dark eyes. “They will reset me and I don’t want to forget about you.”

“They can reset you? Like wipe your memories?” Yoongi was intrigued. If he had the possibility to use such a feature on himself he would use it like once a week. “And you don’t want them to do that even though you have been crying at least twice because of me? Don’t you want a nice start? Maybe we could do this as a positive change for the both of us; I could treat you better from the beginning und you wouldn’t have to feel rejected.” He suggested carefully.

Jungkook’s bottom lip began to tremble. Yoongi was right in a way and yet, he didn’t want to change a thing about it. He was too scared to be changed into something that didn’t feel right. So, he shook his head again. “You can just act different now, can’t you? I know you’ve been drunk and overwhelmed.” Jungkook was still holding the manual against Yoongi’s chest, who had his eyes on him. “Can’t we try this?” He nodded towards the paper, “Maybe I’ll be more perfect for you then? I want to share food with you and drink hot cocoa.”

Yoongi bit his bottom lip. It had felt weird with Jungkook always trying to be perfect for him. Now that he disagreed with him he should feel irritated but...it actually made Jungkook more human in his eyes, so he nodded. “It’s your decision. If you don’t want to get wiped then we can try this. Just give me a few minutes okay? I want to red that part at least twice or check the internet, just to be sure. I don’t want to accidentally fuck you up.”

Jungkook agreed quietly. “I’ll make you some coffee in the meantime.” His heart felt a little lighter at the prospect of Yoongi not wanting to send him back (how many more times did Jungkook have to try and keep him from doing so?). In the kitchen, Jungkook took his time to prepare some light breakfast and brought it to his office, where Yoongi was already focused as he compared different manuals and comments with the one in his hand. Unfortunately, as Jungkook was from the newest line, there hadn’t been too many, yet, leaving Yoongi to figure it out alone much to his despair. The robot sat down on the armchair close by, hands pushed under his thighs as he sat there in silence, waiting for his boyfriend to tell him that he was ready to reprogram him.

Yoongi sighed defeatedly. “You’re making me nervous if you’ll keep looking at me like that” He finally admitted, putting the manual aside. ”Are you sure you want me to do this? I could call Hoseok? He might have done something similar to Tae and know a bit more.” He would definitely have to apologize for how their last conversation had ended but if secured Jungkook’s safety it was worth it. He didn’t want a broken bot. Or maybe, just maybe he was scared by the thought of Jungkook changing just when he had started to get used to him.

“You’re my boyfriend, Yoongi.” Jungkook chuckled as if the other had asked the dumbest questions out of them all, “Only you can reprogram me. If Hoseok were to touch me I wouldn’t even react so much as to blink. I am imprinted on you and only you.” Jungkook got up, taking a deep breath to mentally prepare himself. “It’s just a little change.” He reached for Yoongi’s hand and held it lightly, “I trust you.”

“Ok then...” Yoongi took a nervous glimpse at the book, “...let me read this again just to be absolutely certain and you can take a hairpin to get the hair away from your ear?” He didn’t need the manual to remember where Kook’s button was: inside the robot’s ear. You only saw it when you knew what to look for and even them it could just be a mole or something. He waited until Kook had brushed his locks away from his ear, holding them in place as he didn’t had a pin. Yoongi kept glancing nervously at the manual until the other got restless. “Okay then... last chance to get out?” Jungkook shook his head with determination in his eyes. “Okay.” He coughed awkwardly. “Let’s do this.”

“Try not to be so nervous, please. My system needs to understand your orders clearly it’s not like a touch screen.” Jungkook smiled reassuringly and stepped a little closer to make sure Yoongi could touch him without hesitation or needing to reach out for him. “Just think about the cocoa that we can share.” The robot’s eyes glistened in excitement, the hope reflecting in them as he could be more of a boyfriend for Yoongi. Someone that the other truly wanted.

“Yes. Okay. I can do that.” It wasn’t so obvious who he was trying to reassure right now but Yoongi added a smile, just to make sure his frowny face wasn’t the last thing that Jungkook saw if he messed this up. Then he put his hand against the side of Jungkook’s face. A little too far back for a caress of the cheek and started feeling for the button. He could feel when he had found it not only at his fingertips but also through the full body shudder that the robot gave. He pushed it without another warning to not make this harder for Jungkook and then quickly took a step back. Jungkook’s body reacted immediately: His muscles grew lax and his arms fell back to his sides while his eyes clouded over. It looked a little like the milky state of a curdled egg. Yoongi couldn’t help but stare. Then he asked carefully. “Jungkook? Can you still hear me?”

“System on standby. Please verify to proceed.” He stood with his mouth slightly opened, eyes staring into nothingness, while his voice sounded a little off. It wasn’t as soft as before, rather rough and technical. He repeated the words again when Yoongi didn’t react right away, not moving an inch.

“Oh fuck, fucking... fuck!” Was Yoongi’s eloquent comment to the creepy state of his robot boyfriend. Apparently though it didn’t matter what exactly he said as long as it was his voice saying it because Jungkook immediately thanked him for verifying his presence and stated his full name. Then he turned silent again and Yoongi stared at him for another second before he kicked himself back into motion. The sooner he finished what he had started the sooner he would get his ‘normal’ Kook back. Hopefully he wouldn’t have nightmares about this version of his sweet, doe-eyed robot. Flipping the page he found the code that he was supposed to speak ‘loud and clear within hearing distance’ to his robot. Yoongi started but in his haste he stumbled over the long string of numbers and letters and broke off. His heart was beating painfully against his chest. Did his slip up mean that he had programmed something else into Jungkook? Would some random number delete his memory after all or rewire him in some other way?

“The code you have spoken was invalid. Please try again.” Jungkook’s mouth was moving, but his eyes were still glazed over, his hands pressed tightly against his side as he waited patiently for Yoongi to speak again. This time, Yoongi took a deep breath and collected himself, before he spoke. His voice sounded still a bit shaky, but Jungkook seemed to have registered what he had said. “You’ve successfully lowered the HotBot level.” The robot paused, “Would you like to change something else or return to the functional system?”

And there it was, an option that was a creepy as it was fascinating. It was more or less Jungkook’s whole being that was offered up for him to do with as he pleased. Yoongi swallowed harshly, voice almost giving out when he dared to ask, “What else is that there I could change?” He was only asking out of curiosity. Just that. Nothing more. He would never change anything about Kook. That wouldn’t be fair...

“The code was invalid. Please try again and speak more clearly.” Jungkook was still standing still as he waited for an answer.

Yoongi released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. This was enough meddling with Jungkook’s life for once. “Is your digestive system activated now?” He asked, just to be sure. He didn’t like the thought of doing this again.

“Status of digestive System is active.” It was all Yoongi needed, before he released Jungkook from his state with the order to return to himself.

The robot let out a sigh and closed his eyes for a moment, until they finally snapped back open. He stared wide-eyed at Yoongi and the stars were back, shining and reflecting as if the whole galaxy had been placed within them.

“Did it work?” The robot felt a little dazed, rubbing his head as he felt like he had been hit with a hammer. He frowned, trying to shake the feeling off and concentrate on what was more important now. ��Will you make me hot cocoa now?” His cheeks blushed as he asked a little shyly, wondering if he’d really be able to taste the hot drink now and share this memory with Yoongi. He smiled at his boyfriend, who was still staring at him, confused about the quick change between his system voice and his own (that he liked way more). “Yoongi?” Jungkook cocked his head aside, wondering what was going on inside his boyfriends mind.

“Yes, yeah, of course, hot cocoa coming right away.” It was strange to see Jungkook come back to his senses, his stiff posture fading away while the life came back to his eyes. Even before the other had started to talk it was like Yoongi could see the exact moment his soul had come back. He had to think about this, in peace, or talk it over with Namjoon maybe. Or... maybe he could ask Tae to come over. And see how the two bots would react to each other. Maybe Jungkook would like to get a friend.

...╘[◉-◉]╕...

The first taste of chocolate made Jungkook completely speechless. His first try of chocolate milk though almost felt better than imprinting on Yoongi when they’ve met. A warm feeling spread all through his body, making the robot shiver with it and the smile on his lips whenever he was allowed to drink some, quickly became something that Yoongi didn’t want to miss in his morning routine.

It was easier than he thought to get used to the robot. And whenever he needed some space, Yoongi just simply send Jungkook off to do some work for him.

Now that his digestive system was active and they could share meals, Jungkook was even more eager to please his boyfriend. He was cleaning, doing his laundry and the dishes and made him a meal two times a day. Every morning, before Yoongi was even awake, Jungkook had already prepared a coffee for him. Yoongi had to admit that his coffee was really good. Maybe not as good as from that one cat café he liked so much downtown (and that he would never tell anyone about, because he was keeping it his secret spot, a little too scared that one of his friends - most likely Jimin - would want to meet up there and coo at him all day). And yet - it was all there was.

Jungkook was trying as hard as he could, giving Yoongi space and doing everything he ordered him to do but he still wasn’t giving him anymore attention than what was necessary. Yoongi was working most of the times and all though he was doing home-office a lot, Jungkook always felt alone whenever he had to visit a construction place and not taking him with him. He had tried to whine and promise to stay in his car, not moving an inch but Yoongi had still denied, leaving the robot to wonder if he was trying to hide him. On the other hand, Jungkook cherished the moments they were grocery shopping a lot, because then Yoongi was holding his hand to keep him close by (scared he could run off or tell people something that would make him feel embarrassed, even though he had no idea what it could be about really). One time, Jungkook had come up with an excuse, just to go to the store again with Yoongi because he wanted to hold his hand.

Jungkook was sleeping on the couch now, after Yoongi had to show him how. The robot was confused, thinking that couches were only to sit and to cuddle on. But Yoongi wasn’t cuddling him anyways. He was getting starved on what his system was desiring so much: to be with Yoongi and so, he was failing miserably as a robot, as a boyfriend and bot to pleasure.

...╘[◉-◉]╕...

Jungkook looked up from his meal, pushing the vegetables around on his plate. “Yoongi?” He asked, voice sounding unsure and his heart began to beat a little faster. “Do you want to change something else? About me, I mean.”

Yoongi was surprised by Jungkook’s question but he wanted to give him an honest answer so he thought it over for a second. To be honest he couldn’t think of anything really, that he wanted to change. Nothing drastic at least. They had found their rhythm, living together side by side and it worked out. Instead of being annoyed that someone else was living at his home he enjoyed the company. Even if it was just him working and Jungkook reading another book on sustainable house cleaning it was nice to know that someone was there. And when Yoongi had noticed that he had got a little more attached than originally planned he had just explained it like this: Children got really attached to their plushies to the point that they wanted to have them around at any time, even though they knew they weren’t real people. Now he wasn’t a child anymore but maybe something similar could happen with grown ups and so that was why he liked to have Jungkook around himself so much even though technically he wasn’t real.

“I don’t have anything I’d like to change about you, really. Why? Do you feel that I do?” After a little pause he added. “The only thing I noticed is that you are happiest when we are together and you sometimes look a little lost when I’m working in the other room. Is there nothing that brings you the same happiness like when you’re with me? No hobby, no interest that intrigues you?”

"What is a hobby?“ Jungkook leaned in a little closer, happy that Yoongi didn’t want to change anything about him anymore – but why was he still avoiding his touch? The robot could easily search the internet quickly to know what Yoongi was talking about, but he wanted his boyfriend to explain it to him. “You intrigue me. Are you my hobby then?”

He chuckled at the robots interpretation, “No, Kookie, people aren’t hobbies, they have hobbies. It’s an activity that you do in your free time and that you like. Some people do sports as a hobby or handcrafts like sewing or knitting but there are all kinds of different hobbies really.”

Jungkook bit his lip when Yoongi used the little nickname he liked so much. “Okay, well then I like watching you do stuff. And I like animes, right? Is that a hobby?” He had pushed his plate aside, more interested in what Yoongi was telling him than his food anymore.

Yoongi refrained from telling the other that watching someone wasn't a hobby but rather creepy and instead reassured him in his love for anime. “Yes, watching anime is a nice hobby. I just thought that maybe you wanted to do something new or meet someone else that you can have fun with. Like a friend. Do you think you would like that?” Hoseok and Tae had come back from a little vacation two days ago and he was still toying with the thought of inviting them over. None of his friends had really seen Jungkook so far, he had told them about him and sometimes it had been Jungkook answering his phone when he had his phone shut off and they called the apartment but apart from that he was the only person Jungkook had ever seen so far.

Jungkook hummed in response, deep in his thoughts for a moment. “But I want to have fun with you and do things with you first?” His voice sounded a little unsure, as if he didn’t know if Yoongi was trying to get more free time or really do something for him. “You can invite your friends anytime but I don’t need anyone but you.”

Maybe Yoongi was overreacting a little because even though it might not be healthy for a human to be fixated on someone that much maybe it was perfectly fine for a robot. He still wanted to give Jungkook other options because feeling like he had to be there for him 100% all the time was starting to stress him out. What if he wanted to go for drinks or just take a nap once in a while? Now that he had started to care for Jungkook he couldn’t just stop doing it and thinking about a lonely little robot curled up on the couch watching anime on his own wasn’t sitting right with him. Maybe he and Tae could have sleepovers? He really needed to have some robot talk with Hoseok when they were visiting.

Jungkook had learned to read Yoongi’s body language by now and with the way he was chewing on his bottom lip, eyes focused on thin air, he knew that he was thinking about something that was angering him in a way. Carefully, the robot got up and began to take the plates with him to leave Yoongi alone with his thoughts. It was always better like this; he had learned it quickly. When he was done, Yoongi was still sitting at the table and Jungkook felt a little confused on what to do. “Do you want to watch tv with me?” Jungkook’s voice broke through Yoongi’s thoughts, “It’s Saturday, they are playing some great movies tonight.”

“Yeah, sure. Do you have one in mind?” He was getting some snacks from the kitchen because even though he could skip a meal without a problem, watching a two hour long movie without snacks was impossible.

Neither of them wanted to watch a specific movie so he let Jungkook pick one at random that the younger liked “because of the cover”. He smiled fondly at how easily one could pique the boy’s interest. A nice movie cover, some hot cocoa… his life seemed simpler, more filled of joy like this. And Yoongi almost envied him for it. Not having to work and doing all the chores, all the paperwork, all that boring, useless, time and energy consuming stuff you had to do as a ‘human’... Jungkook didn’t have to do any of that. And yet, he was so human that you couldn’t differentiate him from anyone else, apart from maybe that boys his age weren’t that innocent anymore or that smiley because life had made sure to wipe that smile off their faces. He could feel his thoughts slipping to a place where he didn’t want to so he concentrated on Jungkook instead.

The youngers fluffy hair was bobbing everytime Jungkook laughed wholeheartedly and without thinking he buried his fingers into it. Jungkook stiffened for a second, as if needing a second to process who was touching him before he melted against him, turning his head a little in his direction, so trusting and vulnerable that Yoongi’s chest bloomed with warmth. He gently scratched Jungkook’s scalp, brushing his fingers through his hair. It was a nice moment and he almost forgot about the movie - until a moan brought his attention right back to the screen. There was a heated make out scene going on and his first instinct was to cover up Kook eyes to not let him see, like he would do with a child - and then to turn off the TV. But it would be a little childish, wouldn’t it, to interrupt the movie that Jungkook picked just because of that? He could handle that. It was just… that he couldn’t.

The scene was sexy as hell and he hadn’t slept with someone in a while. Adding Jungkook into the mix who was sitting right next to him, his pretty lips slightly parted as he watched in awe... Yoongi’s mind just wandered elsewhere. He could remember those descriptions that he had found in Jungkook’s manual very vividly but right now was the first time that he dared to recall them properly. Would Jungkook be as eager in pleasing him in bed as he was with anything else? He knew the answer already and he swallowed harshly, mouth going dry at the thought of Jungkook doing what was happening on screen to him. In his bedroom. Or on the couch, right now. He must have done something to give himself away because even though he hadn’t made a sound (he was sure of that!) Jungkook’s head whipped around and he concentrated solely on Yoongi.

His head was cocked a little sideways as if he was listening to something or questioning something. He must have gotten his answer somehow because he smiled, gaze dropping to Yoongi’s lips and then he leaned forwards - as if he wanted to kiss him. Yoongi just freaked out. He was embarrassed that he had gotten riled up so quickly - and even more that Jungkook had been able to tell what he wanted without him saying it. He got up and Jungkook who had leaned forward almost fell onto the couch. “I... I think I’m gonna take a shower first. You can finish the movie if you want and I’ll just join you later again.” Then he got out of the room as quickly as he could.

The robot had registered it very clearly in this moment, Yoongi’s elevated heartbeat, his quicker breath and dilated pupils. His body temperature was higher than usual. It was like a switch that turned on and with him being so close, Jungkook just couldn’t resist – but before he could reach out, the human jumped up startling him effectively, mumbling something about a hot shower.

Yoongi took his time in the bathroom, not because he needed it (he didn’t draw it out, just got the job done, coming into his hand with a muffled moan) but because it took him a while to feel like himself again. Like he could go out there and pretend like he wasn’t phased by Jungkook’s beauty.

He went back into his bedroom to get fresh clothes with his hair still dripping and a towel wrapped around his waist. He changed into some clean underwear and was about to pull a t-shirt over his head when he noticed that he wasn’t alone any more. He startled visibly, almost knocking into his wardrobe.

“Fuck, Jungkook, don’t sneak up on me like that! And why are you.. what are you...” He trailed off, stunned silent in utter confusion. Without a word the robot had started to undress in front of Yoongi as if it was the most normal thing to do. “Jungkook, what are you doing?”

“I’m giving you what you need,” Jungkook whispered and undressed further. There was an aura coming off Yoongi that told him that he had been doing it himself in the shower and yet, his heartbeat hadn’t calmed down nor did it seem that it was enough for Yoongi. The other was still restless, Jungkook could see it clearly in every little movement of his eyes. Everything in him signaled him to do what he was programmed for: to pleasure. Yoongi had stumbled back onto the bed and he barely registered him ordering him to go and sleep, because apparently he was tired. But all of what Yoongi’s body told him was the exact opposite.

Jungkook felt like he was in a trance. The need to be with Yoongi so bad. He had been used as a housemaid bots for weeks now, nothing of it gave him anything close to what he was craving for. His system was constantly confused, not getting any skin on skin contact that he needed so badly to survive. Jungkook took a step closer. Yoongi said he was ‘perfect’ now, then why did he still refuse to be with him when his body spoke so clearly to him? He was giving him all the signs. And Jungkook couldn’t step away.

Yoongi was trying to push Jungkook away who was refusing to get off the bed even though Yoongi had told him to go twice now and the older was starting to get scared. If Jungkook was refusing his orders then what if he was doing whatever he wanted now? What if Yoongi wouldn’t be able to control him at all? The fear made his voice sharper and his eyes blind to the way Jungkook was desperately trying to reach out for him.

“Stay the hell away from me, robot!”

Jungkook froze, finally stilling even though Yoongi hadn’t touched him again. His eyes were filling with tears and they slowly rolled down his cheeks. He looked so miserable that Yoongi was almost sorry - if they both hadn’t been half naked and he still shaken. Jungkook started trembling, not in a natural way, rather as if he was a live wire with too much electricity running through him. Yoongi crawled backwards, getting more distance between them and Jungkook’s gaze followed him, so hurt and so very sad. The shaking intensified and Yoongi got out of bed, reaching for his phone, “Stop it Whatever you are doing right now just stop it!” He was ready to call the robot service when he smelled it, it was like something was burning, something electrical.

“I... I can’t!” Jungkook looked even more miserable if that was even possible. He still hadn’t moved at all since Yoongi had yelled at him, except for the shaking. Yoongi’s voice had reached through to him, but his system wasn’t listening. It could feel the desperation, the need for pleasure in every fiber of Yoongi’s body, while it was fighting with the urge of his heart to listen to what his boyfriend wanted: him to stop. Jungkook closed his eyes, desperately trying to push back the orders of his own system. “No,” Jungkook mumbled, shaking his head in a desperate manner. “I can’t do it, Yoongi. Help me, please.” He cried out as if he was in pain and it startled Yoongi effectively. Jungkook’s eyes flickered back and forth as he tried to push everything back but it was no use. His system was overloading.

“H-help me.”

Yoongi finally reacted, when he realized what was happening. In a matter of seconds, he got back onto the bed, holding Jungkook’s cheeks to make the robot look at him. “What the hell is going on?” He yelled at him, not meaning to be angry right now but he was just as confused and scared. “What the fucking hell is going on, Jungkook!”

The robot’s lips trembled as he tried to focus on the human, trying to keep his hands to himself. Controlling his own body was a task he wasn’t sure he was able to do right now - not with Yoongi being so close. “O-overload,” He sounded like he was in pain, cramping more and more. “Y-you’ve got to clean,” Jungkook began to whisper to himself, feeling his strength leaving his body as he tried to get everything back under control. “Clean, take care of him and he will like you. Be good,” Jungkook’s voice was a trembling, barely audible for Yoongi, who was holding onto the youngers shoulder to keep him upright but nothing seemed to work. “You’ve got to be good. He...he doesn’t want you like that. St-stop.” The robot closed his eyes, as he furrowed his brows, “Sh-shut me off, please. Yoongi, please. I can’t...I can’t do it anymore.” He snapped his eyes open and Yoongi gasped, when he saw the pain, the pure fear in Jungkook’s once so glistening eyes. It was like something had swallowed the galaxy inside them and nothing else but confusion and hatred was left. But not for Yoongi, but himself. Jungkook was fighting himself.

Yoongi’s hands were shaking as he pulled the robot in against him, trying to push his hair away from his ear. He was panting, trying to hold Jungkook still while he was searching for the button. He wasn’t sure if he could remember the code, or anything else really but he couldn’t let Jungkook destroy himself. His heart was beating hard against his chest and Jungkook leaned closer, feeling it against his own chest. He wanted Yoongi’s heart to beat for him.

“Why don’t you want me?” Jungkook’s voice sounded broken off, his eyes flickering back and forth with the way Yoongi was screaming orders at him, trying to find the button to push and making him struggle with it. There were tears in his eyes as he held onto the other, feeling dazed as his system was overheating. He could feel it in every fiber of his body that was shaking right now. He blacked out, only to snap back for a moment. “Please stop,” He whined but his voice was barely any louder than a whisper, “I…I j-just want to be w-what you need p-please.” Jungkook fainted again, head falling aside, but his eyes snapped open again, seconds after in sheer panic. “Why can’t I-I be your b-boyfriend?” Jungkook gasped, his whole body stiffening up when Yoongi finally pushed the button in his ear and his eyes glazed over, giving them a grey hue.

Finally Jungkook laid still and lifeless on the bed. There was no breathing, no sign that he was still ‘there’. He looked like a corpse. Yoongi sat back on the bed and looked at him. Jungkook’s sheer desperation had burned itself into his mind and when he tried to wipe his sweaty hands on the sheets he realized that they were shaking. It felt like he had just killed Jungkook. Not just now; he had started to wear him down from the very beginning.

Sweet little robot trying to please - and then he came along, rejecting him again and again until the other was begging to be shut off. On his first night Jungkook had been adamant on wanting to stay awake, asking him to not shut him off under any circumstances. And there he was now, shut off completely because apparently not even a robot could survive in his care. There was wetness on his face and he angrily wiped the tears away before they could even count. He wasn’t crying, not really. It was just frustration or... or being overwhelmed. He would tell Hoseok that he had to cancel their visit first and then he would call the robot company and tell them that he would send his robot back and that they didn’t need to destroy him because he hadn’t used him so he was still clean and the imprint may be there but anyone who would be willing to use Jungkook the way he was designed to would be a better owner and that all they had to do was wipe Jungkook's memory and then give him to someone else.

Someone who wouldn’t let him sleep on the couch and who would take him to bed the very first night.

A/N: This is an early update, as I am on a dance competition all weekend so you’ll get the new chapter today! YAY!!!!!! We hope you enjoyed...well......oops things happened again hm.....sowwy! :D I think Yoongi messed it up for good.

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alwayschoosechocolate · 5 years ago

Text

One-night stands and one-shot chances (part x)

University AU

Pairing: Jin x reader

Who says sex has to mean anything? Who says you can’t just screw around without all the heartache? Who says only guys get this privilege? What happens when the biggest playboy on campus suddenly meets his match and gets a taste of his own medicine?

Genre: casual sex, mentions of sex, bestfriend!Hoseok, onenightstand!Jin, romance

Word count: 4k

Taglist: @esplosionedicoloriintesta @jeonjunggoodgod @rjsmochii@spookidema @pariz-lover @mymochimchimmy @seokjinnieismine @cloudyelizabeth @livesmileandstaystrong@thisistoooooomuch@okaysoplshelpme @secondstanza @eanielsen07 @lidda @6bottlesofwine @honeybeeforv

Masterpost with the other parts of the story can be found here and my masterlist is here

A/N: Hi my loves! I am finally back with an update! Thank you for being so patient with me! I will try to be better moving forward. I even made a schedule for myself, so I should get better at posting regularly! Enjoy! And as always, let me know what you think in the comments!

Cuddling meant nothing. Cuddling meant nothing. Cuddling meant nothing.

Like a mantra, Jin chanted the words internally as the movie played on the screen in front of you.

No flirting. Nothing.

Gritting his teeth as he tried to pick up the movie playing on the screen once more, he reminded himself of how you always cuddled whoever was closest to you. It didn’t even have to be someone you knew. You were just always touching the person next to you. So that you were pressed against his side now with an arm draped across his stomach meant nothing, right?

Of course not. Before you had slept together, you had often cuddled him. Granted not alone in the house while watching a movie, but backhugs weren’t uncommon nor was the occasional shoulder rub.

Suddenly a lightbulb lit up in Jins head and he widened his eyes in realization.

If you didn’t consider cuddling to be flirting, then he could be as clingy as he wanted these days! No strings attached. No hidden meaning. Just free uncomplicated cuddles for an entire week!

Grinning at his own discovery, he suddenly felt way more at ease at the prospect of spending an entire week alone with you. He would just direct all his flirting into cuddling, and you would never need to know.

Settling deeper against the backrest of the couch, he confidently pulled you tighter in his embrace, making you look at him in confusion.

“What are you doing?”

“Just getting more comfortable. I’m getting sleepy and I don’t want to have neck pain from sitting in a weird position if I fall asleep,” he reasoned, doing his absolute best to hide his mischievous grin, when you simply shrugged your shoulders and allowed him to rest his head on the top of your head.

Fighting back the victorious smile from appearing on his lips, Jin took a deep breath as he tried to calm his heart. Despite the comfortable silence between you, the coziness of the blankets around you and the calmness of it all, he felt a tinge of danger in the air. Like a false sense of security.

He was so used to being on high alert around you that it felt wrong to actually be at ease with you.

“Can I ask you something?”, he asked, voice hesitant and slightly slurred as sleep had already seeped into his vocal cords.

“Yeah?”

“Why aren’t we fighting right now? You usually hate me. What changed?”

Biting back a chuckle, you reached up to ruffle his hair slightly and heard him hum slightly in response.

“You did, Jin. You usually treat me like dirt, but you’ve been nice to me today, so I’m reciprocating that,” you spoke sincerely and giggled slightly when you saw him frowning in confusion. “It’s really that simple. You’re nice to me, I’m nice to you. If you treat me like you have been before, I’ll give back just the same.”

Silently taking in your words, he kept his gaze on the movie in front of him.

“So if I’m nice to you and treat you well, you’ll be nice to me as well? We can go back to being friends?”, he asked slowly as if picking out each word carefully, like a kid learning something new and repeating it back to make sure they actually understood it right.

“Sure. When you stop treating me like an unintelligent object that you only want to sleep with, then yeah, we can be friends,” you shrugged, shifting slightly so his head wasn’t resting on you anymore and you were able to face him instead. “I mean that, Jin. I never hated you, but I did hate how you talked to and about me.”

Giving him a slight glare at the memories, you saw him wince and avoid eye contact just the same as he had when you confronted him about calling you a whore.

“I know, I was an idiot,” he admitted, giving you a sheepish smile. “I’m really sorry. I promise I won’t treat you like that again. I really do want us to be friends and honestly I think it would make everything easier.”

Now it was your turn to tilt your head in confusion, only making Jin roll his eyes at you.

“Oh, come on. We both know this has been awkward for the others. Me constantly disappearing, us fighting all the time. We’re like an old married couple who should really just get a divorce, but we haven’t even been dating,” he chuckled with an amused smile as he got up to fetch some water, leaving you alone to sort through your thoughts.

Sure, you knew everyone had been a bit on edge, but had it really been that bad?

Vaguely remembering Hoseoks reminder for you to try to not disagree with more of his housemates, your felt a twinge of guilt shot through your chest. Maybe this whole thing with Jin had gotten out of control, you mused as you looked towards the sound of him moving around the kitchen. If that was true, then Jin was right. You should at least try to make it work. If anything, then for Hobi’s sake. You didn’t want to be the reason he disagreed with his housemates.

And you did make it work. The two of you spent the weekend bundled up on the couch watching movies, eating Jins excellent cooking and actually getting to know each other. Though most of the time was still spent squabbling and teasing each other, the air between the two of you had gotten a lot lighter and the teasing a lot more friendly.

As the weekdays rolled around, you found a new rhythm; you went to work in the morning and when you got home, Jin had cooked dinner for the both of you. There were no problems, no arguments, no name-calling and more importantly, there was no flirting at all.

Walking home Thursday evening, you found yourself actually looking forward to coming home to Jin and as you opened the door and was met the heavenly smell of roasted lamb, you bit your lip to contain a giddy giggle of happiness.

“I’m home,” you called out, as you slipped off your shoes and tossed your bag next to the couch, before walking to the kitchen, where Jin greeted you with a casual smile from his hunched over position in front of the stove.

“Hi flower! How was work?”

Grabbing a piece of carrot off the cutting board and popping it in your mouth, you gave him a smile and a shrug as you hopped up on the counter next to the stove.

“Fine. Can’t complain. The receipt printer is still broken though, so I had to write all the receipts by hand,” you chuckled with a headshake as you munched on your snack.

“And you’re laughing at that?”, he asked with an amused smile playing on his lips, eyes still locked on the content of the pots on the stove, as he carefully stirred the content.

As per usual when he was cooking all his focus was on the food. Carrying out a conversation was somewhat possible, but you had quickly realized that he never looked away from the food for too long.

“Yeah, well,” you shrugged, taking advantage of his distracted state to observe him. Actually, observe would be the wrong word to use. You were blatantly staring at him, but you couldn’t help it. There was just something unbelievably comforting about seeing him move around the kitchen so confidently as he cooked. “I couldn’t fix it or do anything about it, so there wasn’t really any point in getting annoyed.”

“Oh? So I guess you won’t be needing the bottle of wine I bought you?”

Widening your eyes at his words, you let out an excited giggle as you hopped off the counter and practically skipped the few meters to the fridge and eagerly pulled out the wine with a wide grin.

Turning around to find two glasses, you missed the way Jins eyes had followed your happy steps with a fond smile and how he was now shaking his head with a soft chuckle, before he turned back to the stove.

Walking back to him, you carefully snuck your arms under his to give him an awkward backhug, holding both glasses in front of his chest to make sure you wouldn’t spill it.

“Thought so,” he hummed with a knowing smirk as he accepted one of the glasses and clinked it with yours, before you withdrew from the embrace taking your glass with you.

“How did you know I would like a glass of wine today?”, you asked, as you hopped back up to your vantage position now with your wine in hand.

“I didn’t really,” he shrugged with a cheeky smile, as he put the wine glass down on the opposite side of the stove. “But I figured it couldn’t hurt to have a bottle around.”

“Kim Seokjin,” you scolded with a laugh clinging to your words. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“From a shared bottle of wine?”, he snorted out in a laugh, as he sent you a sassy smirk. “I know you well enough to know, that it takes a lot more than that to get you drunk.”

“That’s rich coming from you, Mr. the-mininum-of-shots-per-round-is-5,” you countered, as you raised a knowing eyebrow at him.

“There is no need to drag the eyebrow into this, missy,” he scolded, reaching up to tap his index finger against said eyebrow, causing both of you to break out in cackling laughs.

“So what did you do today?”, you inquired as you crossed your legs under you on the tabletop and took a sip of your wine.

“Not much. Went for a run, walked around town for a bit -” waited for you to come home – “nothing too wild,” he ended, sending you a small smile before turning off the stove and arranging the food on plates for you. “So what do you want to do tonight?”

“Uh, I was scrolling through insta on my break and found this recipe for a homemade facemask, I wanted to try,” you explain excitedly, while accepting the plate he offered you. “It’s like moisturizing and supposedly really good. I’m gonna try and make it after dinner and probably watch a series while it sits.”

“Mind if I join you?”, he asked, smiling at the way your face lit up in excitement.

“Sure, I can make like a big portion so there’s enough for both us,” you nodded as you dug into the food, already doubling up the quantities it would take to make enough for two facemasks in your head.

“No, that’s not what I mean,” Jin chuckled anxiously, feeling his ears burn in embarrassment. “Why would I want to do a facemask? I just wanted to join you for the tv series.”

Raising an eyebrow at his statement, you tilted your head as you calmly finished chewing the bite in your mouth, before answering him.

“Why wouldn’t you want to do a facemask? It’s simple skincare, Jin.”

“Isn’t it a bit girly to do facemasks?”, he snorted, only making you squint your eyes at him.

“It’s a facemask, Jin. How on earth do you find that girly? Skincare isn’t gendered.” You tone was teasing, but the ice behind your words was hard to miss. “Besides, we agreed that this house would be both sexless and genderless this week, so even if it was, your words has absolutely no weight here,” you spoke in a firm voice, popping another piece of food in your mouth as your calmly observed him. “Your sexist understanding of the world has no hold in this house, Jin.”

Feeling your eyes piercing through his and hearing the firmness in your voice, left him feeling like a little boy after a scolding, and his ears burned as he thought about how incredibly stupid you must think him to be.

That was until he heard your giggling ringing through the room, making him snap his head back up to find your eyes sparkling and your face split in a breathtaking grin.

“I’m just toying with you, Jin,” you laughed, only feeling slightly guilty for the horrified expression on his face. “You are wrong though. Very much so. But this lamb is so delicious that I’m gonna let it slide,” you winked at him, as you took another bite. “And we’re both gonna do the facemasks later, because it will be good for us and I really want to do this with you.”

Turning back to your food, you missed the way Jins face scrunched up in irritation at your words.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re unbelievably bossy?”, Jin scoffed, as he tried to stop his heart from galloping away in panic at the mere thought of making you angry at him again.

“Of course,” you giggled with a mischievous grin. “Hobi says it’s one of my key characteristics.”

“Well, he would know,” he muttered under his breath, as he silently finished his dinner, only faintly aware of you talking about the annoying customers you had had that day.

Pushing his food around in his plate, he felt annoyance stir in his veins. This wasn’t the first time you had shot him down and sure, he had said some incredibly mean things to you at some of those instances, but enough was enough.

“Remember, when you told me that how you treat me depends on how I treat you?”, he asked, interrupting your story about the non-fat double chocolate girl and making you slightly flustered, as you simply nodded with wide eyes at his firm tone and stern eyes. “Well, I’ve been nothing but kind to you this week. Cooking for you, buying your favorite snacks and drinks. Hell, we only watch the movies you want to watch, because God forbid, we watch something without a female lead,” he mocked with an eye-roll, as he forcefully put his unfinished plate down on the counter with a loud clank, making you flinch in surprise. “And I can live with that. But you need to stop treating me like a child. You boss me around, you mock me and you make me feel like the most idiotic person on the planet. Yes, you might know more than me about certain things, but there are other ways of letting me know that, than rolling your eyes and belittling me! I need you to stop it!”

With each word his voice rose and by the end he was heaving for air and had his fists clenched by his side, as he all but glared at you.

Eyes still widened in surprise by his outburst, you found it impossible to break the intense eye contact between you, as you took in his clearly frustrated state.

“You’re right,” you spoke softly, as realization hit you. “I’m so used to being on the fence about people being assholes to me, and you used to be one of those people. But you’re right. You’re not anymore, so I shouldn’t have kept treating you like one. I’m sorry, Jin.”

Your apology was sincere and the second Jin heard it in your soft voice, the anger evaporated and left him feeling empty. Not even better, just empty.

“I- Yes, exactly!”, he rushed out, frantically trying to hang on to the anger, causing you to smile gently at him.

“You’re not used to people apologizing to you, are you?”, you asked him softly, as you slowly slid down from the counter and walked over to his side and gingerly wrapped your arms around him as if afraid of breaking him. “I’m sorry, I belittled you. I really am. And I promise, as long as you’re kind to me, I won’t be such an asshole to you. But please stop being mad at me. I don’t like seeing you upset,” you spoke against the fabric of his hoodie, turning your face slightly and pressing a kiss to the soft skin on his neck.

Hugging him in complete silence, you allowed him his time to calm down, and when you finally felt his arms snake around you, you squeezed him tighter for a moment, squinting your eyes shut in the process when you felt him shake slightly in your arms.

“I’m sorry, I yelled at you,” he mumbled against your hair, his voice slightly unstable as he kept his hold on you firm. He felt the tears pressing for reasons he didn’t understand, he definitely didn’t need you to see them.

“’s okay. At least you didn’t call me any names this time,” you joked against his chest in an attempt to lighten the mood, though shock shot through you, when you realized what you had just said.

Pulling back from the hug with eyes widened in regret of your own words, an apology ready on your lips, it was all forgotten the second your eyes fell on his tear-glazed eyes.

“Oh, Jinnie. Please don’t cry. I’m sorry,” you rushed out in concern, as you reached up to cup his cheek, only to have Jin swat your hand away and walk away from you as an incomprehensible sentence left his lips, leaving you to look after his figure in bewilderment as you saw him disappear into his room and close the door after him.

“Dammit,” you whispered to yourself, as you felt the ache in your heart at his tears. Shuffling your weight from one foot to the other as you contemplated what to do, you felt completely torn and aimless as you stood alone in the middle of the kitchen. “You really should just leave him alone,” you muttered to yourself as your feet slowly carried you towards his door. “You really shouldn’t meddle. He obviously didn’t want to talk about it,” you scolded yourself quietly, as you stopped in front of his door.

Raising your hand to knock, you let it hover over the wood for a second, before letting your hand fall back against your side and leaning your head against the door frame.

He didn’t want your help. That’s why he walked away. You knew this. You needed to respect his boundaries, you reminded yourself. He had just scolded you for treating him like a child, and here you were ready to barge into his room to console him, like some overprotective mother. Lifting your head from the doorframe, your gaze stayed locked on the door, as if trying to see through it and make sure Jin really was alright on the other side. As the sight of his tear-filled eyes popped into your mind again, it took everything in you to not barge through the door to get to him.

Forcefully pulling yourself back from his door, you steered yourself to the kitchen and quietly started cleaning up with a sigh.

Normally the process would be accompanied by music from Jin’s little red speaker sitting on the windowsill, but it felt disrespectful to play it without him, so you worked in silence, packing up the leftovers, washing both the dishes and pots and pans and wiping down the counters.

As you finished, all that was left was the half-empty wineglasses staring back at you from the otherwise empty counter. Glaring at them in annoyance, you let out a sigh of defeat as you picked them up and cleaned them up as well. Staring around the empty and clean kitchen, you felt fidgety and aimless.

“What now?”, you sighed to yourself, as you thought back to your original plan.

You were definitely not in the mood for facemasks or tv series. Throwing a look towards the hallway and Jin’s room, you felt your feet carry you towards him once more, and this time you made no attempt to stop yourself.

When your knocks sounded through the hallway, your heart leapt into your throat and for a second you contemplated just slipping into Hoseok’s room on the other side of the hall and acting like you were never there.

“What?”

His voice was gruff and definitely not inviting in any way, but you couldn’t help it. You needed to make sure he was okay.

“Can I come in?”, you asked hesitantly, hand already resting on the doorknob.

“Why?”

“I just want to make sure, you’re okay. You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to. I just want to be next to you. If you’ll let me.”

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, and when you finally heard his accepting grunt, you let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you had been holding, as you pushed open the door to Jin’s room.

The room was unlit and the light from the hallway threw long shadows on the opposite wall. You hadn’t been in there since that night, you realized as you closed the door behind you and carefully made your way across the room towards the bed, where Jin was lying on his back looking up at the ceiling.

Carefully taking a seat next to his figure, you were reminded of how he had been sprawled out on the bed sleeping the morning after when you had left the room. The memory left a faint smile on your lips, as you fiddled with your hands in your lap to keep yourself from reaching out for him.

Lifting your head to look at him, you found him already looking back at you. In the dark of the room, his eyes rested on your features and yours on his as you carried out a conversation though none of you uttered a single word.

I can’t talk about. I don’t even know why. I’m sorry, his eyes pleaded, making your heart soften.

You don’t have to, yours reassured him, as your hand fell into his giving it a comforting squeeze.

Lie with me?, he asked, as he gave your hand a barely existing tug, making you smile gently as you nodded and curled up next to him on the bed.

Feeling his arms settle around you and hearing the distraught sigh of contentment leaving his lips as he pulled you closer, strung your heartstrings even tighter than they had already been, and you felt a lump forming in your throat.

Goddammit, Y/n! What the hell is wrong with you, you scolded yourself mentally. Don’t tell me this is all it takes for you? You see him cry once and suddenly you’re back in his bed again?

Trying to distract yourself from your own head, you focused your energy on softly tracing patterns on Jin’s shirt, very careful not to get too close to his pants, as you were suddenly awkwardly aware of what had happened last time you were here.

This is ridiculous, you thought with an eye-roll.

You cuddled with all the others all the time. This was no different, you reminded yourself as you walked yourself through all the times you had cuddled with the others. Hell, Jungkook had even cupped your ass in his sleep once, and there was absolutely no awkwardness between the two of you.

And just as you had succeeded in calming down your mind, you heard a soft snore coming from the man next you. Lifting your head to look at his face, you found his features smoothed out in his sleep. Smiling at his peaceful state, you decided that leaving him to get some rest would probably be for the best, but as you tried to free yourself from his grasp, he stirred slightly in his sleep rolling onto his side and tightening his hold on you.

“Stay with me, flower” he whispered into the darkness, and though you had no idea if he was still sleeping or awake, you felt no need to argue with him, settling deeper against him and closing your own eyes.

// Part xi //

#one night stands and one shot chances #jin imagine #bangtan imagine #bangtan reaction #bts imagine #bts reaction #kim seokjin #kim namjoon #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #bts fluff #bts angst #bts fanfic #jin fluff #jin angst

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until-we-fall-in-love · 5 years ago

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Into the Hush: Chapter Two

-Chapter One-

-Into the Hush Masterlist-

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader, a little Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: It’s only ever been you and the rugged wilderness; both unkempt and undomesticated. Until it isn’t anymore.

(1870s Cowboy AU. A/B/O AU. Gothic/horror.)

Warnings: Violence, gore, dark themes, A/B/O dynamics, smut in later chapters, a touch of it in this one.

If you are under 18, you should not be reading this!

A/N: hey guys!! sorry for the wait on this, i’m just finishing up finals so i should have more time to write!! it got a little long, so i would love any feedback or comments you might have!! enjoy!!

***

Spring grows thick and unruly in the coming weeks, crops burst through the ground and unfurl their leaves to the sun. The days grow longer once more, the sun lingering on the horizon. It’s become warmer, too, slowly creeping into the beginning of summer. You start wearing lighter dresses, less layers, try to keep your hair off the back of your neck when you work.

Steve and Bucky have been helping you on the farm for the past few weeks. Despite your initial reluctance, they’ve done good work, helped you out a great deal. They listen to you respectfully, work hard, and treat you like an adult. Not a girl, not an Omega. It’s refreshing for once, it’s made you a little more friendly to them, in the least. They’re careful of your boundaries, they don’t near spaces that seem to be yours; your bedroom, the corner of the settee in the living room that’s got a cozy, knitted blanket curled around it and a pillow that smells of you, the loft in the barn that you like to read in, the spot by the creek where the grass is worn from you setting out a blanket to lounge there. They’re careful not to get too close to you unless you step near them first.

For awhile, they work in the new summer heat with their shirts on. But eventually, Steve sheds his when you’re off doing another chore, only for you to come back and see him and the broad, strong muscles of his chest and torso. Though you’d flushed and averted your eyes, you hadn’t said much, so he grew comfortable working that way.

Bucky was more reluctant, though, and he still kept a single glove on his left hand. He remained in long sleeves, even as the sun burned brighter. You never dared ask about it, but the curiosity did nibble at the back of your mind. You walked along the prairie grass with it, wondering what he was hiding, if anything at all. You meandered back to the farm after your lunch break by the creek and as if your mind was read—

You catch sight of Bucky shirtless.

He’s chopping wood beneath the sun, sweat on his brow, dampening his neck. Your eyes trace over his broad, bare shoulders, one of which is--

One is made of metal. It cuts silver, gleaming under the sun. It’s made of moving gears, which churn and rotate at the joints. Metal plating surrounds pipes inside of it but it moves like a normal arm. Like a small engine, a small machine attached to him, one with him.

It reminds you of all the new trains and factories in big cities; raw, open creations of machinery.

He picks his head up, notices you, and immediately goes still. You near him as if nothing is different, however you can smell the change in his scent-- the worrisome burst of pine that sharpens into the smell of winter, of metal. Is he nervous?

You are careful to keep your face neutral, your eyes away from his metal arm. You try to keep your features the same aloofness that you always hold with him and Steve, however you do glance into his eyes, dark and midnight blue.

And your voice is softer than you’d like it to be when you ask, “Do you want water? I’m going to get some.”

He blinks, as if he’s surprised by this, his face searching yours. You think maybe he inhales slow to grab your scent, to give him any clues as to what you’re feeling. You bristle a little, become suddenly self-conscious.

But he inclines his head, dips it a little lower, purposefully submissive or thankful, and his voice is rough and quiet when he responds, “Yes, please.”

You nod and quickly turn away from him to find Steve to ask the same question. Steve is in the stables usually by this time, taking care of Clover, and he’s been working on repairing the door, which nearly falls off its hinges. You step into the cool shade of it, Clover huffing as she sees you enter. You find Steve around the corner, fiddling with the hinges of the door once more.

He picks his head up when he sees you, straightening to his full height. There’s a flicker of surprise in his features, “You’re back from lunch early,” he says, a little too casually.

You only respond, “I’m going to the well to get water. Would you like some?”

Steve nods slowly, “Yes, ma’am. If it’s no trouble.” And then he fidgets, shifts from foot to foot, “I’ll ask Buck if he wants any, too—“

Steve moves to leave, but you speak up, “I already did.”

Steve pauses, “You saw him already?” And there’s a note of worry in his tone. His scent becomes thick with protectiveness suddenly, and he turns back to face you, his blue eyes shadowed slightly in the low light of the barn. Sunlight breaks in through the cracks of the wood, cuts across his face in a thin line, like a lightning strike.

You’re certain this protectiveness comes from Bucky’s arm, you’re sure others have been far less kind about it. And Steve, so loyal, is already ready to do anything for him.

“Yes,” You say calmly, look into his eyes and don’t back down from the squaring of his shoulders, “I’ve already seen him.”

With that, you turn on your heels, about to rush out, but Steve snags your wrist. You stop with a jolt, his grip tightening. He keeps you rooted in place and you round on him quickly, eyes blazing as you snap;

“Let me go.”

“Are you gonna rush in and tell your father?” Steve asks, and there’s a sternness to him, a hardness in his eyes that you know is unshakable. It’s all Alpha, the hard cut of his jaw as his teeth grind together, the pheromones that sharpen the air.

You blink, surprised. “About Bucky?”

He nods, slow, tight.

“No.” You say, “Why would I?”

You pull at your wrist again, irritated by his hold on you still, and this time he drops your wrist like it’s burned him.

“Not many have taken kindly to him because of his arm.” Steve says carefully, still eyeing you, the eyes of someone trying to discern if you’ll be a threat or not. “Most people think it’s an abomination.”

“The contraption is curious,” You admit, “It’s—“ You search for the right word, “It seems so modern, especially in this small town.”

“It is advanced, even for big city standards in America. A friend of mine had it made for him. He’s from a far more advanced country than ours.” Steve explains and he’s still eyeing your face, trying to discern your reaction, so you fight to keep it as neutral as possible.

“Does it move with him?” You ask tentatively.

“More or less. It struggles sometimes, slow, and the metal is heavy. The gears can overheat; sometimes it’s easier to go without it.”

You nod, eyes flickering away from Steve once more. You don’t dare ask it, but your mind wanders to how he might’ve lost his arm in the first place. There’s a pang from within your chest, a bruise that blossoms at the idea of Bucky in such pain. Perhaps you look upset, perhaps your scent has changed because when you glance back up, Steve’s imploring eyes on your face have softened.

“Confederates took him, while we were fighting in the Civil War. He was gone for weeks.” Steve says slowly, quietly, “Most thought he was dead but--” Steve shakes his head, tilts it a little, begs you to understand, “I couldn’t give up on him.”

You realize, faintly, that your heart has stopped ticking, your breath caught somewhere in your throat. You’re looking at Steve with wide eyes, unsure if you want to hear this story. Maybe not from Steve.

“Sam and I,” Steve continues and you know Sam, you’ve met him in town, too. Sam, who travels with Steve and Bucky, and the red-headed Alpha, Natasha. He’s friendly and warm and funny, smelling of amber and the warmth of a bonfire. “We went after him. We got him back. But he’d lost his arm and he was different after that.” Steve explains gently, as if this still twists at him, too. “He was changed.”

You don’t ask what they might’ve done to him. You don’t want to know, can feel the sinking, sick feeling slither low inside of you. Perhaps you don’t want to hear it from Steve, at least. And he doesn’t go on, he settles into a restless silence, fiddling with tools around him. You think he’s trying to keep his hands busy suddenly, trying to push the thoughts of his friend being captured away. But the shadows and darkness seem to grow larger for a moment, around him, around you.

You gnaw at your bottom lip until it’s raw, until you can focus on the cracks of light spilling through the barn rather than the reaching, tall shadows.

Before you leave to fetch water, your fingers twisting in your skirts, you pick your head up to find Steve’s eyes finally. And without quite knowing what you mean, but like your heart wants to spill over, you tell him;

“I’m glad you got him back.”

***

You drag tired and heavy feet up the stairs of your porch as the evening settles into the darkness of night. You’re exhausted, but warm with the flush of laughter from Wanda. You’d been racing in the forests, where the trees grow massive and towering, reaching up to the sky as if they might grasp the sun. You’d climbed the trees with her, too, scraped your palms and knees and laughed until your sides hurt when branches broke and you had to hold onto each other.

You’re tired, but you’re happy and sated. You’re about to hollar for your father, let him know you’re home and you’re gonna prepare warm water for a bath to sink into before tumbling into your bed for the night.

But something gives you pause.

The front door is slightly ajar, hanging there, creaking in the suddenly unsettling wind that whispers through the old wood of the house.

Your father would never leave the door open like that.

Your breath comes in quick and before you can rationally think, you rush forward and inside, shove the door nearly off its hinges as you half-expect to find Steve and Bucky in the entrance with your father once more.

You almost enter excited, excited to see them, to see him--

But when you burst through, you’re met with Rumlow’s scarred face, shrouded in writhing shadows. Your father sits at the dinner table, the candles at the table flickering and trying to fight off the darkness.

The fireplace is losing, the flames withering and dying into ash.

“Ah,” Rumlow says, turning to you, “There she is.” And the way he says it, makes ice slip down your spine and drop into you. You shiver, despite the warmth of the early summer night.

You look to your father, who looks pale and angry. He looks shaken.

You grow agitated, bristling, bunching up your shoulders as if you might make yourself somehow bigger. As if you could arch your back like a vicious cat, unsheathe claws and bare teeth.

“Mr. Rumlow.” You say coldly.

“We were just talking about you.” He muses in that raspy, hissing voice, like the sliding of a snake’s scales against stone. The rustling of brush before something lurches out to strike.

“Were you?” You ask flatly, lingering in the doorway. Your shadow spills out across the floor and towers over them.

He hums in affirmation, leisurely, as if he has all the time in the world. As if this house belongs to him. You want to force him out, snarl something nasty and make him leave. You feel invaded, seeing him stand in your home. With your vulnerable father. His rotting scent permeates the air, makes your nose wrinkle.

“Talking about how you’d make a fine wife.” He continues, eyeing you in a way that makes your heart suddenly drop like a stone in the deep pits of you. “A fine Omega for an Alpha.”

Your cheeks prickle with heat and for some foolish reason, embarrassment. Or perhaps it’s because you’re suddenly deeply uncomfortable. You stare with wide eyes shining in the last blaze of evening light.

Your father stands suddenly, even on his bad knee, leaning heavily onto the table but squaring his broad shoulders. “Rumlow, I told you she’s not much interested in marrying anytime soon.” He says, voice gravelly, like there’s a warning in it. A flash of his eyes that indicate another word from the other Alpha and there will be trouble. It’s too bold of your father, with his injured knee and age.

You brace yourself to fight Rumlow, to protect your father as his scent becomes almost choking with irritation.

“How forward of you, lettin’ her pick when that is.” Rumlow says slow and this time you feel the anger prick inside of you like a thorn, striking you so suddenly that you almost lurch forward to--

To do what, you don’t know.

But you grind through your teeth, “I think it’s time for you to leave.” And you aren’t being polite, you’re giving an order.

His eyes flash to you, bright in the darkness, a flame that’s suddenly sparked. Alphas like him aren’t used to taking orders, especially not from Omegas. He bares his teeth at you, steps forward and into your space. He tries to make you cower, growls like it might make you back down or bare your neck or lower your eyes submissively.

You know it’s what he wants.

But you bare your teeth back, tip your chin up.

“Get out.” You say lowly, feel the trace of your own growl around the edges. It’s rooted this time deep inside of you, not the light sounds you made with Wanda, but something guttural and raw. Like maybe you could roar if you tried.

“You’ve been given a little too much freedom, Omega.” He says into your face, glowering down at you with such horrible eyes. “And that won’t last forever.”

With that, he moves past you, and out the door. He slams it, let’s the sound rattle throughout the old house until you can feel it in your bones.

Your father falls back into the chair wearily.

You go to him, “Are you okay, Pa?”

He nods, a slow, drooping of his head. And then he picks his eyes up to look at you, to assess you. A rasping laugh falls from his lips as he then shakes his head slightly. His laughs turn into coughs.

“Christ, I thought you were gonna kill him where he stood.” He gets out.

A surprised laugh bubbles up and out of you, too, a bark of it, “I would’ve,” You joke, but a part of you thinks you would. For you, Pa, I would’ve, a quiet, overprotective part of you whispers.

“Be careful,” He says after a moment, as if he can see your bravery laid bare before his very eyes. As if he can see that fierceness in you. “Please,” He then says, “For your old man.”

You offer a wavering smile, feel another chill descend upon you, but nod your head and promise anyways, “Of course, Pa.”

***

That night, you dream of a meadow with a blank, grey sky. You can hear the summer cicadas, the high humming of them that sings in your bones. The air feels thick with tension, like there might be a storm approaching. Maybe there’s thunder in the distance, rumbling and soft.

But when you turn, it is your mother you see, sitting on the heather hills as if she was alive and well and as bright as ever.

“Ma,” You breathe and you walk towards her, pick up your skirts to walk faster. She smiles at you, her form shimmering in pearl and gold light. She looks healthy again. She looks remarkable.

“There’s my hellcat,” She smiles and opens her arms the way mother’s do, the way you have missed with every part of you. You rush forward and embrace her tightly. Hold her there even though it feels like trying to hold the wind.

She pushes the hair from your face and strokes your cheeks. Tears glimmer in your eyes.

“Ma, I miss you.” You whisper and she smiles sadly, as if she knows.

“I miss you, too.” She says, touching her forehead to yours, “But I have little time to speak with you, so let me speak.”

“You have to be careful.” She says before you can even respond and she squeezes her eyes shut, “Danger is coming.” She warns and her voice grows strange and faint and withering. Her form flickers.

You try to hold tighter to her, try to grasp at her so she doesn’t slide away from you again.

In the distance, someone moves. You look over her shoulder, at the horizon, where Bucky walks along a sloping hill. He’s framed against the sky, a peak of gold trying to burst free from the dense grayness. It falls over him in luminous rays. He’s shirtless, his metal arm cast in gold.

You flush darkly at his lack of clothes. Your mother turns to see him, which only furthers your blush.

“You need to trust him.” Your mother says as if it is gravely important to do so.

“I-I do.” You stammer.

She takes your face between her cold, dead hands again, “No, when the time comes, you need to trust him.” She repeats, holding you tight. “Don’t be stubborn. Don’t turn from him.”

You blink, mouth open, unsure of what to say but her form flickers again. And this time it begins to turn grey and mottled, too.

“Ma!” Your hands fly over her, too, now, desperate to try and keep her and--

And maggots begin to skitter from her mouth, suffocating any last words that she tries to give you. She begins choking, her skin now sagging and sloughing off, and you scream. You scream all hoarse and raw and untethered as you scramble away when maggots begin to rush after you, following as you shove yourself backwards.

You wake with tears in your eyes and your heart hammering, thinking the darkness only seems to get more and more lonely with each cursed dream.

The morning brings the light, but it seems faint and waning.

***

Your father catches Steve and Bucky in that red dawn, the sun hanging like a warning sign. You’ve already begun your chores, off in the fields.

Bucky looks at you all alone against the open sky, your silhouette against the darkened, vermilion hills that frame you. He thinks something inside of him is unthawing, awakening from that place in his chest that seemed so dormant and dulled for so many years. He feels newer, softer than he ever has before.

“I have a favor to ask you fellas.” Your father says slowly, drawing Bucky’s eyes away from you reluctantly, and to the man that rocks in his chair on the porch. It creaks softly, old and worn.

“Yessir?” Steve asks, respectful and expectant.

“Watch out for my daughter for me, will ya?” He says and there’s something in his voice that is thick and choked. It makes Bucky wary. He glances back out to you, so alone against that blazing sky, then to your father.

“With all due respect, sir,” Bucky starts, “I don’t think she needs us much.”

Your father shakes his head and when he meets Bucky’s eyes again, his eyes are glistening. There is real fear there, the hopeless kind, the horrible, overpowering kind that Bucky knows in the very basest part of him. The kind that is a hungry dog, howling and crying and begging.

It frightens him, too, Bucky thinks. Because it’s about you. Why is he scared for you?

“Rumlow stopped by last night.” He admits, his voice raspy and quiet. Bucky feels his shoulders raise instinctively, he can feel the surge of aggression at the simple mention of the other Alpha’s name. “Asked for my daughter’s hand.”

Bucky’s heart stops altogether now.

“I denied him.” And now he looks back up at Bucky again with those eyes, “But I don’t think he’s going to give up, you understand?”

His eyes are pleading, cloudy with age.

“I’m scared for her.” He tells them and his strong voice wavers.

Bucky feels his breath waver, too, feels the same fear creep through him like a serpent. It coils around his chest, right along his heart, and threatens to squeeze until he can’t breathe any longer. The idea of anything happening to you—

His teeth grind together. He blinks hard.

Steve speak for him, “We’ll watch out for her.” He says, earnest and like he means it. Bucky knows he does but it’s not the way Bucky feels. Steve cares for you, deep and sure and strong but Bucky, he— he feels half wild at the thought.

He thinks, for whatever reason, he’d do anything for you.

And your father nods, so Steve steps down from the porch to begin his own morning of work. Bucky lingers, wood creaking beneath his feet as he shifts. He doesn’t know why he stays, but he feels he has to. He releases a shuddering breath.

Your father seems to know why Bucky stands before him more than even he does. The elder man regards him evenly, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

Like your father knows something the rest of the universe doesn’t, he says, “Take care of her.”

And Bucky nods, slow, certain.

“With my whole life, sir.” Bucky promises, feels it down to his marrow, his very being.

Your father releases a breath now, as if he can finally rest easy.

***

Summer takes hold quickly and the days grow longer, warmer. The sun is high and burning in the sky, white-gold and shimmering down in wavering heat. You finished your share of work this morning, which was significantly less with Bucky and Steve helping out. You’d slipped off to meet Wanda at the creek near your farm, wandered down the well-worn path you’d created over the years until the tall grass became sandy and speckled with smooth pebbles that catch in the high sun.

Wanda is already there, sitting beside the bubbling creek, the water shimmering under the light. It’s the clearest water you know of, crystalline, like beautiful glass. You’d built a small dam with some of the rocks some summers ago, captured a small, perfect pool of it.

Mountains surround the place, hide you away, shelter you against the rest of the world. The breeze is rich and sweet as peaches, honeyed and warm. Wanda lifts her fingers from the water, which drip and sparkle, cause little pools to ripple out from the surface.

“Took you long enough.” She teases with her lifted, lovely smirk. She begins undressing then, stripping her layers down and some days, she’ll leave her knickers and camisole on, but today she sheds those, too. Until she is bare beneath the sunlight, her auburn hair shimmering like a flame. There is, you think, something about Omegas in the spring and midsommar, brighter and opening like the petals of flowers. Her scent is thick, seductive and sweet and mysterious.

And then she wades into the creek, hissing at the coldness of the water, which come straight from the broad, high mountains that protect you.

You follow after her, quickly unlacing your dress, squirming out of it and dropping it in the sand. You strip until you are naked, too, until the heat is on your skin and you feel as if you can finally breathe without all of your clothes. Your feet on the bare earth, digging into the sand, the wind on your flushed skin. It’s freeing, makes you roll your shoulders back and smile.

You rush into the water, inhaling quickly with the sudden shock of the cold. You dive beneath the surface, though, dunk your head and hair and feel clarity, feel as bright and cool as this bubbling creek.

Wanda still stands in water up to her calves, her arms now wrapped around her midsection, shivering slightly.

“Chicken,” You call her, dipping low in the water so that it covers up to your shoulders. You swim to her, until you can stand and walk and you grab her wrist, haul her in as she squeals with laughter and fear.

“Don’t!” She laughs brightly, “I’ll come in on my own!”

You dig your heels into the pebbles and sand, pull harder and send you both backwards with a splash.

Wanda gasps when she resurfaces, startled by the cold, but she turns mischievous, auburn eyes on you. Then she splashes a large wave at your face, which splatters with another cold burst. But you laugh, too, and splash back.

You begin wrestling and climbing over each other then, throwing each other down into the water until your hearts are pounding and your eyes are shining and lively. Until, eventually, you crawl back onto the bank, lay out on the sand and in the sun to dry. Your toes are still in the water, brushing your feet through the pools, the sand soft beneath you. You’re both still bare, leisurely and comfortable in your privacy. Your chest is warmed by the sun, your stomach and ribs expanding wide and free with every breath. You think no one knows about your little oasis, you feel safe in your little area of comfort, in your corner of the world.

But then you hear voices on the sloping hills, heading towards the creek.

And you know those voices. You and Wanda both sit up so fast that your head spins and you see sunspots dance in your vision. You lock eyes, just as you hear Steve and Bucky’s voices carrying towards you, nearing you. Both your eyes go wide, before Wanda starts laughing, and you’re both up faster than you blink, running around in search of all of your missing garments.

Wanda won’t stop laughing at your predicament, and you’re hissing at her, telling her it isn’t funny, as you scramble to put on your bloomers, on your camisole at the least. Wanda can barely get her clothes rightened before they round down the last slope and find the pair of you, only in your underwear.

You try to hold up your dress to cover more of you.

Steve makes a startled noise and quickly looks upwards. You and Bucky lock eyes for a heart beat, a flash of heat suddenly striking you. A wildfire that sparks, catches, and jumps into a sudden flame inside the pits of you. The sun feels too warm on all your exposed skin.

A breeze rustles past him, sweeps his scent around you, which has grown muskier and darker. Your lips, shining and wet, part slightly.

He blinks and his eyes quickly drop to the ground.

“Sorry,” Steve says and you can tell his cheeks are pinkened, “We didn’t know anyone was down here.”

Wanda stifles her giggles behind her hand.

You clear your throat, feel heat at your neck and your cheeks. “Well, we didn’t know anyone knew about this place.” You get out as you scramble to get the rest of your clothes back on. Mortification overcomes you, bears down on you. You barely get your dress laced up.

“We can leave.” Steve suggests, but you roll your eyes.

“We’re fine, now.” You say, but your hair is damp and free from any braids or updos. You both still look improper, bare feet still in the sand and clothes disheveled.

Both men peak at you tentatively, as if you might be lying, before discovering you’re both fully dressed.

“We’ll be quick, then.” Steve suggests, moving to the clear, sparkling water. But they aren’t quick and the sun begins droop beneath the mountains. The sky is brilliant orange and spiced pink berry, lavender and creme clouds that linger in the high sky. It’s a dream, you think, as the evening begins to cool and Wanda’s bright laughter is in your ears and Steve is smiling and--

Bucky looks relaxed, for once.

He sits beside you on the bank, while Wanda wades in the water, hitching up her skirts to her knees. Steve leans against a nearby tree, watching, happy-eyed and gentle. There is contentment in this little oasis, guarded by the peaks and valleys of the land, contentment in your beings.

You can tell Bucky wants to speak, can feel his eyes on you. Silently, you dare him to, your eyes glittering in those final rays of sun.

So he says, gently, with the barest hint of a smile upon his lips, “You belong here, in this wilderness.”

You blink; at the fondness of his voice, at the observation or compliment or-- you don’t know what it is. But it warms you, settles inside of you. And you smile, too, wider than him, fiery little slip of a smile that seems to set his whole world aglow.

You smile unabashedly, and he smiles wider, too, like you’re teaching him how.

And you tip your face up to those jagged peaks of mountains and the bursting, colorful sky, at the running water, and trees that hang overhead. The wind brushes past your collarbones and you agree, “I do, I think.”

You turn to face him then, so suddenly that he almost pulls away. You’re closer than you thought, your noses nearly touching and his shoulder brushes against yours. The hard, metal one. It doesn’t scare you, even if he holds incredibly still.

You lean more into it, just to watch the breath tumble from him. Relieved.

“And where do you belong?” You ask him, tipping your chin up a little, a slight challenge, a glint in your clever eyes.

Bucky laughs, quick and short, just a burst. It’s rasping, small, like he needs to relearn the sound. It makes Steve’s head turn because he doesn’t know the last time he’s heard it.

“I don’t know.” He tells you but his eyes are sparkling, sapphire and heaven blue, as if he might find where he belongs in your eyes. “I don’t know anymore.”

“The wilderness welcomes all untempered and lost things.” You say with a smile, just before Wanda splashes over to you, grabs you by the hands and pulls you back up into the bubbling, joyful creek.

You kick around in it, the bottom of your skirts soaking through, even as you lift them to reveal ankles, the curve of your calves. And you keep looking back at him, smiling and tossing your head back to laugh.

Like you’re trying to show him what happiness looks like, what mischief and play looks like with your fox-quick and cunning remarks. Like you’re trying to show him how to shed the heavy weight off his shoulders.

But all he’s thinking about is how if he could, he’d keep you here, where you’re happiest, where you’re safest and warmest and most free. Where you can scream and shout and kick and the whole world doesn’t have to know, just you and him, the ones who love you, and that ferocious wilderness.

***

He dreams of you that night, in peach light, sugar sweet and soft. You lay him down in the lush grass, the birds sing overhead, flying in circles. Your head is crowned in a wreath of flowers, strung together and tangled into your very being. Your eyes are fever bright when you crawl atop him.

You’re bare and rose-damp, petals sticking to your skin. Your lips are bee-stung and pouting, your nails digging into his shoulders, “Bucky, it hurts.” You whimper, your hips sliding over his. And he can feel you, slick and wanting and aching--

He coos to you, touches your inflamed cheek, brushes a petal from your skin. He thinks you look like one of the old goddesses, when the land was free, his feral spring angel. Burning too bright, too hot. He knows what you need, what he can give you.

You shudder and your petals wilt and fall and flutter down around him. They rot, and fall apart. You grow pale in color to his eyes, waning before him.

You lean over him and you’re cold now, shaking, “Are you going to lead me into the cold?” You ask him, soft and shivering. You’re trying to warm yourself but he’s all ice and metal and winter.

No good for a summer child, for your wild-spring heart.

“Into death?” You ask, your lips turning blue. He tries to grasp at you, to keep you together. Begs you not to cry, even as your tears freeze to your cheek. But every touch that he gives worsens you, makes you sick and frigid and rotting.

“You told me to follow you!” You cry, “You took me away and I trusted you!”

“I-I’m sorry--”

Blooming, brilliant red suddenly slices across your neck. A cut, quick and small, but you--

You start dripping sizzling hot blood onto his bare chest, gagging, choking on your final words, “You were supposed to take care of me!”

He wakes with a start, a gasp. Nightmares are not new to him. But still, this one shudders through him, makes him curl tight to his pillow, bury his face there and wish he could find peace in the darkness once more.

***

The bonfire roars, dancing high into the plum evening. You sit between Wanda’s legs, leaning back against her chest, with her arms tight around you. You’re warmed by the flames, content on the quilt you’d brought. Natasha and Sam pass around moonshine in a jar, share it between Bucky and Steve and each other.

It’s not lost on you that you and Wanda are near the center, surrounded, guarded by the group of Alphas. But they’re in good spirits, and you are, too. An evening of leisure and talking and laughing. You like their kind eyes, you like their attention. You like the way the evening sky begins to bloom into darkened blue, peppering the sky with wonderful stars.

Which makes you jolt upright, right out of Wanda’s arms, stops her from combing through your hair. “It’s getting late.” You say suddenly, “I need to get home for my father.”

“I’ll take you back,” Bucky offers, offers his hands to help you stand. His metal one is ungloved, gleaming gold from the flames of the fire.

You take it easily, slide your hands into his and realize you don’t want to let go. “What about Wanda?” You ask, your fingers brushing his palms.

“I’ll take her home.” Natasha offers and you look to Wanda, who nods her acceptance as well. Wanda stands then, too. Brushes her cheek and lips to yours in a parting kiss before you are guided by Bucky to his own horse.

He hoists you up easily, even though you don’t need his help. His fingers digging into your waist, palms rough and soft on the curves of you. It makes you flush darkly, just as you tell him, “I don’t need your help.”

He hoists himself up now, too, settling behind you. He’s a strong presence, warm and sturdy. If you wanted, you could lean back into him, into his muscled chest and arms. You think about what he’d do-- if he’d fit you closer, let you rest while he carried you home. You feel tired, sated and exhausted in a good way. It’d be easy, so easy, to lean back into him.

Maybe if you were a different girl.

Regardless, his scent is strong and surrounding you now, pine and evergreen. The hint of metal and lower notes of musk and cotton. It’s a comfort, lulling and soft, whether you want to admit or not.

“I know,” He says, huffs a little, “Just trying to be a gentleman.”

He kicks his horse into a trot, easy and simple and in the direction of your farm. You’re careful to keep any distance that you can between you two, which is difficult, with his arms around you, holding the reigns. But you lean forward slightly, keep your hands in front of you.

“I’m not some damsel.” You counter, “I’m not some proper lady you need to be polite with.” You say as you glance back at him, over your shoulder and he’s right there. His nose could brush your cheek, you can see each of his lashes.

And the moment you’ve said those words, you realize how they might be taken. Heat overcomes you, burns through you.

“No?” He asks and his eyes have gotten darker, hypnotizing. You should turn back, face forward and try to get your heart to stop beating so hard and quick.

But you don’t and your eyes glance to his lips, the briefest flash, before you blink, and realize the way he’s looking down at you. Like he’s hungry and waiting, wolf’s eyes, raw and dangerous and ready to sink teeth into the vulnerable place of your neck that would forever then mark you as his.

Panic seizes through you and you quickly face forward, become hyper aware of the bareness of your throat to him. “No, and I’m not some Omega that’s gonna go all soft for you, either.” You snap, even as embarrassment floods through you, your cheeks and neck growing warm. Your shoulders raise defensively, as if you could keep him from all those bare, vulnerable parts of you.

Bucky cocks his head slightly, studies the back of your head, your defensive posture. He sighs and shakes his head slightly, the breath fanning onto your nape. He thinks of his dream, of you soft and crawling atop him. And to temper it, he quickly thinks of the rest, of the blood and rot of it all.

“Never said you were.” He gets out and it’s tight, unsure. He doesn’t know how to talk to you.

“Then don’t--” You start, slam your mouth shut, take in a sharp breath. “Don’t look at me like that.” You hush back and you look over your shoulder at him once more.

“Like what?” Bucky asks, but he knows and he can smell the pungent flowery scent of you now. He ticks an eyebrow, suddenly curious, suddenly wishing he could just bury his nose in your hair. At your neck.

“You know what,” You hiss back, but for some reason your scent only gets more honeyed. It emboldens him, then, knowing that you’re not scared of him. Not at all. And it’s just you two and the soft trot of hooves upon the earth. All the world seems to be slipping into sleep, the night creatures stretching, shaking off their sleep to wake.

“No, I don’t.” Bucky says then, slow, measured, “Why don’t you tell me, honey?”

You bristle now, though, and even if there’s not a change in your scent, he knows he’s pushing it.

“I’m not your honey.” You tell him and there’s this little growl in your words, this little temper that really makes his blood pump hot and wild. Some part of him croons, some part of you does, too.

And he shouldn’t, he absolutely shouldn’t, but he murmurs all low, “But you smell just like it. Like flowers and honey and sticky citrus.”

Your stomach swoops low, dangerous and tantalizing. Your pupils have gone all wide, like little dark moons that he gets lost in for a moment before he looks back up at the horizon. You don’t know what to say, and he then asks, soft, unsure, “You want me to stop?” His hands tighten slightly on the reigns, the metal one moving slow, one finger at a time. “Say the word and I’ll shut it.” He tells you earnestly.

You blink again, unsure, dizzy. You know you shouldn’t continue, you know you should snap at him and you want to, but in some new and foreign way. You want to bare your teeth and growl, just not in anger anymore.

You want him to give chase, to work harder. He’s gotta earn this.

“No,” You say quietly, and the stars are twinkling down upon you now with all their inferno. And then you say with a little bit of bite, a challenge, “But it’s gonna take more than some pretty words, Barnes.”

A slight smile curls at the corner of his lips.

“I don’t know,” He muses now, feeling lighter than he has in ages, feeling like himself finally, “You seemed to like it plenty just now.”

Your elbow sharply jabs backwards, into his abdomen. He yelps slightly, which turns into this choked little laugh that sets your heart fluttering. That makes you laugh, too.

“Hellcat,” He laughs, hunching close to you, “Wild thing,” He calls you and you finally lean back into it, into that warmth of him,“Sly girl.” He murmurs and his arms settle around your hips more.

Your farm settles into sight, becoming larger with each moment until Bucky is helping you off his horse, setting you back onto your feet. He walks you to your door, hands respectfully behind his back, ducking his head to show you he’s done playing. And you’re about to turn around, maybe give him another feisty remark, when you notice the front door open once more.

You stop and Bucky nearly runs into you before he pauses and notices, too. He grows wary, his scent sharpening into metal and winter. Cold. Distant.

Something is wrong. You can feel it down into the horrible depths of you.

And you rush forward before you can think, rush right into the darkness. You shove open the door, let it fly so it slams against the door and the sight before you doesn’t quite register for a moment.

There’s blood; on the floor, on the walls, it’s everywhere, dripping like red oil on the old wood. It’s shining in that hollow moonlight, in the cold, empty starlight. Your eyes trace the trail of it, your heart dropping, stomach rolling painfully until they follow it to the source.

Your father sits in his chair in the kitchen, bent at an odd and horrible angle. His throat is slit, the cut opening up all the innards of his throat. He’s limp and pale and staring endlessly at you with wide eyes, with a wide, crooked mouth that gapes open. Slack and empty and lifeless.

You stutter, a scream bubbling, clawing its way from deep within your gut and into your throat. It starts as you stumble forward, into the blood, towards him like you might put him back together again.

But before a sound can even come out, a hand is wrapped tight around your mouth. Bucky’s body is shoved against yours, his other arm coming down hard and quick to band him to you, to drag you backwards.

“Don’t look,” He’s hissing into your ear, his fingers digging into your cheek, “Don’t look, don’t look, just shut your eyes!” But you’re sobbing behind his hand already and he knows you saw, he knows he didn’t spare you from that trauma. He hushes you quickly, sharply, dragging you backwards because he knows--

He knows who's here. He can feel it the same way he can feel a storm brewing.

He hauls you, kicking and fighting and sobbing and screaming in his arms back outside. “We need to go,” Bucky says to you, low and repeatedly, trying to get you to hear him through it all.

“C’mon, c’mon, I’m gonna get you out of here.” He says and he can feel the bone deep sobs of you, feel them splitting his heart, tearing it seamlessly. He can feel his voice getting choked, grinding his teeth together as he says, “I promise I’m gonna get you out of here.”

And the moment he does, a shadow slithers from somewhere in the house and into the doorway.

Rumlow’s face is illuminated with a cold cut of moonlight.

Your sobs turn into howling, into screeches of anger and violence and pain.

“Barnes,” Rumlow says, “I believe you’re taking what’s mine.” And he leisurely steps onto the porch. He’s covered in blood, your father’s blood, glinting crimson and black in the night.

Bucky’s eyes go cold and hard, his muscles tighten around you instinctively. But he says in your ear, hard and stern. A command, “Go to the horse. Get out of here. Get to Steve or Sam or Natasha.”

And then he shoves you in that direction, behind him. He stands between you and Rumlow and you can barely think, can barely get passed the way your body shudders and wracks with more sobs. You breathe hard, ragged, stumble slightly.

“Go!” Bucky shouts, jarring you, just as Rumlow pulls out a gun.

You scream again, hands flying to your mouth, just as Bucky rushes forward and collides with Rumlow’s stomach. A shot is fired into the air, loud and cracking and horrible. It misses, somewhere behind you, and then goes clattering onto the ground, skittering through the dirt.

Bucky and Rumlow start grappling, the violence of bare, raw fighting. Of bone to bone, until there’s the sickening crunch of metal on bone.

You hear it break something in Rumlow, hear him howl before getting a burst of anger, of strength, and shoving Bucky off of him, sending him tumbling hard into the earth.

You and Rumlow look at the gun at the same time. Then at each other.

You race for it, fast, nimble, desperate.

You slide in the dirt, grip it firm in your hand and take aim, fire quick just as Rumlow nears.

It clips his shoulder. The bang making your teeth sing. Your ears ring. Bucky hauls you up once more, drags you fast to the horse as Rumlow stumbles up, too. But he gets you on the horse, swings himself over, too and doesn’t wait to be situated when he kicks his horse into a gallop.

He presses on hard and fast, one arm banding tight around you, as if you might fall right off if he doesn’t hold you.

And he takes you from your farm, from the place you’ve grown up your whole life and leads you into the darkness.

Into the black of night, the shadows you’ve dreamed of, with your stomach sick and your throat shredded raw.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #alpha bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #reader insert #a/b/o verse #alpha/beta/omega au #omega reader #cowboy au

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kelyon · 5 years ago

Text

Golden Cuffs 41: The Gifts

Cover art by @paradigmparadoxical

Rumbelle Dark Castle BDSM AU

Read on AO3

Jefferson and Leona head home

When Belle woke up she was sticky, and delightfully sore. The night before she had been used more thoroughly and by more people than she’d ever had in her life. Even as she emerged from sleep, part of her was still exhausted from everything the four of them had done together. Another part of her was awake and alert, excited for what more might come.

She kept her eyes closed for a moment, savoring all the different sensations her sleepy mind could discern. The cushions and pillows beneath her were soft--downy feathers and silky fabric. She was warm underneath a heavy blanket, snug and cozy between Jefferson and Leona. All three of them were still naked. Belle could touch the other two with both hands, brush her fingers against the smooth, soft skin of their arms and legs. Jefferson was sprawled out on his back, snoring. Leona had rolled over to her side, her breathing deep and even. Belle was tempted to snuggle up against Leona’s round back, to fit around her like a spoon in a drawer. But then she became aware of a noise.

It was a whirring. Steady, but some distance away. It was a familiar sound, but she couldn’t place it at first. She listened for a while, but it didn’t go away. Belle knew she wouldn’t be able to rest until she determined the source of the sound, so she opened her eyes and looked around.

Pale, gray light filled the room, coming down from the glass dome in the ceiling. They were in a tower, Belle remembered. Everything Rumple really cared about he seemed to do in towers. Belle rubbed her eyes. Was the weak light because it was so early, or were the clouds heavy with rain? Or was it still too early in the year for rain? Would it snow? This winter had felt endless, surely it would be springtime soon.

Careful not to disturb her bedmates, Belle sat up and looked around. Immediately, she found the source of the whirring noise: Rumpelstiltskin sat on the padded bench that bordered the pleasure-nest. He was fully dressed, with straw in his hands, and a spindle wound with gold at his side.

Belle rested her arms on her knees and watched him. He always looked so intent when he spun, so serious. She knew he used the time to think. What was he thinking now? Was he reliving the night of pleasures he had orchestrated? Was he planning some other new adventure for them? He might not have been thinking of her all. He could be thinking about his magic, or his lost son, or the curse he had created to find the boy again.

She sighed and he must have heard her because he looked up from the spindle. His face was serious for a moment, but then he gave her a silent smile.

Belle reached her arms out to him and waved her hands, beckoning him to join them in their warmth and rest.

He shook his head with a rueful smile, as if to say, I would if I could, but I cannot.

Well, why not? Belle flopped her arms down in exasperation. If he wasn’t going to come to her, she would have to go to him.

She looked down at the couple sleeping on either side of her and calculated how to extricate herself. Setting her hands firmly on the ground behind her, Belle crawled backwards up from the blankets, over the pillows, and out from in between Jefferson and Leona.

Even in sleep, they reached out for each other. Once Belle was gone, both of them individually moved to close the gap made by her absence. Leona rolled over and wedged her head under Jefferson’s chin. One of Jefferson’s long arms rested in the ample curve of Leona’s waist. They sighed together, their breathing deep and even.

For once, the sight of those two loving each other didn’t hurt Belle. Looking at them still filled her heart--they were still so beautiful and their love seemed so precious and rare--but this time she felt no twinge of sorrow for herself. In that moment, she could admire them without envy. She could be happy for them, without feeling sad for herself. Perhaps it was because they had so freely shared their love with her. Or perhaps it was because she was finally able to go directly from their love to the man she loved.

Rumple was still spinning, though his eyes stayed steady on her. His hands moved of their own accord, his fingers mindlessly twisting the straw. He was wearing lighter colors today, what Belle thought of as his “at home clothes.” His waistcoat was cloth instead of leather, red brocade over a cream-colored shirt. His trousers and boots were both brown leather, worn into supple softness. He looked comfortable, at ease with himself and his own body.

Belle sat down at his feet and wrapped her arm around his leg. The whir of the spindle faltered for just a moment.

“You didn’t need to do that,” he murmured, looking at his straw. “I’m sure you need your sleep.”

“I was awake anyway,” she answered. She rested her head on his knee and let her fingers trace the outline of his calf. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to sit with you like this.”

It used to be that she only ever saw him from on her knees. When they first started, he liked nothing more than for her to kiss his boots. She would sit at his feet and grovel before him, thank him for his minor mercies, show him her fealty. He used to use her back as a footstool while he read by the fire. He used to watch her eat her meals off the floor, and she would make a show for him. She would try to please him by degrading herself. It had been no small surprise to find that she had enjoyed those games as much as he had.

Now that felt so long ago. He hadn’t allowed her to kiss his boots since the night of the party. The action was supposed to be their signal, the sign that Belle wanted everything to stop. But when Regina and Maleficent had said they would take her away, when she had begged him not to let them, when she had tried to kiss his boots to make herself his again, to feel safe again--he had ignored her pleas. He had neglected their agreement. When it had really mattered, all her trust in him had come to nothing.

Belle closed her eyes against the memory. As terrible as her time with Regina and Maleficent had been, the fact that he had allowed it was worse. And since she had come back, the distance between herself and Rumple had only grown. They couldn’t be together the way they once were--and that was the cruelest heartbreak of all. Belle had never realized how much she needed closeness and understanding. She thrived on the intimacy Rumple was hesitant to offer even under the best of circumstances.

Before they had become close--before Belle had started acting with love even when she couldn’t name it--the games of pain and degradation were the most intense connection they’d had. She understood why he didn’t want to play with such things anymore, but he wasn’t being loving either. If she couldn’t have his love, Belle was willing to accept his mastery. But he wasn’t offering her anything.

And he wouldn’t even let her tell him how much that hurt her. Again and again he had cut off conversations, walked away from her when she needed him most. Belle could believe that Rumple thought this was a way to protect her. He thought that he could only hurt her by his actions. Either he didn’t realize or didn’t care that he was hurting her just as much through his inactions. Doing nothing when she needed help was every bit as damaging as deliberately hurting her.

But no more, Belle resolved. Last night had given her a chance to reaffirm what she was worth. She deserved lovers who were attentive to her emotional needs as much as to her physical ones. Leona knew when to be gentle and when to push her, and when to listen for the things Belle couldn’t put into words. Jefferson introduced her to the concept of limits. Though Belle was willing to put her body through any trial, she now knew that she needed to be cared for afterward. Closeness and comfort were not mere desserts she could go without--they were essential needs. She wouldn’t let Rumple get away with not giving her the things that really mattered. Not anymore.

“Rumple?” She set her hand on his thigh to get his attention. “How much longer will Jefferson and Leona stay with us?”

The spindle stilled as he looked at her. “Why do you ask?”

“I want to talk with you,” she answered. “But it should wait until it’s just us again.”

His hand reached down to pet her hair. “As you wish,” he murmured. “I don’t imagine they’ll tarry here for much longer. They’ll want to collect their daughter and go home.”

Home. It was lovely to think of Jefferson and Leona going home, of them having a household and a domestic life with their child. It appealed to Belle, the thought that people could live adventurously--do the sorts of things that they had done--and then go home and look to all the world like an ordinary couple. Perhaps that was why Jefferson and Leona wore their collars all the time, to show the world that they weren’t ordinary. Even when they weren’t acting on their desires, they always burned for each other. They always belonged to each other.

The spindle slowly filled up with gold. When there was no more room for thread, Rumpelstiltskin set the spindle aside and stood up. He offered his hand to Belle.

“I think it’s time for breakfast, don’t you?”

She took his hand and he helped her up. “I am a little hungry.”

He grinned. “Last night you worked up quite an appetite!” With a wave of his hand, he produced three bundles of neatly folded linen. One was dark red, the second was yellow, and the third was bleached white. “Make sure everyone is dressed and then I’ll feed you all.”

Belle took the bundles and the cuffs pulled her over to Jefferson and Leona. She crouched on the blanket over them and shifted the clothes into the crook of her elbow. She used her other hand to shake them gently.

“Wake up,” Belle whispered. “It’s morning.”

Leona opened her eyes first. As she saw Belle, a slow, sleepy smile broke like a sunrise over her face. “Hello, luv,” she yawned. “I almost thought I dreamed you.”

Belle shook her head. “Last night was a dream, but I’m pretty sure we’re all real.” She offered Leona the white bundle. “Rumple wants you to wear this.”

But when Leona unfolded the cloth, she discovered a shift that was clearly much too small. Frowning, she looked over to Rumpelstiltskin. He was standing outside the pit, by the little table with three chairs.

“If you want me to wear this, there’s going to be a fair bit of magic involved.”

Rumple turned away from the food he was creating. “That one is for Belle,” he said. “But the yellow should fit you comfortably.”

“Why didn’t he just say so?” Leona muttered as she and Belle traded bundles.

Belle clutched the white fabric to her bosom, but didn’t put it on yet. This was for her? Rumple wanted her to wear real clothes? Why? She shook her head, refusing to ponder the questions. It was too much for right now. She bent down and shook Jefferson again.

He groaned and rubbed his eyes. “Why is it morning already?”

“Because the boss man says so.” Leona popped her head out from the yellow shift and pulled it down over her naked body. It fit her perfectly, with long sleeves and a hem that stopped just short of her feet. The cheery butter yellow was a perfect match for her hair. Leona took the red bundle from Belle and tossed it down to Jefferson. “Now get dressed.”

Still groggy, Jefferson unfolded the linen. Instead of a shift, he was given a long-sleeved shirt. Though the garment was long enough to cover his manhood, his legs were still bare as he finally stood up.

“I smell breakfast!” he declared.

From near the table, Rumpelstiltskin gave a showy bow. “Everything is in readiness, as soon as all of you are properly dressed.” He looked at Belle as he said that.

Belle still held the cloth over her breasts, a covering that was not nearly as effective as just wearing the shift. It was strange to think that Rumple wanted her in clothes. Not her robe, not a costume, but real clothes. Exactly the same as what he gave to Jefferson and Leona.

It troubled her in a way she couldn’t quite name. As awkward as it might have been to be naked while the other two were dressed, it was a game she could have played, if Rumple had asked her to. When they were alone, he had often acted like she was less than a person, that was a typical game. She was his whore, his pet, his thing. But now he was asking her to be the same as regular people, people who didn’t belong to him.

But--Belle reminded herself--he wanted her to wear the shift. He wanted her to be the same as Jefferson and Leona. And she still wanted to give him what he wanted. So this was fine. They would talk about it later, once the others had gone. For now, Belle obeyed his unspoken order and pulled the white linen over her head.

Her shift was shorter than Leona’s, ending in the middle of her calves. The sleeves were short as well, little caps that puffed out over her shoulders. The neckline was low, and the fabric was so white it made Belle’s pale skin look as rosy as Leona. She looked pretty. It was fine.

Trying not to let her troubled thoughts show, Belle walked up the steps out of the pleasure-nest and joined the others at the table. There were three places set, and Leona and Jefferson had already claimed their chairs. Rumple stood off to the side and gestured for her to take a seat. ��

“Eat up, my dear.”

She looked at him. He wanted her to eat with them? To sit down with his guests and act like she was their equal? Only the evening before, he had taken the place as the third of the table, while she had served. What was happening now? What had changed so much in Rumpelstiltskin’s intentions for her?

Jefferson called over to her, his words muffled by the food in his mouth. “Come on! You gotta try this etouffee!”

Belle looked at Leona. “What did he say?”

“I have no idea,” she admitted. “But this stuff with the shrimp and rice is delicious, and there’s more beignets. Come join us!”

Why did it feel wrong to be normal? Why did sitting in a chair and eating with a fork in the company of friends now feel taboo? Did Belle honestly not want this? Did she think she didn’t deserve it? Would she feel differently if Rumple was sitting with them?

Her stomach grumbled as much with hunger as with worry. She needed to eat, and this was what Rumple wanted. With a last look at him, Belle pulled out the third chair and sat down for breakfast.

The three of them ate their fill while Rumple stayed apart. He kept by them, answered their questions, accepted their compliments, but he never joined them. At no point was he ever a part of their company. He stood by like some kind of butler, as though he were the servant instead of Belle. The reversal unnerved her, but Belle didn’t want to mention it in front of their guests. So she bit her lip and said nothing.

After three helpings, Jefferson finally pushed his plate away and slapped his stomach in satisfaction. “That was an amazing meal,” he said to Rumple. “It’s hard to believe, but I think the food here is actually better than the sex.”

“Oh, bite your tongue!” Leona teased him. “The food is good, but the sex was much better.” She winked at Belle. “At least it was for me. Maybe you weren’t trying hard enough, boy-o.”

Jefferson just laughed. “I tried plenty hard! And I had a great time with the sex, don’t get me wrong. But this food, Leo! You can’t get this food outside of Maldonia, and Maldonia is not a hospitable place for people without magic.”

“Alright,” Leona shook her head, her eyes shining with laughter. “You say the food is better, I say the sex is. Belle, will you break the tie for us? What did you like better?”

“The sex,” Belle blurted without thinking. As soon as the words were past her lips, she covered her mouth with her hand and burst into giggles.

Leona sniggered and Jefferson burst into laughter. “I love a woman who knows her mind!”

“And that’s why you’re stuck with me forever!” Leona leaned out of her chair and grabbed her husband by the collar. She pulled him in for a long and thorough kiss.

Belle sobered, as she watched them kiss. The three of them were having a good time, but they would be leaving soon. Jefferson and Leona would go off together, back home. They would leave Belle alone with her questions and her worries. They would leave her with Rumple and all his mysteries and contradictions.

Looking around, Belle saw that Rumple had stepped away from the table area. He had gone back into the pleasure-pit, gathering up the belongings that had been scattered around the night before. After neatly folding Jefferson and Leona’s clothes, he packed them into Leona’s leather bag. Then, he conjured three more bundles of cloth--one black, one pink, and one blue.

“What are you doing?” Belle asked. She stood up, and the motion was enough to pull Jefferson and Leona’s attentions away from each other.

Rumple looked up at them, his smile polite, distant. “It would be rude to allow our guests to walk away empty-handed.”

Jefferson grimaced and climbed down into the nest to talk to Rumple. He put his hand on his shoulder, trying to face him man-to-man, while Rumple looked at him with amusement.

“We talked about this when we first arrived: you don’t have to pay me and Leo for this sort of thing. I have a legitimate business now, and it’s going well. I don’t need a benefactor anymore.”

Rumple patted Jefferson on the back. “If you’re so successful, then your time is valuable. You shouldn’t undercharge for your services.” He gave Jefferson the black bundle, all but forcing it into his hands. “Take it, my boy. Times may not always be as good as they are now.”

Leona stood over the edge of the pit. “What is it?”

With a resigned sigh, Jefferson shook out the black fabric. “It’s a coat,” he called over to his wife. But the more he examined the garment, the more impressed he appeared.

Belle watched Jefferson’s face as he touched the fabric. He examined the seams, the cut, the embellishments sewn into the sleeves and around the shoulders. When he put the coat on, he all but gasped at the fit. He looked at Rumple. “This is the finest piece of tailoring I’ve ever seen.”

Rumpelstiltskin gave a bow. “I’m glad you like it.” His eyes trailed over Jefferson’s still-bare legs. Was he admiring Jefferson’s body or his own handiwork? “There is more, if you’ll have it.”

Rolling his eyes, Jefferson held out his empty hand. With a wave, Rumple gave him the rest of the suit: A dark leather waistcoat and breeches, and a silk cravat the same dark red as his shirt.

“You know I want to hate this,” Jefferson said to Rumple once he was dressed. “But damn, you make me look good! And this is good for my work, too. Important people will be more likely to talk to me if I’m dressed to the nines.”

“See?” Rumple said. “I’m merely investing in your future.”

Slyly, Leona climbed down and joined the men. “I notice that there’s more than just my husband’s clothes there.”

“Right you are, Mrs. Ogg!” Rumple said brightly. He offered her the pink bundle.

Leona took the package as though it had always been hers and Rumple was merely carrying it for her. The fabric she shook out was a gown. Yards of shining satin, so light it seemed to float in the air, flowed down from her hands.

Her mouth fell open. “Oh,” she said simply.

“Leona Ogg at a loss for words,” Jefferson shook his head. “The Dark One really can do anything.”

Leona waved him off, refusing to be distracted from the gown. “This is beautiful,” she whispered. She looked up from the dress to Rumple. “Thank you.”

Another bow, this one perhaps a bit more genuine in its humility. “Never let it be said that I take people’s talents for granted. And there is more to that as well.” He produced a corset, and stockings and petticoats--everything needed to complete the ensemble.

With a wide grin, Leona waved Belle over to her. “Will you help me?”

Nodding, Belle descended to join the others. She laced Leona’s corset over the yellow shift, arranged the petticoats over her hips, and fastened the ties at the back of the gown. The bodice was decorated with white and pink pearls. Edges of the yellow linen peeked out through the satin, making the pink look even softer and warmer.

The dress fit Leona perfectly, enhancing her curves and smoothing them out at the same time. She stood up straight, her blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders. Leona always had a look of power about her, but in this dress she was something between stately and ethereal. The dress was still soft and feminine, but it also displayed strength, the leather and iron that were as much a part of Leona as the linen and satin.

“Oh Leo,” Belle whispered when it was all put together. “How lovely you are!”

Leona blushed as pink as her gown. Now she looked shy and girlish and beautiful. When she turned around and Jefferson saw her, he let out a whoop of delight.

“Hot damn!” he said. “I’m married to the goddess of spring!”

Leona snorted and blushed again. “I’m more like the goddess of things that get stuck in drawers.”

He wrapped his arm around her waist, dipping her down for a kiss. “You can get things stuck in my drawers any time.”

They kissed for some time. Belle watched the couple come together, break apart giggling, and then start kissing again. She stayed where she was on the sidelines, holding her arms over her chest.

They were such a handsome couple, especially when dressed in such finery. Belle could imagine them travelling different worlds together, dazzling everyone they met. They would make friends and make love and make memories, but always come back to each other. Belle’s heart beat with a dull pain. Once again, it hurt her to see her friends so happy, so in love.

Quietly, Rumple came up beside her. He handed her the blue bundle. “This is for you. I imagine it will be some time before we’ll have their attention again.”

Belle made herself smile at his quip and unfolded her bundle. It was a dress, as blue as the sky on a sunny day. Simpler than Leona’s, the dress didn’t require a corset. Brown laces hung from eyelets in the bodice, so Belle was able to fasten herself in without assistance. It fit over her white shift, the hem of the dress ending just below her undergarments.

Once she had the dress on, she twirled the skirts, marvelling at the strange familiarity of doing something perfectly normal. She looked at Rumple, who was looking at her, expressionless.

“Why are you giving me clothes, Rumple? Is it just because of them?”

He looked away before he answered. “You’ve been in need of a proper wardrobe for some time. This was just an… opportune time to give it to you.”

“But why?” she repeated. “What changed? Did you just get tired of my robe?”

“We’ll talk later,” he said softly. “I think they’ve finally remembered we’re still in the room.”

Oh yes, they would talk later, Belle thought with a clenched jaw. Once the others were gone, she and Rumple would talk about everything that had been going on lately.

“I have something for your daughter as well,” Rumple said loudly, just in case Jefferson and Leona started kissing again. “To repay her for this time separated from her parents.”

Leona scoffed. “She’s not missing us. There’s no place in any world she’d rather be than at her gran’s.”

“Then perhaps this is for you then.” Rumple conjured up a brass spyglass and held it out to the couple.

Jefferson picked it up and extended it, but didn’t put it to his eye. He looked at Rumple. “I’d bet my house that this doesn’t just make things far away seem close.”

Rumple grinned. “When one of you looks through the lens, you will be able to see your daughter, wherever she is, on any world with magic. And if your girl uses it, she’ll be able to see you, no matter how far apart you are.”

Jefferson’s mouth opened. He looked down at the object in his hands. “Thank you,” he said quietly. He looked up and put on a smile. “This is quite a gift to give a little girl you’ve never met!”

Leona took the spyglass from Jefferson. “Let’s see if it works.” She looked through the glass and her face fell. “Oh gods, she’s chasing my mother’s cat.”

“The cat that fights bears?” Jefferson took the spyglass from his wife and looked for himself. His face matched Leona’s in dismay. “We should go.”

“She’ll be alright,” Leona assured the room in general. “Greebo knows better than to set his claws on one of the kiddies. But if she tries to cuddle him when he’s not in the mood for it, there will be tears.” She picked up her bag, checking the contents. “Where are our shoes?”

“Over there,” Rumple pointed to the floor outside the nest. He watched calmly as they got ready to go. “If you’re going back to the Disk World, I have an errand for you to run.” He picked up the spindle he had been working on earlier and handed it to Jefferson. “See what happens to this, in that other world. Report back to me about it. You can keep it when you’re done.”

Jefferson sighed, and pulled up his boots before taking the spindle. He looked down at it, and then at Rumple. “You know this is more gold than the King of Lancre has in his entire treasury, don’t you?”

Leona examined the spindle. “That’s more gold than they’ve got in the Royal Bank of Ankh-Morpork!”

“Unless it turns into straw,” Rumple said with his hands raised. “Or dust, or a pigeon. Magic doesn’t have the same rules in every world. That’s why I want to know what happens.”

Jefferson put the spindle in his pocket. His hands lingered on the fabric of his new coat. “Do you know what will happen to these clothes?” he asked. “There isn’t much that will shock my mother-in-law, but it might be rude to show up at her house naked--at least this early in the morning.”

Rumple shook his head. “Your gifts are not magical,” he answered. “Real cloth, real leather, real work and craftsmanship. I did it the hard way for you, my boy.”

Jefferson grinned. “You know that’s the way I like it.”

Without a word, Rumple reached up to pull Jefferson down to him. Jefferson bent easily, and the two men kissed. It was a simple kiss, soft and tender. Belle had never seen Rumple so gentle with someone besides her.

His eyes opened slowly. He stroked Jefferson’s cheek. “It’s always so good to see you,” he murmured.

Jefferson mirrored the action, so the two men held each other. “You don’t need to be such a stranger.”

“Especially if you’re always so generous.” Leona hoisted her bag over her shoulder. It was considerably heavier than it had been when they had arrived.

Breaking his contact with Jefferson, Rumple stepped away from the couple. “Naturally!” he said brightly. “I can hardly expect anyone to tolerate my company without compensation.”

Jefferson opened his mouth to speak, but then seemed to think better of it. He just shook his head and went over to Belle. He opened his arms and she gladly stepped in for a hug.

“Take care of yourself,” he said into her hair. “Don’t let him be too much of a pain in the ass.”

She squeezed her arms around his neck. “I had a wonderful time with you, with both of you.”

“Oh let me in!” Leona reached her arms around both of them. She kissed Belle warmly on the cheek. “Mind how you go, luv. And know that we’re around if you ever need anything.” Her dark eyes poured into Belle, emphasizing how much she meant those words.

Belle nodded. “Thank you, really. But I’ll be fine.” She lowered her voice. “I’m going to try to make some changes around here.”

“Get him to throw more parties,” Jefferson winked as he broke the huddle. “I would be happy to introduce you to a whole new set of friends.”

Leona’s face lit up. “Oh! Like that potions bloke at the school!” She turned to Belle. “He’s very grumpy, but whip-smart, if you know what I mean. I’m sure you’d both like him, if you’re ever interested in sharing again.”

“Thank you,” Rumple said with a tone that signalled the end of the discussion. “I will keep such matters under advisement.”

With a wry grin, Leona looked Rumple up and down. “And maybe the next time we meet, you and I will become more intimately acquainted.”

His look was placid, amused. “Anything is possible, Mrs. Ogg.”

Jefferson looked around. “Where’s my hat? I swear, I need to get a case for that thing.”

“I have it here, my boy.” With a quirk of his finger, Rumple called the hat from where it had been joyfully flung the night before. He held it in both hands and offered it to Jefferson.

Jefferson’s face looked strangely sad as he took in the sight. He put his hands on the brim to take it, and for a moment they lingered there. Fingers brushed against each other in a moment of heavy silence.

“It’s been a long time,” Jefferson said, “since you first gave me this hat.”

“You’ve used it well,” Rumple answered. “I knew I could trust you with its powers. Now, safe travels to you both.”

With a tight nod, Jefferson straightened up and took the hat. He put it on his head just long enough to take Leona by the arm. The couple stood side-by-side in their new clothes. Then, Jefferson removed his hat and twirled it to the ground. Spinning magic erupted from the hat, creating a portal big enough for them to step into. With cheerful waves, they walked together into the magic and disappeared.

For a moment, after they left, Belle and Rumple were silent. Both of them stood on opposite sides of the space where the portal had been.

Then, Belle took a deep breath and gathered up all her resolve. She looked Rumpelstiltskin in the eye, and her voice did not quaver as she said, “We need to talk.”

It took another moment before Rumple looked up from where he had been staring at the ground. When he did look at her, his eyes were dull, but his face was determined. “Yes, I suppose we do. But not here.” He crossed the distance between them, offered her his arm. “Shall we converse in the dining room?”

Belle took his arm, so they were linked together. “Yes, I think that would be lovely.”

#Golden cuffs #rumbelle #rumbelle fic #mad gold #mad gold beauty #leona ogg

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loveforpreserumsteve · 5 years ago

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Home for the Holidays: Bonus “CIWYW” Story (Trans!Steve and Pan!Bucky Modern AU)

Fifteen:

Bucky was the one who suggested some fresh air. Sharon's mom, Amanda, was the one who encouraged it. Sharon's dad, Harrison, was the one who suggested that maybe the kids would feel better if they had a night away from the senior home. Steve was the one who drove himself and the other teens back to his house.

Every so often, Steve would glance into the rearview mirror back at Sharon and Natasha who sat in the far back of the van. But Sharon just quietly sat there, practically clinging to Natasha's arm. Not that Natasha was complaining. Instead, she just held Sharon closer as they stayed in their own little world while everyone else in the van loudly sang along with the radio.

From the passenger seat, Bucky reached over and took Steve's hand in his. Briefly, Steve glanced over to watch Bucky bring his hand up to his mouth and press a tender kiss to the back of it. As Steve redirected his attention back to the road, his heart stuttered when Bucky affectionately stroked his thumb over the back of Steve's hand. Comforted knowing that Bucky was there.

Thankfully, the four hour drive home passed by quicker than the drive there. As he pulled into his neighborhood, he made sure to wave at the neighbors that waved to him, and playfully honked the horn at the kids who were playing in their yards. With the weather unusually warm for this time of year, there unfortunately wasn't any snow, so no snowball wars raged and no snowmen armies were built.

Pulling into his driveway, Sharon spoke for the first time the entire drive, "I love your house."

Cutting the engine, Steve turned around to look back at the other blonde. Smiling, Steve said, "Thanks." Then, in hopes of lightening the mood, Steve joked, "We like it."

Luckily for Steve, it teased a smile out of Sharon. Easing everyone in the van, they climbed out feeling a little lighter than when they were driving. And Steve was grateful for that. Not wanting to sound too much like a Hallmark movie, but Steve wanted everyone to truly have a Merry Christmas.

Crossing in front of the van, Bucky held his hand out for Steve. Already missing this simple gesture for when Bucky will be gone. Again.

Steve didn't want to think about that. Not now. Not ever.

So, instead, Steve followed the others in through the garage. Steve had been hoping that they could sneak off to the rec room without being noticed. Especially since Sharon's face was puffy and blotchy from her crying. However, they were greeted by the parents.

They were drinking more of that kosher wine that the Barnes' brought with them and were giggling like teenagers as they cooked a mixture of traditional Hanukkah dishes and Joseph's passed down Christmas specialties.

As soon as they spotted Sharon though, their demeanors instantly switched. Immediately abandoning their jollities for concerned, so quickly that one could get whiplash.

"Sweetie?" Darlene cautiously approached with her hand outreached for Sharon.

Much like she had when first spotting Natasha, Sharon turned into Darlene's embrace and crumbled into a mess of tears. Burying her face into Darlene's shoulder and having no reservations about whether her snot would momentarily stain the cashmere blue top.

While Darlene rubbed Sharon's back, Sharon hiccupped, "She didn't remember me. She kept calling me, 'Amanda.'"

Softly, Evan attempted to help, "You do look like Mom."

Trying to hold back his own tears, Joseph cleared his throat and offered, "Hot chocolate?"

"That sounds good," Winifred encouraged with an empathetic pat to his arm. Turning her gaze on the Carter boys, she asked, "Right? Hot chocolate sounds good?"

"Yeah," they answered in unison while hovering around their sister. Dylan perked up a little as he asked, "Have any candy canes?"

"Just the sweet tart ones," Steve answered, shrugging out of his coat, and collecting everyone else's as he headed towards the coat closet.

Sarah perked, "But we do have peppermint mocha coffee creamer!"

"That will definitely do," Dylan agreed with an enthusiastic nod.

"Good," Joseph grinned as he started getting the items ready.

Let it always be known that Joseph took hot chocolate very seriously. Especially when someone was upset. Steve, himself, had been handed many mugs of the perfectly handcrafted and warm-hearted hot cocoa in an offering to help him through an emotionally tough time. After finding out the truth about Sarah and their family. After broken hearts. After realizing that he was going through the wrong kind of puberty than he should've gone through. After coming out. Steve could always count on Joseph to make an addictive cup of steaming hot cocoa and let him cry on his shoulder.

"Maybe a movie would help too," Becca suggested, leaning on the railing that led up to the rec room.

Meekly, Sharon assented, "I could go for a Christmas movie."

"I'm sure we could find one," Natasha encouraged. Steve wasn't sure if she was aware of it or not, but she seemingly opened herself up, welcoming Sharon into her embrace whenever she was ready.

"Ya know," Sam started, sitting down on the staircase, "I could watch Elf."

"I love that movie!" Mandy exclaimed in her excitement as she slipped her phone into her pocket.

"Sounds like a plan to me," Bucky solidified, smiling at Steve.

Steve's cheeks instantly heated as his thoughts drifted from comforting his friend, to thoughts of cuddling with his boyfriend. And when Sharon finally moved away from Darlene, and into Natasha's embrace, the group finally headed up to the rec room.

Each one getting cozy on the large bean bag chairs and sectional sleeper sofa, Steve set up the movie and dimmed the lights. Noting that Bucky was saving him a spot caused Steve's heart to stutter in his chest. This was what Steve wanted for the rest of his life. And knowing that Bucky could want that too made Steve feel like it was a reality.

Taking his seat in between Bucky and Natasha, Steve felt right. It was an unusual feeling for Steve, but he felt like everything was finally falling into place. As he nuzzled into Bucky's wiry torso, Steve let out a sigh of relief and was pleasantly surprised to find that Bucky did too.

As the menu to the Christmas classic played, someone touched Steve's arm to gain his attention. Rolling over a bit and looking over Bucky's arm, Steve's gaze locked with Sharon. Weakly conjuring up a sincere smile, Sharon said, "Thanks. I needed all of this."

"Of course," Steve reassured, holding her hand for a moment before letting her bring her hand back to herself.

Turning back into Bucky, Steve was greeted with a loving kiss to his forehead. Feeling warm and cozy, Steve happily greeted Eddie and Tibby who climbed onto the sofa and squeezed their way into spots next to their older siblings. And when the parents joined with their mugs of hot chocolate, Steve knew that this could be their future. One big happy family.

#call it what you want #home for the holidays #bonus #stucky #steve rogers #transsteve #bucky barnes #panbucky #marvel #fanfic #wattpad #ao3 #modern au #holiday au #ho ho holidays #happy holidays #tis the season #fa la la la love

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boogiewrites · 6 years ago

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Choking On Sapphires 60

Title & Song: It Must Be Love

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Genevieve (OFC)

Word Count: 5900+

Summary: Genevieve and Alfie escape the oppressive schedule and work of London for a holiday in Paris. The free time does them both good, as they find themselves both lamenting about each other and considering how their time would be best spent in Paris. They say Paris is for lovers...and it certainly would seem so.

Warnings/Tags: Language. FLUFF. Gen getting embarrassed. Memories. Alfie being a grump but trying not to be for Gen’s sake. Paris!

**Chapter song is It Must Be Love by Madness**

Click on my icon then go to Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.)

It took plenty of planning and patience but surely with its practice you would be rewarded. You pack your trunks, you call your uncle Altar to let him know you’re coming to Paris and to send some of his workers over to your place. You’d have a driver, a cook and a maid to take care of you both during your stay. You take a boat first class, then a train of the same and arrive in your old home of Paris. Alfie tried to contain his complaints for he didn’t care much to travel but he knew it was important to you and he thinks of it as paying his dues before being rewarded once you reach your destination. By the time you're exiting the train, a cart with your trunks behind you, you're both feeling rather tired and grumpy.

"Oh there he is!" you say with relief as you pick up your pace to a boy that had driven you around last time in front of a town car of your Uncle's. Alfie is looking at his pocket watch and only half paying attention, just keeping his eye on you, following you as you moved like a frightened pheasant through the group of people. "Benji! Bonjour! Bonjour cher!" you say with matching kisses to his young and angular face. Benji was an errand boy for your Uncle, a strong and stout thing despite his baby face.

"Hello Lil- uh, Genevieve." he corrects himself with a laugh.

"This would be my dashing companion Mr. Alfie Solomons who will be joining me on this holiday." you say placing a hand on Alfie's shoulder to give him a supportive rub.

"'Ello lad. Benji, was it?" he gruffs out.

"Yes, sir." he says with a nod and polite smile. "We have your apartment warmed and stocked Genevieve. I'll put your luggage away, there are refreshments in the car." he says quickly before moving to your trunks.

You and Alfie take off your coats and sit inside the vehicle, yawns and stretches and bored looks on your faces. You see him watching the boy as he ties things to the roof after filling the back.

"This child is supposed to be lookin' out for ya?" he says with a quirked brow.

"Alfie, shush." you say with a weak pat to his arm. "He's a lot tougher than he looks. He helped me last time I was here. He's a sweetheart so be nice."

"But what if we run into trouble?"

"Then it's you, me and Benji, dear." you roll your eyes. "There are guns under the seat and men stationed outside my apartment. If you would PLEASE just stop being so uptight for a moment, we're here you can breathe now." you say with an exhausted tone and an expression to match.

He lets out a grumpy Hmmph of a sound and sits with his bottom lip tucked under his mustache.

"Where would you like to go first Miss?" Benji calls from the front seat.

"To the apartment, please, I believe we're both in need of a rest after that trip." you say while side eyeing Alfie who returns the same glance to you. ------- Once he sees the nice street you'll be staying on, the men out front, the cautious but friendly doorman, his mind starts to ease. Inside there are two women waiting, both of which you greet with hugs and their first names.

"Would you draw us a bath please, Yoni. Then we'll take tea in the bedroom and have a nap." you say while your coat and gloves are taken.

Alfie's face softens as he sees your apartment, it was hard to remain grumpy in such a light and airy place. The white high walls with elaborate border, the tall and thin windows with billowing curtains from the wind from the balcony made it very pleasant. A view that would be even more stunning come nightfall to be seen from any window he looked. Everything was black, white and grey, all still elaborately decorated with filligree to your tastes, but it made the place feel huge and clean. A wall of heavy framed paintings went up alongside the stairs to the second level. There was a fireplace and a seating area adjacent a tall window, a piano, bookcase, and easel all sat in front of each other just left out of the small entryway. To the right, a kitchen that was concealed from where he stood, a small room he assumed was a bathroom and a dining table in the middle of it all with a chandelier hanging over it draped in crystals. The air is crisp and cool from the open windows, they must have them open to air out the place, he thinks. He stands and takes it all in before feeling you take his hand and tug him towards the stairs.

"Come love, let's wash London off of us and start on a better foot." you say with a subtle smile as he follows you up the stairs after a polite nod of greeting to the women.

You pull him into the tub, both of you enclosed in the marble tomb of the bathroom as your belongings are brought up the stairs. A closed window leaves room for the small fireplace to keep the room cozy. You both sink into the large tub, even larger than your one at home at opposite ends and soak.

With a lighter head and heart, leaving the residue of London behind in the oiled bathwater, Alfie finally speaks without grit in his voice. "Your place is lovely, Gen." he says in a breathy whisper, looking out over the city from above the roof tops of the shops on the streets surrounding you.

"Merci." you smile with closed eyes, head laid back on a folded towel against the lip of the tub, your hair piled on top of your head. "Are you feeling better Fie?" you ask with an indifferent tone.

"Believe so yeah. I hate travelin'." he mumbles, letting his head rest back like yours.

"I'm glad you are willing to sacrifice for me mon Fie." you chuckle.

"Hush." he laughs. "It's hard to leave the work behind innit? When I'm so used to lookin' over me shoulder constantly."

"I understand," you say in a sigh. "But we don't have to here. Breathe in that crisp air and exhale the London fog. We can relax now, Alfie. Let that grumpy exterior fade away. I want to have a happy bear the next few days, not a grumpy one." you say with a sweet tone.

"Happy bear, eh?" he chuckles again. "Since when am I a bear to you? First I'm hearin' of it."

"My big Russian bear," you say in a thick Russian accent. "So big. So strong. Much fur for little woman to stroke." you end the playful words with a giggle and you feel him kick your leg lightly. "What? You don't want to be my big bear?" you grin, lifting your head to find an amused look on his face, your voice back to normal.

"I ain't opposed to being your big bear but your accent is heinous." he lets out a loud laugh and you splash water at him.

------

You crawl in bed to nap, but a nap soon turns into sleep after you wake up and find the night settling in. The bed is comfortable and the fire is warm and the music from the street creates a perfect peaceful ambiance. You whisper and ask if he'd rather stay in, keep warm and rest more and of course he agrees. So your first night in Paris isn't exactly romantic, but a good nights sleep and a tight cuddle with no time limit did more good for you than a night out could have.

The next morning is spent waking up with a good, slow snog that was despertaely needed by both of you. You sigh and moan into one another, hands with simple and firm caresses against each other's warm skin under the soft covers of the white bed sheets. The sunlight pours in from the two tall, lean windows on either side of the bed. No one distrubs you, but the smell of breakfast soon wafts in from downstairs and you both feel the pangs in your stomach.

You both move slowly and relish in the fact that you can. Your eyes stay sleepy for far longer into the morning than they ever did in London. You perched in his lap to eat. He has a traditional English Breakfast and you have a Parisian one. Fresh croissants and brioche from the bakery down the street with butter, jam, and fruit juice. You take your cup of cafe au lait upstairs with you as you go to get ready for the day. He sits and reads the paper, looks over the books on the shelves, the paintings on the walls and takes in the unfinished painting that sat on the easel of the skyline. He eventually makes his way upstairs after being told you were out of the bath and finds you perched in front of a large vanity, with clothes strewn about on the bed. With a kiss to the top of your head beforehand, he worldlessly makes his way into the bathroom. You pick your newest outfit, something you'd been looking forward to wearing that Freddie had sent you. And you were excited as always to push the envelope.

You come out of the bathroom in your new outfit. A fitted shirt, long sleeves, and trousers with wide legs, looking like a skirt almost nipped in at your waist. With a few buttons undone on your shirt, your hair pulled back with bejeweled combs, it was impossible to mistake you for a man but the feeling of wearing pants still gave you a bit of a sway to your step, even in heels.

"You...you wearin' that?" Alfie asks with a cautious tone, looking you up and down.

"Yes, Freddie sent it to me, isn't it wild?" you beam happily, putting on your jewelry in the mirror.

"It is." he nods, brow shifting in thought. "Trousers innit?" he says just to clarify in case his eyes were acting up again.

"Yes. They are so comfortable, my goodness. I'm warm and I can sit however I wish. Jealous you boys get them to yourselves, hardly fair."

Alfie knew he could be a bit old fashioned and being with a woman younger certainly made him more aware of this trait at times but you'd always been so distinctly feminine he never thought about you wearing trousers before.

"You don't like them, do you?" you ask as you turn, twisting your ring on your finger. He sees your bouncing chest with the loose neckline, the hourglass figure of the belted waist and he certainly didn't hate it by any means.

"I dinnit say that now did I?" he shakes his head. "I've never seen you in trousers before." he says with a higher inflection. "I've thought only women who wished to be men wore such things."

"Well now it seems menswear inspired is something many powerful women are embracing. I feel like Marlene Dietrich in these." you grin. "And these are Chanel for christ's sake, it's not as if it's not designer." you say with a hint of defense in your voice.

"I'm not critisizing, love, don't get in a huff." he says with a bowed head and outstretched hands. "It's just a bit of a shock. I've yet to find something you don't look gorgeous in, don't take it as an insult, it's not meant to be. If they make you happy that's what's important innit." he says, taking your hands.

"Yes it is." you give him a nod and side-eye him for a moment, weighing the words to see if they were true. "Good to see you can still be charming," you say in a softer tone, as he rolls his eyes at you as you tease him. You lean in to give him a kiss. "I feel lovely, you look handsome as always so let's go out and have a good day, yes?" you give him another peck.

He knows he's still trying to lose that hard edge, the habit of being miserable and he desperately wants to. He wants to be soft with you, have you swooning again and melting into his arms. So he tries to set the tone that you deserve. He reaches inside himself to pull out the man in love with this fiesty, vivavious beauty that stood before him, remaining herself and polite despite his poor form. It only took a few moments, seeing the shine of your eyes, the bounce of your hair and chest that made the scent of lavender fill his nose.

You see his eyes shift and feel him take a deep breath, you tilt your head up at him. "What is it darling?" you ask with a kind smile.

"You. It's always you innit, my love?' his voice is breathy as his arm wraps around your waist to keep you close, your rest your hands to his chest, caught by surprise at the affection but welcoming it fully.

"Is it?" you answer cheekily with a smile that he matches.

"It is." he whispers, a bejeweled hand moving your cheek. "What is it my little flower wishes to do today, eh?" he asks, thumb gently stroking your cheek.

"Anything with this charming man in front of me." you coo with a wrinkled nose.

"Ah. But she is a charmer herself." he brushes his nose to yours. "I'd love to go see your second home through your eyes today, my pet. Will you show me what you love about this place? Tell me how it molded you so I might understand?" he speaks softly and slowly and you're right back where you'd hoped this trip would put you.

He sees your eyes soften, then flutter as a loving glance is shared between the both of you. "I would love that as well." you repsond softly. "I'd like some basic merriment and money spending, then to go to the Louvre. It's been so long since I've been."

"Than that is what we shall do." he states matter of factly.

"As long as you don't make fun of me for crying at the paintings." you say with a bashful smile.

"I'd never." he says with a winning grin as he presses his plush lips against yours that connect you both back to each in the deep and adoring way that had alluded you in London.

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

You exit your apartment and elect to walk, You were close to so many bustling boulevards and avenue's that it would've been a shame to waste the cool morning air to the inside of a car. You introduce Alfie to the two men who will be shadowing you for the day, knowing it would ease his mind you'd requested them from your Uncle for the duration of your stay.

You stroll like two young pups in love, hand in hand down the streets that were well into being full of life at this point in the day. The smell of bread, meat, and wine move in phases as you pass cafes and shops. The artists and performers doing their song and dance on the sidewalks or arguing over movements in iron backed cafe chairs with passion. It made you feel young and full of dreams again. There was a freedom you felt in Paris you couldn't grasp anywhere else. Here you were always under the protection of your Uncle's last name, you were to be as opinionated and quirky as you wished. You were among artists, and that was where your heart lay.

You move to a quieter street, pointing to the shops and houses of friends and designers you knew from your previous life there. You didn't bore him with specifics but you let him know how much of your time had been spent with these people in these places, elaborating on why fashion meant so much to you. He'd never considered it art before but after your bright eyes and passionate words told him of your studies in fabric and paint alike, he understood how it could be seen as such.

You talking hadn't bored him but now he sat in a boutique, the only man in the place, he kept looking at his pocket watch in between you being dressed and undressed by posh employees. You would spin on a pedastal and ask his opinion and they were all favorable of course. Around the tenth gown, he felt a familiar twitch in his face, the tapping of his toes and he knew he would upset you with feigned interest if he stayed much longer. So on your next reveal, he politely asks to take his leave, stating he'd seen some places he'd like to go as you finished here.

"You can go whenever you like darling. Thank you for staying this long, I forget how terribly dull it can be for anyone besides myself when I get caught up in it." you coo with the same air you had on the night of your birthday. Regal and bestowing a blessing on him with your graciousness. "But tell me first, I can't decide between the blue or the red. Which do you prefer?" you ask, a slender finger pointing to two gowns that hung on the wall.

"Why not both, love?" he says with a cheeky grin, kissing your cheek. "C'mere Miss," he says, beckoning a woman closer who had been enthusiastically helping you the entire time. You had an air of money and upper class about you and he couldn't blame her for fishing for a strong sale. "Get this beautiful creature whatever she wishes." he says, laying a stack of bills in her hand. He could hear the mewls and gasps collectively from the women that surrounded him.

"Alfie, darling..." you purr and push your chest together, wrapping your arms around his neck from your raised positition on the platform. "You don't have to do that."

"Nonsense. I'm spoiling you, yeah?" he says with a sarcastic scolding tone. "You can have ya fun here and I'll go spoil meself in that watch shop we passed, eh?" he grins wide.

"You keep throwing around words like spoil along with that money you're going to make a woman accoustomed to such things." you giggle.

"It's been too long since we've lived a little innit? You deserve these lovely things for all the hard work you've been doin'. You need some new things to wear to your speeches and your fundraisers now, yeah? Can't have a rare jewel like you wearin' what everyone else is, can we?" he says with a charming inflection to his complimentry words.

"What a sweet talker the Paris air has brought out in you Mr. Solomons." you purr and pout.

"Or perhaps it's only you, sweetheart." he says with that same smile that still made your knees knock when directed at you, just as it had almost a year ago now.

------

He drops off his watch to be polished and cleaned, wandering into a jewelry shop with you in mind as it seems in customary in Paris for him to do now. Last time it was a bee that would've bankrupted an ordinary man. What would it be this time, he wondered? He walks slowly across the rows of glass cases, considering each piece with a poetic sentiment to tell you behind it. He recalls the night he gave you that bee. He was just as intoxicated by the look of revealing a gift to you as he always had been.

He remembers how you were just recovered from being attacked, just walking upright again. He remembers your delicate and slender neck as his fingers grazed the previously untouched skin. What a little kitten you'd been at that time, so soft and fragile while you'd healed. When he'd seen how resilient you were after the attack, staying strong and getting your house in order before finally letting your facade drop in front of him, he wonders if perhaps it was then he started to think of you as a prospect for a partner. He'd never seen a woman handle a situation like that the way you did. He knew a sound mind was required in his line of work and that in order to not feel like he was babysitting, his lovelife required a woman of such distinction. He scratches his beard and wonders if he'd already known he'd cared about you to such a degree. He'd bought the necklace to help cheer you up, a gift to celebrate a job well done with Abielle but, that wasn't it entirely was it. A striking, one of a kind woman deserved things of the same description and he aimed to give those to you if he could.

His eyes move over the lovely but common pieces. He should get something to signify your time spent here together. That would be appropriate, he thinks. He hadn't been neglectful exactly but he certainly felt he should be spending more time with you than he was. Especially with how early it was in your courtship. He was lucky you were so understanding and empathetic to his situation as women before quickly grew tired of canceled plans. He knew buying something was a mere patch on a situation but he knew you liked to feel special and giving you gifts certainly seemed to make you happy. And that was ultimately what being with someone was about wasn't it? Trying to work to keep each other happy. You held up your end of the deal, being understanding and not demanding things of him. All you'd really asked was for him to go on holiday with you and it wasn't as if this was a punishment of some sort for him. He knew he needed to make up for lost time, yet again.

With you on his mind, the sapphires catch his eye. At first, he considers a necklace. Perfectly reasonable gift, something that draws attention to his two favorite girls besides yourself. But his lips purse when he realizes that it wasn't just his attention that would be drawn to them. He huffs noisily out of his nostrils, shaking his head in reconsideration. Bracelet's perhaps, he ponders the shiny circles of gems. Allowing himself to get nostalgic as more memories come to mind. The one forming currently was the night he'd taken you to the opera. What an emotinally stirring night that had been for him. He recalls your dainty wrists drapped in gems over your black opera gloves, how they caught the low light and glinted as you held the viewing spectacles and trembled with emotion. That sinful dream inducing gown you'd worn had haunted him for weeks after. The tears you'd shed for the tragic lovers stole his heart that night. A softness to you he'd never imagined possible. Tears like little diamonds, shimmering as they fell down the planes of your heartbroken face. He must take you to the opera here, he thinks. He'd love to see that vulnerable goddess again. He sees a pair of sapphire earrings in a display. At the ends of round stones set inside diamond circles hang a teardrop shaped stone. Sapphire tears for his emotionally charged enchantress. Tears to wear to serve as a reminder you no longer had to let them fall for love lost's sake. By giving you these tears, he would offer to try with everything he was to not give you cause to shed them yourself. This is the gift to remember Paris with. He informs the jeweler of his decision and waits as they're polished and packaged.

He recalls Claire's warning of you not believing in romance and he feels a fluttering in his stomach. A subtle smile appears on his face, thinking of how he'd somehow, despite all his glaring faults had managed to capture the heart of a divine being like you. He hopes one day he can ask you how he did it, a question for a day after confessions of love he imagines. And what of that, he considers, his brow furrowing. He'd known he was a lost cause when it came to you for some time now, perhaps the first time he met with you he'd known somehow. Perhaps he'd only wanted it to be true then but as the rings in the case catch his attention, he can't help but wonder when he would tell you how he truly felt. He'd expressed plenty of things of magnitude to you and none of them were said casually. But the utterance of I love you was something that was supposed to be special wasn't it? Something you made time to discuss properly since it was only second on the list of heavy things you must face with someone. It sat between children and marriage and none of these things he took lightly. Besides his mother, there was only one girl, long before the war that he'd ever said such a thing to. But unlike then he was certain in more things in his life than he ever had been and you were at the top of that list. The rings sit and taunt him. Calling him a coward, they glint with winks that dare him to do what he should admit he's known for a long time that he wanted to. They sing for him like sirens to allow himself to be swept away in it, to feel the love that you do in this city and to give you what you deserved and he craved Honesty and stability. They mock him to make another purchase for you in Paris. ------- You call to Benji who was sitting in a car on the street you were at. Under the instruction of Altar, he wasn't to be too far from you at any given time. He wasn't going to let something happen to his darling niece while she was on holiday. You have the boxes and bags put into the car, telling him where you were off to so when Alfie emerged he would know where to find you.

You trot into a women's delicate's boutique. Lingerie, leisure, and sleepwear in every soft fabric imaginable greet you as you hear a little bell ding with the closing of a door. You peruse, your fingers light on the sesitive fabrics. You chew your lip and consider what mood you'd like to set for your time here in Paris. You'd brought plenty of silk with you but the thought of new teases was certainly more appealing to you. You wanted to give Alfie something he'd never seen before, you wanted to feel as soft as a breeze and as beautiful as a sunset. Satiney bras laid out over matching tap shorts catch your eye, high side slits with lace hems to match, a different approach to your usual of wearing a skirt for easy access. Perhaps you should take to sleeping in these. They'd certainly be nice for summer. It wasn't as if you got to sleep in the same bed as Alfie that often anyway and you weren't opposed to buying something you'd only plan to wear for this holiday but you didn't know the next time you'd get to come to Paris, so you should just buy things for all seasons now shouldn't you?

A delightfully round woman breaks your train of thought as you hold a sapphire blue slip, a color that resounded time and time again for you and Alfie.

"Bonjour Miss." she says, clasping her hands in front of her as she looks over the piece you're holding.

"Bonjour." you sigh out with a smile.

Surely a smile of a new bride, the pink in your cheeks gives it away the woman thinks. "Visiting Paris for your honeymoon? Or picking out something for the husband?" she says with a playful chuckle.

You consider correcting her for a moment, opening your mouth to correct her but instead you find yourself displaced in time. Why bother to correct her? Perhaps one day you'd be back here, married and looking for something just the same. Except perhaps you'd be looking at the pieces in white. "We're here on holiday, yes." you say with a bright smile. "My ring is being seen to where he orignally bought it here." you start fabricating a story so quickly giving you a thrill you hadn't felt since your party days of lying and stealing from aristocrats.

"Oh lovely," she says with a nod, pointing to the pice. "How long have you been married Mrs.?" she inquires.

"Solomons. Mrs. Solomons." you say and a rather child like giddiness comes across your face. "Just over three months now."

"Oh new love," she says with a sweet lilt. "Looking for something to make the holiday special?" she says with a cheeky smile.

"Yes. That and I don't know when I'll be back as we live in London and he's a very busy man, so I'd like some pieces for other occasions as well." you begin. Before you know you know it, she's sizing and fitting you in corsets and you're talking about your wedding day. A chuppah covered in flowers, a dress so long you made a joke about having your siblings have more children just to carry it for you, a ring that could sink a ship it was so big. You carried on in your fantasy and you found yourself happier in it than any other you'd spun off the cuff before. Wouldn't that be lovely? You'd thought to yourself, stealing your own ideas from your fake wedding tales. You get light headed at the thought of walking down the aisle, of him certain and handsome at the end of it. You're own personal Yom Kippur, leaving the old life behind and starting a new one with this new joined soul. It certainly would be a wedding for the ages.

You leave with more bags and boxes to add the collection already in the car. You've stocked yourself up for the incoming warmer months and bought a few things to keep warm in the mild Paris nights. You'd left wearing new undergarments, black lace now sliding across your skin under your menswear inspired outfit. Alfie waits for you by the car, leaning against it and looking intimidating as always. You scamper across the street, hands straining with the handles of bags and his face shifts into softness from the frown as he sees you. Your hair and chest bounced, a shuffle of your heeled feet towards him as you greeted him with a lilt like a little bird, a peck to his lips.

"You've been busy I see." he grins, taking the bags from your hands and putting them in the car as Benji took a load to the other side.

"I have, darling." you can't help but wrap your arms around his neck, riding high on stories you'd spun for the woman in the store. The stories about being-

"Mrs. Solomons!" you hear called out behind you and your eyes go wide.

"You forgot this one. Can't forget this little number," she says with a wink, handing you a wrapped box. "Wouldn't want him missing out on this one." she tries to sell the surprise to your so-called husband. "And this must be the infamous Mr. Solomons. Lovely to put a face to the name, sir." she says with a small, polite bow. "You're very lucky. Your wife is a lovely woman." she says sweetly.

As the woman speaks, you feel the blush rising to your face and the heat of Alfie's taunting glare. You knew the bloody look he'd have on his face, you didn't even have to look. He'd caught you being naughty and now he would be giving you a mixture of a smirk and a grin that would pop the bubble of your fake marriage you'd been so happily living in the past hour or so.

"Yes." he nods, looking down at you, and you still not turning back to him but acting intersted in the box in your hands. "My wife is such a curious little creature isn't she?" he chuckles and you know the deepness of it to be teasing. "Such a vision sometimes I wonder how I did get so lucky, yeah? Sometimes I wonder if she's even real." you could've smacked him if you hadn't been the one being embarassed.

"How wonderful to hear a man speak of his wife in such a way. We should all be so lucky." she says with the purest of intentions. "Have a wonderful holiday, and congratulations on the marriage." she says, bowing out to scurry back to the shop.

You stand without speaking for a few moments, Alfie's face couldn't look more amused. He held in a laugh at the embarrassed look on your face he'd never seen before. Oh, how he wanted to tease you about this, to never let you live it down, as was in his nature. But the mood he was in from the reminiscing and thoughts he'd been contemplating while in the jewelry shop had him realizing another angle, the more touching one.

"And what was that...Mrs. Solomons?" he gets out before snorting out a laugh, he couldn't help it.

You purse your lips and gather yourself, turning back to meet his eyes. "She assumed and I didn't feel the need to correct her."

"Mmm Hmm." he says, voice still full of tease. "Ya didn't, eh?" his laugh turns softer, handing the box off to Benji.

"No." you try to say with confidence and it fails.

"Genny..." he says with a deep voice, putting his hand on your face. "I've never seen you turn so quickly into a beet before." he says with a chuckle.

You shake your head out of his hands and push them down. "She thought I was on my honeymoon." you say with a whine to your voice.

"And are we?" he asks with a charming grin.

"No." you say, a smile now appearing on your face. "We're on holiday. You needed to get my ring fixed where you originally bought it." you start to snicker.

"You back to spinning your lies again? Being in Paris brings out your naughty side, does it?" He knew of your stories of lying, stealing and running cons on people in your youth. He loved the stories and the fact that you could, it was another thing he'd loved knowing you were capable of.

"I started and it just...kept coming." you admit with a bashful laugh. "Perhaps it is the city, making me want to act naughty." you shrug.

"According to her tone, you had intentions on acting naughty with whatever is in that box."

"If you're lucky." you taunt. "Perhaps what I already have on underneath this is naughty as well?" you say, pulling the shirt to the side just slightly, showing a black and lace strap.

"Lying and lingerie look good on you..." he says leaning in and kissing you. "Mrs. Solomons." he grins with a wrinkle of his nose.

"You aren't going to let me live this down are you?" you sigh against his lips.

"Not a fuckin' chance, sweetheart." he laughs and shakes his head.

@fangirlfreakingout @jaegeeeeer @cosettewinchester @lookuptheskyisfalling-blog @brianaisasongbird @cry5t4l-w4rri0r @iliveonchocolateandnetflix @jess2464 @hardygal69 @thegarrisonpublichouse @a-flock-of-angry-pigeons @pootle @negansdirtygirl22 @musingsby-night@wtf-is-wrong-with-this @shine-dont-shadow @inkinterrupted @vale0413 @lafayettes-baguettes-1 @sxlomons @aphnxrising @emerald-bijou @elaenom @give-jack-a-lightsaber @anrm1 @ultrablackwidower @tinastarkandco @arrowswithwifi

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girlafraidinacoma · 6 years ago

Text

IN THE LAP OF THE GODS Ch.2:

Summary: What do you get when you mix a tight-knit art community, young, hot-blooded twenty-something university students and good old-fashioned British Rock & Roll? Probably the next best hope for art and music that generation has to offer. With her friends’ band skyrocketing to fame, what exactly does a girl do when she suddenly finds herself sitting in the lap of the gods? The answer: do the only thing she can do, rise to the occasion of course!

Pairing: Gwilym Lee!Brian May x Original Female Character [chill guys, this WILL be a Bri fic…eventually].

Warnings: swearing, a very dramatic Freddie, Rog has a bit of a moment with a pastry...

Words: 2.2k +

Author’s Note: Chapter 2, Baby! I hope you guys enjoy it, and pls feel free to comment, reblog or leave a like if ya feel like it!

Kind of AU, contains both elements from real life and the Bo Rhap universe, so imagine whoever you prefer whether they be the real thing or the Bo Rhap Boys–be free.

Link to the Ao3 fic!

Chapter Playlist:

Chapter Two - That One Time When Fred Went Out for Coffee Or, Why Being a Young Entrepreneur is Harder than You Think

Kensington, 1969.

Out of breath and flushed pink, a young woman strode inside a musty little stall in Kensington Market, the shop bell giving a faint sort of ding upon her entrance. Freddie, who was quietly cataloguing their inventory in a faded blue balance book, smiled when he looked up to greet his friend.

“Wyn Clemens! You’ve come to visit me.” Fred said, ecstatically skipping his way to her from behind the counter before hugging her shoulders.

The girl made quick work of untangling the woolen scarf she had wrapped several times around her neck and mouth, placing that and her coat on the hook by the door.

“I swear I’ve gone up and down the place twice and both times I’ve managed to miss you entirely! Blimey, I didn’t think it was this small.” Her eyes scanned the darkened interior.

Currently their stall was nondescript, tucked away in between a carpet wholesaler and a shoe repair place, hidden away amongst the plethora of other stalls just like it. Cozy was one word for it, cramped was another, more accurate descriptor. Really, it was more of a booth. There they sold various garments and accessories to clothe the young bohemians, rockers, mods, punks, hippies and everyone in between who seemed to frequent the market there. Their shop was manned and looked after by Freddie and his friend Roger, and only by them, which was why, while their inventory was not exactly vast, it did quite literally seem to swallow the entire place in velvet, faux fur, leather, and brocade.

“Hey!” someone yelled in indignation, “This is a very fine establishment we run here, I’ll have you know!” A blonde head emerged from the back of the shop, a little area sectioned off by a dark curtain. It hid a tall, narrow mirror and served as both their stock room and fitting room.

The girl raised her eyebrows, feeling slightly sheepish at having offended this new person. “Wyn, this is Roger, the friend of mine I’ve been telling you about. He runs this dismal dispensary with me.” He said, not looking behind him as he gestured his head towards the blonde’s general direction. “Rog, this lovely creature you see before you is my new friend, Wyn.”

“Ah, the Ealing bird. Well, I suppose I could let that slight go for your pretty face. The name’s Roger Taylor, very nice to meet you, love.” He gave her his hand to shake, his lips upturned in a smirk.

“Careful there, Rog.” Freddie reminded him, which earned him a mischievous look from the blonde.

“Wyn,” the girl announced, unfazed by Roger’s cheesy smile, “I’ve come bearing gifts!”

“Ooh! Gimme! Gimme!” Freddie cried happily, his hands making grabbing motions all the while.

Wyn tutted at his antics shortly before presenting him a brown paper bag. “I thought it would cheer you up, while you’re stuck here.”

Freddie opened the bag and what he found there nearly brought him to tears. The bag was filled with fresh pastries still warm to the touch as he poked his nose inside and took a long whiff. He placed it on the counter before examining the goodies one by one, a hungry Roger joining his side. “You do care, Wyn! It’s just like Christmas! And here I thought everyone had forgotten about me. It feels like I haven’t seen the sunlight in days.”

“Weeks, really,” Roger added mournfully, before stuffing his mouth full of pastry. They had both been cooped inside their store trying to peddle their wares since the weekend and it was now Tuesday afternoon.

Freddie had a dramatic faraway look in his eye, his mouth shaped in a forlorn ‘O’ before finally snapping out of it. God, Wyn thought, he really should have been in theatre.

“C’mon then Wyn, tell us about all the changes in the outside world,” Fred was prattling away again, “Is dear old Liz still on the throne? How about Coronation Street, is it still playing? And what about tie-dye? Are people still wearing tie-dye?”

There was a quiet moan of “Oh Jesus, that’s the spot.” that came from Roger as he polished off an apricot danish.

Wyn gave the two of them a fond chuckle, trying to ignore the ridiculous sounds of ecstasy from the blonde as he delved into a croissant. “Let’s see,” the girl gave a pause for dramatic effect, “Yes, God forbid anyone else who’s set their eyes on that chair. Everybody knows Coronation Street is for ever. And it brings me to tears just thinking about it, but yes, unfortunately, the tie-dye lives on.”

“I knew it! It’s useless, Rog.” Freddie shouted, calling Roger’s attention. “Just bury me in these fur stoles. Even if they’re not real at least I’ll be kept warm and they haven’t assaulted anyone’s retinas.” He had trudged over to a rack of miscellaneous animal coats and stoles and buried his face in them. His further rant became muffled and unintelligible as he cried into the mass of faux fur.

“How long has he been like this?” The girl turned to the blonde with a worried look.

“On and off since Saturday,” he informed her, brushing stray crumbs from his mouth. “We’ve hardly sold anything.”

“This is no good, come on Fred. You just sit down, I’ll go out and grab us a couple of coffees and come straight back.”

Freddie perked up upon hearing this and was almost back to his usual spirits. “I have an idea, can I go get the coffees instead, darling? I want to go outside, I want to hear the birds chirping and smell that London smog. Maybe that old lady from the fruit and veg stall could yell at me, that would really get me going.”

“Alright Fred,” she said with a comforting smile, pouring into his open palm a handful of coins. “Happy hunting.”

Freddie had taken off so fast he had forgotten to bring his jacket which he left still hung up on the door.

“That’s probably the happiest I’ve seen him all weekend,” Roger said, wistful.

“If he’s happy, then I’ve done my job.”

Wyn had started to look the clothing racks, her fingers stroking the garments in fascination. She also took out two or three items she had liked, inspecting them fully before shaking her head and putting them away, Roger meanwhile stood beside her giving his opinion on them. Soon he was entertaining her by spinning little yarns about several pieces, how they acquired them, whom they were worn by, all made up but increasingly fantastic.

“You looking for anything in particular, love?”

“Not really, whatever catches my fancy, I suppose.”

“How about now,” he said as he had stood in front of her, hands on his waist and a twinkle in his eye, “Do I catch your fancy?”

“I’m in the market for clothes today, Roger, not a boyfriend.”

“Who said anything about a boyfriend?”

“Uh-huh. Maybe some other time, Taylor.”

“Alright, alright.” he said, pacifying her. “Something to wear then. Something that will work for your figure?”

“I’d never be opposed to looking good.”

Roger was still flirting with her, but he also appeared to have a clear focus now, he was a man on a mission to find her something she could be persuaded into buying. “Do you like wearing patterns?”

“I’d give it a go.”

“How about colour?”

“Love them.”

“Any you’re partial to?”

“Every colour of the rainbow!”

Roger scoffed playfully in exasperation, she really was no help, but he enjoyed her company. “I think I have just the thing for you,” Rog said with a snap of his fingers before darting behind their makeshift stock room/ fitting area. He came back about a minute later with a frock on a plastic hanger.

What he presented her with was a white and green houndstooth dress in the mod style which had a black peter-pan collar and a short mini-skirt. Wyn let out a pleased hum, “I like the way you think, Taylor.”

Roger barked a laugh though he seemed to glow in praise, “That might be the first time a woman has said that to me.” He reached into his pocket and fished out a packet of smokes and a lighter. “Go on, then. Try it on.” He urged her, pushing her behind the curtain and sticking a cigarette between his lips.

Roger sported a boyish charm, all buoyancy and pent-up energy. Wyn thought it was ironic the way that he was blessed with the looks of a cherub by Raphael, yet flirted like a devil. It was little wonder Freddie had warned her about him when the topic of his friends came into conversation. Before she could wrestle the corduroy off her legs Roger’s hand had slipped in between the partition, throwing a pair of shoes at her.

“Black gogos? Oh, you really must be out to get me. I’m going to freeze out there.”

“You’re just fitting them on!” The voice behind the curtain replied. “You don’t have to wear them out…You don’t have to wear anything at all.”

“Ha-ha.”

“Just saying.”

A couple of minutes later she stepped out from behind the curtains, smoothing down the dress where it wrinkled a bit in her midsection. “What do you think?” she asked, striking a pose.

Roger took another large puff from his half-finished cigarette before putting it down on the ashtray on the counter. He began to sing lowly as he drew near to her, “Is there anybody going to listen to my story, all about the girl who came to stay?” There was another cheesy grin on his face as he took Wyn’s hand abruptly and led her into an impromptu slow-dance. “She’s the kind of girl you want so much it makes you sorry. Still, you don’t regret a single day. Ah, girl,” he sung as he spun her.

Wyn smiled, “I’m going to take that answer as a ‘yes’, but I wouldn’t know how I’d wear it though, my hair…”

“You could wear it swept back, or up.” Roger suggested, now extremely close. He removed his left hand from her hip and used it to gather her thick hair up and away from her face, fingers grazing the back of her neck.

Wyn cleared her throat, her cheeks and neck heating. “You think Fred will let me have this for cheap if I asked nicely?”

“I think if you asked nicely, he’d let you have the whole shop.”

“It’s probably costing him more to run it at this point.”

“Us both.”

The two broke out into a fit of laughter, not even acknowledging the customer who had just walked into the shop.

“Okay, Rubber Soul. So these are the kinds of guerilla tactics you’d stoop to for a sale?” Blushing furiously, Wyn pushed away from him when they finished their dance, choosing to hoist herself up onto the counter next to her bag of sweets.

“Only the best service to our most important clientele.” he said through half-lidded eyes.

“How much for this?” a voice said from behind them.

Roger groaned in annoyance having forgotten the presence of this third person. It was a shame Fred still hadn’t come back, that way he could have dealt with this new nuisance while Roger turned his attention to the girl in front of him. Rog barely spared him a glance as the man held up the garment in question. “Seven pounds.”

Wyn watched the interaction with great amusement.

“Five quid.” the man tried to haggle.

“Seven.”

“This button’s loose, five and five pence.”

“Six if you leave here now.”

“You’re fleecing me.” the man whined handing Roger the money with reluctance.

“Actually, that’s crushed velvet.” said Roger with a cool, impassive grace, plucking his cigarette from the ashtray and taking a puff.

Slipping on his new jacket, the man set off grumbling, nearly bumping into Freddie who narrowly avoided him, carrying a tray of hot coffees in styro cups.

“Took you awhile Fred,” Roger called, leaning against the counter and smoking casually.

Freddie placed the coffees down on a bench by the window. “Roger,” he began slowly with a disgruntled look in his eye. “Was that man just now, wearing my coat?”

“Huh?” this alerted Roger somewhat, he had stopped what he was doing. His eyes grew large as he looked to Freddie and back down at the crumpled note and small coin in his palm.

“Rog, you absolute pillock, did you sell my coat?”

“...Fuck.”

As quick as a bolt Fred had crossed the room in two strides, snatched the money right out of Roger’s grasp and ran back out the door. Freddie ran after the man who bought his beloved jacket, shouting and swearing like a madman all the way.

At the end of the day, Wyn had felt so guilty she ended up paying for her things in full. She had no regrets though. Sure she was down a couple of pounds, but she had managed to get herself a great fitting dress, and a killer pair of boots, not to mention the favour of the infamous Roger Taylor -- a feat she hoped she had managed with all her dignity intact. Or at least she hoped.

#queen #bo rhap #bohemian rhapsody #brian may #brian may x original character #gwilym lee #freddie mercury #roger taylor #rami malek #ben hardy #in the lap of the gods #itlotg fic #bohemian rhapsody movie

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goodlucktai · 7 years ago

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Kitanishi prompt: soulmate Au or red string of fate. Satoru hasn't received his mark yet and nervous he won't end up with Kitamoto. Atsushi is calm about the whole thing because who else would he end up with but Nishimura. However you want to interpret. I really just want fluff and possible cuddles at the end.

(this got a little out of hand)

“I am so gonna die alone,” Satoru says bleakly.

Natsume looks startled at the announcement. Atsushi idly turns a page in his book and doesn’t comment.

“That’s what this means, guys,” Satoru goes on, “that’s exactly what this means.”

The timer on his wrist has been broken for as long as he can remember. It sits there like a sadistic reminder, a faint, half-faded 00:00:00 that Satoru quite honestly hates.

“I’ve never,” Natsume ventures, and hesitates.

They’ve been neighbors for close to a year now, and for all that they don’t know much about the guy, he’s become a regular fixture in the cozy apartment Satoru and Atsushi share. Still, sometimes, he acts like he isn’t sure he’s allowed to contribute to lazy Sunday afternoon conversation, and all Satoru can do is wait patiently for him to gather his nerve.

“I mean,” Natsume tries again, “I’ve never heard of something like that. Is that even possible?”

His hand is circled around his own wrist and the numbers nestled there, and it’s obvious what he’s thinking: if even he could have a soulmate out there in the world somewhere, then surely someone like Satoru must have one, too.

If only.

Satoru wears long sleeves most of the time – stolen out of his roommate’s side of the closet, more often than not – and he deflects soulmate and soulmate-related conversation with all the prowess of someone with years of practice.

But he can’t avoid it entirely.

He stops for lunch at a little cafe near his office, and is just in time to watch as a harried businesswoman and the curly-haired cashier lock eyes and meet. The timers on their wrists, exposed where their arms are extended over the counter to exchange payment for the order, drop to zero.

It’s powerful, and wonderful, the way the first woman melts and the second lights up like a star, and the rest of the restaurant is smiling down at their plates or at their own company, but Satoru’s stomach twists sickly.

He leaves without ordering, and doesn’t find his appetite again for the rest of the day. He doesn’t say anything when he gets home but Atsushi can tell. Atsushi can always tell. And he frowns deeply, pushing back from his desk and abandoning his work to bully Satoru into a seat at the kitchen table.

Satoru suffers through a plate of microwaved leftovers, and a lecture about his admittedly shitty eating habits to go with it.

“You did this all through school,” Atsushi says sternly, “and I hated it then, too. You have to eat, moron. Melon bread and Kit-Kats and whatever else you have stashed in your office doesn’t cut it.”

There’s no easy way to explain why he couldn’t eat – that sometimes the anxiety gets too big, and sits in the pit of his chest like a stone. That sometimes he thinks too much about the zeros on his arm and what they mean, and wants to lock himself in the bedroom and hide from the world he’s afraid he’s all alone in.

So instead he shrugs, and mumbles through a mouthful of lukewarm noodles, "Sometimes I think the only reason we live together is because it’s easier for you to babysit me this way.”

“Someone has to,” Atsushi says without missing a beat, but there’s no heat in his eyes, or in the hand that brushes Satoru’s shoulder as Atsushi passes by on his way back to his office.

Rapid knocks on the door have Satoru hurrying to open it. Natsume spills inside, looking so visibly distraught that Satoru automatically looks over his shoulder into the hall for some sign of trouble.

“Natsume, what is it?” Atsushi asks with clear concern, and Natsume thrusts his arm at them by way of answer.

The numbers on his wrist are moving rapidly, dropping by the second, and Satoru and Atsushi both watch with wide eyes as it keeps going.

“It hasn’t moved in – in years,” Natsume admits in a soft, thready voice. “When I moved to this city, it actually went up. I never thought – a part of me was always resigned to – but now – “

He looks two shades short of terrified. Satoru feels for him, aches for him, and says, “Hey, listen. Whoever it is, they’re lucky as hell. You’re awesome, Natsume, they’re – man, they’re going to love you.”

Natsume looks at him with something open and vulnerable in his face, mouth soft and eyes bright. He’s opened up since coming here, but there’s still something fragile about him – this withdrawn, self-conscious guy without any family and nothing but a fat, grumpy cat for company in his quiet apartment across the hall –

Satoru hopes his other half is someone kind, someone patient. Someone who can fill all those empty spaces in Natsume’s life, in his home, in his heart.

The timer finally slows on the nineteen hour mark. The minutes slow after that, until only the seconds are left steadily ticking by. Natsume is pale and shaken as he runs a hand through his hair.

Atsushi says, “Stay for dinner.”

“Thank you,” Natsume whispers.

The next day, as Satoru and Atsushi are leaving their apartment – bickering amiably about the grocery list and the fastest way to get to the supermarket – they’re greeted by an unfamiliar face.

He’s tall, with a messy head of dark hair and kind eyes. He stands as though he’s aware of how much space he takes up and wishes it could be less.

“Hello,” he says, a little too formal, when he notices the two of them noticing him. “Um, we haven’t met. I just moved in – two doors down from you, actually. I’m Tanuma.”

“Nice to meet you,” Atsushi says politely, “I’m Kitamoto and this is Nishimura. Are you new to the city?”

“Yeah, it was – a spur of the moment decision,” Tanuma says. “I’m a, um – photographer,” and Satoru kind of hates the self-conscious way his eyes dip at the admission, as though it’s something he can’t be proud of, “mostly freelance. But the um, the paper here – was hiring. So I applied, and sent in a portfolio, and – here I am.”

He’s awkward, but in an endearing way, like he isn’t used to striking up conversation with strangers but he’s doing his best to make a good impression despite himself. Satoru has known him for all of three minutes and has already decided he’s going to be a great neighbor.

“Well, we’re happy to have you,” Satoru tells him. “You should come by sometime, show us some of your work!”

The invitation seems to take him by surprise, but a moment later his face softens with a smile. “Yeah?”

They make plans to have him over for dinner, and Tanuma looks ten pounds lighter and ten times less anxious than he did when they found him in the first place.

“You’re too friendly,” Atsushi says dryly, as they wait for the elevator. “One of these days you’re gonna invite a creep right into our house for tea or something, and honestly I won’t even be shocked.”

“Tanuma isn’t a creep!”

“I didn’t say he was!”

But it’s not really that Satoru is too friendly, or even an especially nice person. It’s just that his wrist is a line of solid zeros, and it’s been that way forever, and he can’t stand how lonely he feels sometimes.

He doesn’t want anyone else to be lonely, either.

Tanuma is right on time, down to the minute. And since Satoru is fighting with the temperamental rice cooker while Atsushi is busy at the stove when the polite knocks sound at the front door, he calls, “Natsume, will you get that? It’s that Tanuma guy we invited over.”

Natsume’s face is a sickly white as he climbs gracelessly to his feet. His fat cat is tucked into the crook of his arm, like a security blanket, and Satoru pauses long enough to frown at him, worry after him, because that’s an extreme reaction to just getting the door for someone?

But then he sees the flickering activity on Natsume’s wrist, the rapid shifting of numbers that Satoru is too far away to make out, and he grabs Atsushi by the strings of his apron and yanks.

“Holy shit, Satoru, this is hot oil – “

He cuts himself off when he realizes what’s happening.

Natsume stands back to let Tanuma step inside, and Satoru can’t see his face – but the hand he lifts towards Tanuma is trembling, and Tanuma’s expression is dazed and wondering and painful to look at –

Natsume says “It’s you,” in a small voice, and Tanuma replies, “I’ve waited to meet you for so long,” and Satoru turns away to give them some privacy, busying himself with the rice again.

His eyes are burning, but he can blame that on the smoke.

Atsushi has worn a thick leather bracelet over his timer for as long as Satoru has known him. It’s not weird – some people are secretive about it, or painfully shy. Satoru has even heard of some people going so far as to tattoo over the timer – it fades, once a person accepts their other half, but there’s a growing community of people who reject the soulmate concept entirely, and ignore the numbers in favor of falling in love freely.

He thinks that’s admirable and a little bit terrifying in equal measures.

Satoru wonders, sometimes, if Atsushi belongs to the secretive group or the skeptical one. He doesn’t ask – Atsushi will sometimes rub fingers over the bracelet, and look weary and sad, and even Satoru is tactful enough to know there are some things he should just leave alone – but he still wonders.

If he could belong to anybody, he would belong to Atsushi.

And he doesn’t know what he’ll do, the day Atsushi’s soulmate strolls into their lives and takes Atsushi away from him.

One day, about a month after his fateful first night in the apartment building the four of them share, Tanuma breaches the same subject Satoru has always avoided:

“Do you mind my asking, Kitamoto? What does your timer say?” he asks on a comfortable, rainy Tuesday evening, while Natsume messes with his expensive-looking camera and Natsume’s fat calico sleeps in his lap.

“Oh,” Atsushi says, unbothered. He doesn’t even look up from his phone. “Nothing. It faded a long time ago.”

Satoru chokes on his bubble tea so spectacularly that Natsume actually puts the camera down to lean over and thump him on the back. He and Tanuma are both staring at him but Atsushi is doing that casual oh-did-you-have-a-big-reaction-sorry-I-didn’t-even-notice thing. Satoru isn’t about to let it slide this time.

“What?”

“What do you mean ‘what’?” Atsushi gives him an unimpressed look. There’s some fleeting feeling in his eyes that Satoru just misses, something heated or hurt. “It’s been gone for years. It’s not a secret.”

“You – you never said – “

“You never asked.”

Tanuma and Natsume are looking between them with wide eyes. Satoru feels his hands clench into fists, so tight his fingers ache and his nails bite into his palms.

“Can I talk to you outside?” he grits out.

“Oh,” Natsume says, “no, we can – Kaname, let’s – “

But Atsushi is already setting his phone aside and rising to his feet, gesturing expansively for Satoru to lead the way. Satoru does his best not to storm out of his own apartment like a pissy teenager, but he isn’t sure if he’s the least bit successful.

He’s trembling, and waits for Atsushi to close the front door behind him before he bursts out with, “Were you – are you – do you not trust me? Why wouldn’t you tell me? I tell you everything, I thought – “

“Satchan,” he says tiredly, “it’s not like that.”

“So you know?” Satoru couldn’t explain the ache in his chest if he tried. “Your other half? You know who they are?”

“I’d know even without the stupid numbers on my wrist.”

Satoru stares at him, and something in Atsushi’s expression crumbles. He pushes a hand through his hair and looks twice his age, and exhausted, and sad.

“Sometimes – it doesn’t work out, I guess. Sometimes you’re not on the same page. It’s not a perfect system. Not everyone gets a happy ending.”

“Did they – “ Satoru can barely find the words. His heart is a solid lump in his throat. “Did they not want you?”

The question lands like a blow, and that’s not what Satoru meant, he didn’t mean to hurt him, and he’s already opening his mouth to apologize when Atsushi shakes his head.

A little bit bitter and a little bit broken when he says, “No, he – didn’t feel the same way. But it’s okay,” he adds a moment later. “It doesn’t have to be perfect to be good.”

It sounds like an old, old hurt. A wound he’s used to navigating around, and can almost pretend isn’t there. And Satoru has known him all his life, has been his roommate since the day they graduated high school together almost ten years ago, and…

he never knew.

Atsushi is asleep at the kitchen table, and Satoru is washing dinner dishes. The chore is taking longer than usual, because he keeps looking over his shoulder at his friend and ends up scrubbing the same plate for ten minutes as he loses himself in thought.

It’s hard to be objective, given how shamelessly biased he is where Atsushi is concerned, but as far as he’s concerned a person would have to be crazy not to want a guy like him.

He would have thought Atsushi’s other half would be a sensible, well-put together sort. And instead they’re – well, probably the worst person in the world, if he’s being honest.

Who the hell could know Atsushi and not want him?

Moving on impulse, Satoru abandons the rest of the dishes and strips off his rubber gloves. He sits in the chair across the table from Atsushi and lifts his left hand off the table gingerly enough not to wake him.

He finds the clasp on that leather bracelet and undoes it, sliding the weathered band away. The skin underneath is smooth and unblemished, an empty place where hopeful numbers should sit.

Atsushi doesn’t have anyone waiting for him, either.

And maybe there’s been a secret dream lurking in the farthest corner of Satoru’s heart ever since he was a lonely teenager.

Maybe now he can afford to want it, after all.

Atsushi has been staring at the stolen leather bracelet on Satoru’s wrist for the better part of the morning, while doing his best to pretend like he absolutely hasn’t been staring at it for the better part of the morning.

“Satchan,” he’ll start to say, and then think better of it and bury himself in the morning paper. They’ve become subscribers, now that their friend’s impressive photography regularly decorates the front page.

Satoru smiles at his hands. When he rubs his wrist now, it’s not a bitter gesture or a longing one as much as it’s affectionate, anticipatory, excited.

“Are you messing with me?”

Satoru frowns. “Not that I know of?”

Atsushi looks more flustered than Satoru has seen him in years. There’s an almost manic gleam in his eyes, and his hair stands on end from how many times he’s rubbed a careless hand through it.

“You’re – “ He hesitates, and lowers his voice. “What do you want from me?”

“Well, I wanted to hold your hand, but I didn’t know it was going to put you through an existential crisis.”

“Don’t,” Atsushi says sharply, and Satoru’s humor fades. “You don’t – get to joke about it. You can’t just go back and forth, that’s not fair. I don’t know what you want.”

Satoru has the sinking feeling he got something terribly, terribly wrong. “I thought – maybe, since you didn’t have a soulmate either, we could – ”

“Wait.” Atsushi says slowly, holding up both hands to stop him mid-word. Then, at length, “What?”

“We’re both,” Satoru says lamely, “you know.”

“No,” is the frank reply, “that’s – have you really? Have you really thought that – “ Atsushi surges across the room, and snatches Satoru by the shoulders, and says, “What did you think your zero counter meant?”

“That – that I didn’t have anybody?” Satoru blinks past the threatening sting of tears, because Atsushi has never been intentionally cruel, and he probably has a reason for throwing this lifelong hurt back in Satoru’s face. “It’s been on zero for as long as I can remember. I never knew who it was supposed to be. It never even fully faded.”

Atsushi is staring at him as though he’s never seen him from this close before. His fingers bite into Satoru’s arm hard enough to hurt. He doesn’t seem willing to let go.

“We met when we were five years old,” he says, very carefully, “on the first day of kindergarten. My timer was on zero when I came home. I remember, because mom and dad made a big deal about it. They were so excited I could have met my other half so early.”

Satoru blinks at him. He remembers that day – he spent hours chasing Atsushi around the playground, sharing snacks and making up games, and didn’t want to go home when Kiyoshi walked over from the elementary school to pick him up at the end of the afternoon.

Is that when it happened?

“I never,” he whispers, and has to stop and scrape the words together before he can try again. “I didn’t notice. I didn’t even know what the numbers meant until – it must have been third grade? Mom never – she didn’t think it was important – “

Atsushi’s eyes have gone ridiculously soft. He lets go of Satoru’s shoulders to touch the sides of his face instead, as carefully as if he was something impossibly precious.

“I,” Satoru tries, but his voice wobbles and breaks apart. “I– “

“I thought you knew,” Atsushi says quietly. “I thought you knew and it wasn’t what you wanted. I thought that’s why you’ve been so miserable, all these years.”

He unclasps the bracelet and Satoru watches from far away, like it’s something happening to someone else. The zeros on his arm aren’t the bright blue of everyone else’s, they’re half color, faded and unsubstantial. He’s never known why, always thought it was broken, but –

“You never knew it was me,” Atsushi says, “you were never sure, so of course they never went away. I should have – I should have said something, I should have – I’m such an idiot. Satchan, I’m so sorry.”

“I made you think I didn’t want you,” Satoru all but sobs, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, “I made you think – you’re my favorite person in the whole world, and I hurt you so much – “

“No you didn’t. I never blamed you for feeling differently, I would never blame you for that. Even if it wasn’t perfect, it was still good.”

“But I – “ Satoru wishes he was brave enough to look at him, but instead he hides behind his hands like a coward. “I didn’t feel differently. You were just – something I couldn’t have – because I didn’t know you were mine.”

For a long moment, his words are greeted by a silence that threatens to deafen him. Then Atsushi is pulling Satoru’s hands away from his face and holding his wrists captive and leaning in to kiss his forehead, his eyelids, the tip of his nose, the corner of his mouth.

As if he’s saying now you know.

“You two are a mess,” Natsume tells them over breakfast two days later, in a perfect deadpan that makes Atsushi snort into his coffee.

Compared to the pretty picture Natsume and Tanuma make – the perfect way they came together the moment they met, the way they move as though they’ve never spent a day apart – yeah, Satoru thinks it’s safe to say he and Atsushi are something of a certified disaster.

He regrets the misunderstanding that caused so much hurt where hurt could have been avoided, and he regrets the sad shadows that lived for so long in Atsushi’s eyes.

But at the same time, Satoru’s been luckier than most – even if five, ten, and fifteen years ago he would never have believed such a thing.

He smiles down at his hands, and rubs the bare skin on his left wrist. Seconds later Atsushi is reaching for him – threading their fingers together, lifting Satoru’s hand, and pressing a kiss to the same spot where all his zeros used to be.

“You’re a good mess, though,” Tanuma amends with no small amount of fondness, and Satoru beams at him.

“The best,” he clarifies boldly, loved and full of love in return.

#natsume yuujinchou #natsuyuu #kitanishi #tanunatsu #kitamoto atsushi #nishimura satoru #soulmate au #i cant believe how sappy this is #or maybe i can #¯\_(ツ)_/¯#my writing #prompt #anonymous #natsuyuu fic

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