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teamxdark · 3 years ago

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He’s Not Here

More masquerade content but what’s this at the end???

In the grand castle ballroom, surrounded by soft golden light and the countless nobles clad in shimmering fabric, King Arthur was so bored he could cry.

This wasn’t what this night should have been; it was a masquerade party, an opportunity to hide away his identity and mingle among the people 一 okay, the nobility, but he would take what he could get 一 like he was a person instead of a king. Finally he had a chance to dance around until his legs ached, to eat food without worrying about the repercussions to his image should he dare speak with his mouth full or use the wrong spoon, to hold conversations that weren’t about politics or finances or how he was doing the best-or-worst job looking after an entire kingdom with a myriad of people with different needs and opinions.

So how was it that, out of everyone in that room, he was stuck listening to some dull-voiced stag drone on and on about the rising price of grain?

“This is why pricing is tricky, you have to account for the pests before you ship it out and…”

Arthur fought the urge to dash away, but the instant he tried, he knew he would give himself away. His speed was renowned throughout the land, alongside his golden armor and brilliant blue spines. Those, at least, he had taken care of; Merlina had spent the better part of an hour adjusting his coloring to a warm orange and growing out his spines to disguise him beyond the limits of a simple mask. She had tried so hard to give him a chance to have a night off without people instantly worrying for his favor or trying to get something from him… only for him to be trapped all over again.

Arthur would have happily made an excuse to leave, if the stag would only let him get a single word in. His conversation “partner” seemed not to need to breathe, droning on and on in an endless monotone, offset by the cheerful music and bright lights and flashy costumes.

I’ll never be free of this.

“And now that the price is rising, it leaves me in a strange spot, you see. On the one hand, I sympathize with the people who cannot afford my wares, but on the other hand, it means more profit for myself and my own family.”

Chaos above, Arthur wished he hadn’t bumped into this man. His fingers tapped restlessly against his leg, mildly quelling the urge he had to just flee, to drop everything and everyone he had ever known and flee into the night and into the unknown.

“Not to mention, the cost of labor--”

“Mind if I cut in?”

Arthur’s head snapped over to the new voice, endlessly relieved at the interruption, though the stag continued to drone on, the odious voice still grating his ears even as the king faced the bold newcomer.

It was a tiger clad in elegant black clothing with silver accents, extending a hand out to him, and even though Arthur was eager to take it and be whisked away from this living nightmare, something about him made him take pause. His eyes took in the white fur streaked with blue, the slowly flicking tail that reminded him of Sir Percival 一 was it common among all cats? 一 and the eyes looking gently back at him.

He trusted those eyes. It was the look that they held, a look that reminded him of…

Arthur mentally slapped himself. He’s not here, he reminded himself as he finally took the hand offered to him.

“Yes, please.”

The tiger seemed to brighten just a fraction at his approval, and he led him away from the trappings of boring conversation to the dancefloor, and Arthur had to try hard not to think about how this felt like being rescued by a knight. Especially not…

He’s not here.

The king was jostled from his thoughts as his new partner started to fit him into a hold, and a brand new anxiety washed down upon him as he tried to remember how to reciprocate the hold. Dancing lessons had never been high on the list of priorities when it came to running a kingdom, and yet somehow Arthur was expected to be able to social dance like a pro when his days were filled from dawn to dusk with meetings and drafting decrees and submitting notices of approval until he passed out on his bed. Arthur swallowed, trying to remind himself that stumbling during a dance was still preferable to listening to that one-sided conversation…

...but his partner didn’t dance like a professional. Well… he did, there was no denying his grace and timing, but he didn’t dance like he expected Arthur to be one as well. The steps were simple, the turns basic, and Arthur’s mind swam in relief as he realized that, somehow, this stranger was leading him through steps that he had managed to pick up on through trial and error.

This chance encounter was proving to be everything he needed.

The stranger led him carefully around the floor, maneuvering slowly around other people rather than weaving expertly between them like so many other couples did. If Arthur closed his eyes, he could easily pretend that he was practicing his basic steps with his brother, or his friends, or his--

He’s not here.

And yet…

Yet it was so easy to picture it, even as the peals of laughter surrounded him and washed into his subconsciousness like a spark of delight for him to enjoy. The strong hold, the careful footwork, the calculated rhythm…

Lancelot…

Arthur’s eyes opened, and though he saw stripes they were the wrong ones, and the bittersweet feeling of missing someone dear to him almost caused him to heave a sigh.

He had it bad, and he knew it. His greatest knight and closest ally and dear friend… Sir Lancelot was beyond compare. From questing as youths to his coronation, and in every disaster thereafter, Lancelot had been there, his pillar of strength in a tumultuous world, always standing nearby to passionately defend him or to spare him a quiet gesture of support. Lancelot had protected him from danger, defended his honor, strived to keep his spirits up for years and years…

Arthur had never considered himself one for romance, but as years went by, Lancelot had claimed more and more of his thoughts, attention and affection until the knight unknowingly held the king’s heart firmly in his hands. Too many times to count had Arthur been struck by the urge to grasp his hands, to sing out the words in his heart to him, to draw him close and see if he could make such a powerful knight’s knees buckle below him with a kiss alone…

One song changed into the next, and Arthur, too swept up in his fantasy, didn’t let go of the stranger, didn’t notice the slight lull in their dance, and so the dream kept going.

Lancelot wasn’t there, but Arthur could lean into this stranger’s hold on him, follow his dance, focus on his attire, concentrate on the energy he exuded, energy that reminded him so strongly of his Lancelot, and Arthur’s mind could so easily turn his dream into something more substantial. An illusion for him to drown in, just like this masquerade offered.

The music kept swelling, the sweet notes tickling his ears and driving him even deeper into his dream like he was in a trance. He kept dancing with the man that reminded him so much of his beloved that a second dance turned into a third, and Arthur clung on to his dream, not even registering that it might seem strange until--

“I mean no offense, but surely there are others who would want to dance with you?”

Arthur blinked, and the dream shattered as the man in his arms shifted back into a stranger. The king’s feet stilled, his gaze dropping to his feet. Arthur had to fight back waves of embarrassment and disgust at himself before he could answer.

“Forgive me, but the way you dance…”

HE’S NOT HERE!

“...it reminds me of someone dear to me.”

“O-Oh.”

His companion seemed at a loss, and Arthur held back another sigh, counting the beats in his head before pulling him along for the next dance, leading him in a very basic, repetitive step around the floor.

“I apologize,” Arthur murmured, knowing that there wasn’t much he could do to salvage the situation. At this point, he could only offer his apologies and an explanation. “I know it’s not fair on you, to imagine you are someone else, but…”

A look of hurt passed over his dance partner’s face, and goodness, even that reminded him painfully of Lancelot.

“...but you remind me so much of him.”

Arthur’s eyes swept over his partner, taking in the paradoxical way that he looked completely unfamiliar and yet he still somehow managed to feel so much like his dear knight. Perhaps the dream hadn’t fled from him quite yet, because now Arthur’s yearning mind was searching for any and every chance to convince himself that this was, somehow, Lancelot whom he was dancing with.

“You dance like he does,” Arthur thought aloud, as his partner remained silent. “Careful and precise.”

Your movements… I know them like I know my own.

“Pardon my asking,” the stranger returned, “but why do you not dance with him tonight?”

Like a weight to his soul that would never truly leave, Arthur’s melancholy came back to embrace him. “Ah… he isn’t here.”

He’s not here he’s not here he’s not here--

“Or at least…”

Arthur looked into the stranger’s eyes, his desperation to go back to his dream nearly choking him with emotion as the tiger’s eyes widened at the sudden look directed at him.

“...I haven’t recognized him, yet.”

Arthur knew it was terrible to put such a fantasy on a stranger at a party, but he wanted so badly to believe that this man was Lancelot. Arthur wanted to believe the ludicrous ideas his mind was supplying him with, that somehow this was Lancelot in front of him, disguised beyond all normal means. The tiger in front of him appeared to fluster, his mouth parting as though wishing to speak, though no words came forth.

“You have stripes like he does, too,” Arthur murmured softly, thoughtfully, and yes, he truly was reaching for every last detail in his pathetic attempt to turn what he had in front of him into what he wanted to see.

“If it pleases you,” the tiger finally said as the third song changed into a fourth one, “I… am not opposed to you pretending that I am he.”

Arthur smiled at that, feeling suddenly hesitant at the idea, now that the stranger, as kind and helpful as he had been, had given him his consent to mentally transform him into someone else, to be a player in this dream of his. It was sad, and unfair, but Arthur knew sadness and injustice. He tried to battle it every day, slowly changing and updating laws as they became outdated, but everything went so slowly and people only kept crying out in pain and Arthur wanted just one day, just one, to take ahold of something that he wanted and to cherish it.

“Thank you,” Arthur whispered as he stepped further into the stranger’s hold, feeling warmth overtake him as he confessed his truth. “I have loved him for a great long time and… perhaps this is the closest I shall get to what I dream of.”

Because that was all this would ever be: a dream.

He’s not here.

Arthur’s eyes closed as his head dipped down to rest on the tiger’s shoulder, a soft smile spreading over his muzzle as he noticed that he was of a similar height to Lancelot, and the dream came back in full swing. Arthur’s arms wrapped around his partner, blocking out any consideration to the lack of spines on his back, and the king focused on his heartbeat as it hammered in and out of sync with the other’s.

“I understand the sentiment,” his partner whispered in response, and Arthur had to hold back what was either a laugh or a sob, morphing it into a hum on its way out.

You speak like him, too.

And so the king held his partner as tightly and tenderly as he would a lover, humming along to the song as the masquerade around him faded into nothing. There was nothing, nothing in his dream, but himself and his Lancelot as they spun around slowly.

He’s here. He’s here, I can feel it.

Arthur’s dream permeated his mind, overtaking his consciousness, and as the fourth song faded into oblivion, he finally let out the sigh he had been carrying all night.

“Lancelot…”

Two pairs of feet stilled as both parties realized what had just been said, and one final word jolted the king from his dream.

“A… Arthur?”

He was here all along.

#Smash speaks.#Arthurlot.#satbk #I DID IT I WROTE SOMETHING AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.#No editing we write and post and pass out.

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yoonjinkooked · 4 years ago

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CHEMISTRY | JHS (3)

PART 3 - ONE KISS

(pls ignore my old URL, i’m too lazy to change it now RIP)

DRABBLE SERIES, TONS OF SHORT LITTLE CHAPTERS.

SERIES MASTERLIST Pairing: Hoseok / Reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: FWB, university AU, smut (a bit of a slowburn)

Warnings: cursing, alcohol, hot Hoseok who knows what he wants, kissing (is that a warning), the deal is almost made, JK has a bad music taste (not really tho)

Word Count: 5k

Summary: After a few years of being immune to Jung Hoseok’s charms, you suddenly fall into them, head first. All it takes is one night, too much alcohol and a lot of balls.

A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts since OCTOBER and i finally edited it today because I can’t f-ing get Jung Hoseok out of my head. Sigh. Let me know what you think! I’m balancing this story with others and I hope I’ll have an update for you soon!

As the days passed one by one you knew that the luxury of avoiding Hoseok is going to escape your grasp soon. Frankly, it’s a miracle you’ve been able to avoid him as long as you have and with Yoongi’s birthday this weekend, you know your lucky streak will break soon.

You didn’t expect it to break before that, not really. But here you were, minding your own business, studying on campus in a makeshift picnic setting and taking in the first proper rays of sunshine of the year, when he popped up from the tree behind you, very clearly cornering you.

And scaring the living daylights out of you too, as you end up clutching your chest and cursing at him while he laughed his ass off at the sight of you freaked out. “You nearly killed me, you idiot. Was it worth it?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” he laughs as he plops down on the grass next to you, completely casual, as if nothing between you has changed. To be fair, perhaps it hasn’t, in his eyes. “Let’s be honest here Y/N, I had to ambush you. You’ve been avoiding me for days,” he emphasises and although you wish you could call him out for being overly dramatic, you couldn’t. Leave it to Jung Hoseok to not beat around the bush and call you out directly.

“It wasn’t that bad,” you mumble, not even bothering to try and deny. That makes him laugh, a sound that sounds so misplaced in your current setting. It feels wrong to openly discuss the awkwardness that has formed between you while he is literally laughing at it.

“You ran out of the cafeteria the other day so fast, Namjoon is still calling you Speedy Gonzales,” he jokes, laughing harder when you curse that traitor under your breath. At least he is joking around with you. You wish he would ignore it altogether, but it could be worse.

“I’m sorry,” you let out a groan, consciously avoiding making direct eye contact with him. “You know I can get awkward like this. It’s not your fault, it’s… all me.”

“Y/N, come on,” he leans closer to you and nudges your shoulder with his. “It’s me you’re talking to. There’s not a single reason to avoid me. We are both consensual adults who wanted to make out at a party. It’s as simple as that.”

This time, you turn and give him a good look, unsurprised to find a content smile on his face. He is bright and positive just like he always is, to the point of it being both annoying and overbearing at times. He has always been a great friend but there were times when his positivity and energy were too much for a grumpy ol’ potato of a person that you are 24/7. Now, however, you are glad for it. Unlike you, he obviously wasn’t beating himself too much about what had happened between you.

“So, what you’re saying is that you’re not feeling awkward and I shouldn’t either?” you ask.

“Exactly,” he shrugs. “You are… one hell of a kisser,” his eyes widen in a way that makes it seem like he is shocked by how good of a kisser you are.

“Hoseok, please,” you hiss at him, not even caring if he was telling you the truth or lying to spare your confidence. You are embarrassed and he knows it well.

“I mean it!” he laughs, amused by your sudden shyness – it’s a side of you your friends are not used to seeing, simply because you don’t normally do shit you’re ashamed of, at least not when they are directly involved. And if you do, more often than not, you own up to your bullshit. You’ve had your fair share of moments that would normally be counted as humiliating, only to brush them off casually and move on with your life. Not this one, though.

“You need to stop,” you laugh awkwardly, hoping that this conversation will simply end. “I was drunk, I came onto you way too strong and I am pretty sure I used way too much tongue.”

“If you think that I didn’t find it hot how confident you were that night, I’m afraid you don’t know me well,” he bites back. You are instantly shocked, not imagining him taking the conversation in that direction and also shocked by the nature of his admission too - Hoseok always struck you as more of a hunter than prey. You didn’t exactly keep track of his hook-ups but you were fairly sure that he was the one who initiated them more often than not. “And for the record, it was the perfect amount of tongue.”

Oh good lord. If you knew he would say the things he is saying, you would have tried desperately to avoid him for… well, the rest of your life, really.

“Please stop before I dig a hole for myself, right here, right now.”

“Why are you acting so shy about this Y/N?” he is laughing, once again nudging you with your shoulder, which only makes it more obvious to you how close you are sitting next to each other. Before, you wouldn’t bat an eye. Now, it’s driving you mad. “You know me, I don’t bite. Not unless you want me to, that is,” he adds cheekily.

“Oh, I noticed, my neck had a lovely little souvenir,” you reply before you could realize what you were even saying. There’s no way he’ll let it go now and the worst part is, you don’t even want him to. You’re saying that you do but in reality, you yourself are finding ways to deepen the conversation. This whole thing is crazy and… wrong! “Why are you making it sound like you want to do it again?” you whine, wishing he would just be up for forgetting about it.

“Well… I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”

You turn your head towards him so fast, you strain your neck and wince in pain, reaching at it with your hand. “Are you okay?” he asks, wide-eyed and worried, as he watches you rub your neck and grimace in pain.

“Am I okay? Are you okay?” you counter, completely floored by the words that left his mouth seconds ago. You have avoided him because you’re an awkward idiot, not because you thought that he’d be up for a re-run. “Did you just suggest what I think you suggested?”

“To be fair, I didn’t suggest it, I simply said that I wouldn’t be opposed to it,” he shrugs.

“Hoseok,” you glare at him, making him laugh. Even now, he laughs.

“I mean… why not?” he shrugs casually and all you can do is stare and blink dumbly at him, reminding yourself that you’re supposed to breathe, too. “If that party showed us anything, it’s that we definitely have chemistry that… goes beyond friendship. I’m not looking for anything serious and as far as I know, you aren’t either,” he continues and after a few seconds of silence, you realize that he’s waiting for some sort of a response from you. Unsure of what to say, you simply nod your head - after all, it is true. You are not looking for a relationship, not after the last two ended in tears and you drowned in vodka and chocolate ice cream. “Why not… take advantage of the opportunity?”

“I’m gonna need you to elaborate on what that opportunity is,” you’re not sure why you are even asking him that, when you know damn well what he is implying. You suppose that it would settle the last remains of doubt if you were to hear him say it more directly.

“Two single, and if I may add, incredibly good looking, friends who want, or in our case, don’t want the same things,” he cocks his head to the side, a small smile on his face. He looks way too cute for someone who is suggesting you sex with no added obligations. If you are not terribly mistaken and he has something else entirely on his mind. “Why not take advantage of the situation? And the chemistry - holy hell Y/N, you know we have it.”

He’s… absolutely right. Despite being drunk, you can clearly remember how… feverish you felt that night. You just wanted to keep kissing him, annoyed when you had to part for one second to simply breathe. If you had one more drink in you or if there had been fewer people around you, you’re not sure if the night would end with the two of you fully clothed. You have amazing chemistry as friends and you felt the sexual side of it that night. It would be stupid to deny it when you know well how rare it is to simply click with someone in the manner that the two of you had clicked that night.

“We do… but we’re also friends. And you know how shitty deals like these can end,” you point out the obvious. There are millions of books and movies about how ‘friends with benefits’ is a horrible, terrible idea because there’s an incredibly high chance of it ending in tears. “One of us could end up taking that chemistry to the next level and catch feelings. I’m not good in chemistry – I’m an art history major for a reason,” you joke, relieved when it actually makes him chuckle.

“That’s a good point. But we’re also really good friends, Y/N. We know each other well and we talk. If it would become too much for one of us, we could simply… talk. And I’m not suggesting anything… specific. I’m not here saying we should hook up until one of us decides they want to move on,” he tells you.

“Dude, you’re confusing as fuck,” you sigh, laughing along with him. “What are you suggesting then?”

“I’m just saying,” he grunts as he stands up, pausing to wipe down his jeans, while you make a conscious effort of not looking down because... thighs. “The next time you’re drunk, horny or bored, or even all of the above, you know where to find me.”

He looks down at you, the smile gracing his face slowly turning into the tiniest of smirks, before he gives you a wink. And with that, he simply turns around and walks away, leaving you with your mouth open, looking like a complete idiot while you try to figure out what the fuck just happened.

Nah, you know damn well what just happened. You have enough dating and flirting escapades behind you to recognize the look of someone who’d be happy to fuck you. The particular someone being Jung Hoseok is what is leaving you absolutely shocked and at a loss for words. As honored as you are and as much as the offer is… incredibly tempting, this is not something you can decide on the spot.

No, because you’re a dumbass. Of course you can’t decide this on the spot but you could decide in a matter of seconds that you want to stick your tongue down his throat and let him grab your ass while you grind on him as if your life depended on it. You weren’t expecting this turn of events and unsurprisingly, you have no idea what you should do about it. It’s tempting, in all the wrong ways, but it is also making alarm bells in your head go off. It could easily end in tears - the real question is, would it be worth it?

It took three full songs for you to start wondering if you have stepped through a time machine when you’ve entered Seokjin’s house. How Jungkook managed to convince Yoongi to let him DJ at his birthday party was a mystery that you at first ignored, but by the time he played that one Nicole Scherzinger and 50 Cent song, you’ve decided to investigate. “How much did you pay him to let you DJ?” you laugh at your friend, who looks up at you and grins, dancing in place with his trusty neon green Beats around his neck.

“Come here baby, hey be my baby, hey be my baby,” he sings at you, making you roll your eyes.

“Fuck Jungkook, please don’t drop out of school, you need that degree more than you know,” you say as you offer a comforting pat on his back.

“For your information, the theme of the party is ‘guilty pleasure’,” he announces with a proud smile. “And Nicole just so happens to be mine.”

“You and me both,” you admit with a huff, turning around to scan the room in the search of Jin - you’ve been looking for him for the past couple of minutes, with no luck. “Did you see Seokjin? He went to make me a drink with the gin from his expensive stash, but it’s been like… half an hour?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook nods, pointing behind you. “He’s right there with Hobi.”

Those were the only words you needed to hear in order to know what you must do next – hide. You did not bother checking, you did not look back – you simply dropped down to the ground and plopped your ass right next to Jungkook’s feet. “Y/N, what the hell are you doing?” your friend laughs, looking down at you in disbelief. “Are you still hiding from Hobi?”

“No, I’m sitting here because the view of your thighs is nice,” you roll your eyes. “Of course I’m hiding from Hobi! I’m not mentally prepared to deal with him right now. Although, you do have weirdly muscular thighs,” you add absentmindedly - what is it with them and thighs? First Hoseok, now him - do they only do leg days when they hit the gym?

“Stop,” Jungkook laughs down at you. “Are you seriously planning on running from him forever?”

“Not forever,” you shrug casually. “Until the end of the year, maybe.”

“I mean, I can’t stop you… but you do realize that if he finds you here, it’s going to look like you were giving me a blowjob or something?” he pointed out, eliciting another casual shrug from you.

“Good. He’ll think I’m busy and leave me alone,” you offer Jungkook an angelic smile. He knows better than to push you – when you want to, you can be stubborn as all hell and sadly, Jungkook’s has plenty of experience with being on the receiving end of said stubbornness.

You know what he’s thinking – you can tell from the way he shakes his head and decides to ignore your presence by his feet while he focuses his attention to that god-awful playlist of his – you know exactly what he’s thinking and he has a point. You’re pathetic. A coward. An idiot.

You have shamelessly lied to yourself earlier tonight, as you were getting ready for the party. You’ve told yourself, repeatedly, that you are ready to face Jung Hoseok, despite not knowing what your answer is to his suggestion from a few days ago. You have convinced yourself that you were ready to face him. Seeing as you're hiding behind a damn desk, just meters away from him, it’s pretty obvious that you are not.

He hasn’t left your head in days, to the point of even appearing in your dreams, even if he was just on the sidelines. For years, you have been blind to all the gifts Jung Hoseok has to give, and now they’re slapping you in the face all day long.

You want him, that much you’re ready to admit. Definitely to yourself, perhaps even to him. But are you willing to put an entire friendship on the line and go through with that desire? That’s not a question you know the answer to. For the time being, you will just… keep on hiding behind the makeshift DJ booth, until Jungkook informs you that the coast is clear.

“We’re drinking that whiskey tomorrow, got it?” Yoongi asks, referring to the birthday gift you’ve given him earlier, which he had to hide in one of Seokjin’s spare bedrooms, given that the house is full of people who’d drink anything that’d fall into their hands. “You and me, tomorrow night, drinking back at my place. Let’s make it fancy. Wear a beret or something.”

“Why would I wear a beret while drinking whiskey?” you laugh in confusion. “What’s the correlation?”

“Both are fancy,” Yoongi shrugs and after a few seconds, so do you. If he wants to drink expensive whiskey whilst wearing a beret, that’s what you’re going to do. Having a drink or two with Yoongi, in almost complete silence, has become sort of a tradition for the two of you. Compared to the rest of your friend group, you and Yoongi are the quieter, less social ones. How you wound up in a circle of friends that include permanent hyper bunny Jungkook and Mr. Loudest-Laugh-Ever Jin was beyond you.

“Can I join?” you hear Joon’s booming voice. He approaches the two of you, throwing a hand around your shoulder. Glaring, you grab a hold of his hand and move it away from you, watching as Yoongi laughs in confusion at your open hostility towards Namjoon.

“Not you,” you point a finger at him accusingly. “I’m still pissed at you. You haven’t gotten to your redemption ark yet.”

“What did you do now?” Yoongi sighs, looking at Namjoon as if you were not in the middle of the conversation with him.

“I teased her about hiding from Hobi,” Namjoon announces with a shit eating grin. “Guess Speedy Gonzales here doesn’t like to hear the truth.”

“Oh, I’m absolutely avoiding Hoseok,” you admit shamelessly – it’s become obvious now, why would you bother to deny? “I just don’t want to talk about it and you can be one pushy bitch when you really want to.”

“You’re both idiots,” Yoongi shakes his head, sighing. “I truly wonder why I’m friends with you?”

“Well, I buy you good whiskey. Dunno what’s his excuse,” you offer Namjoon one last glare. Deciding you’ve had enough of his judgment and teasing for one night, you beeline towards one of your two safety nets – Sana. As good of a cover Jungkook was, you didn’t want to cockblock the poor boy all night, and he has been talking with some freshman for the last couple of songs. Sana, being practically your only female friend in existence would definitely be more willing to help you out, but by the time you’re halfway towards her, you notice that she is talking to a senior she’s had a crush on pretty much since you’ve met her.

Brilliant. You can either find a new cover or be a cockblocking friend. Whatever you decide to do, you need a drink first. Settling for cheap gin this time around, you venture into the kitchen, ready to get wasted and cursing under your breath at Jungkook’s horrible taste in music, as you are forced to listen to Ginuwine’s ‘Pony’ at full blast.

One more drink and it’ll be socially acceptable for you to leave the party. You’ve stuck around for long enough, even managing to enjoy yourself a little bit. Not enough though, not compared to the tension that you’ve been feeling in your gut even before you got here.

“Hi.”

If you were holding your drink, you would have dropped it. Even the sound of his voice is enough to make a shiver run down your spine. Closing your eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath, you muster enough strength to turn around and face him.

Nope, that wasn’t enough strength. You needed more. You needed more to face Jung Hoseok, in ripped skin tight jeans, a black shirt with a v neck, messy hair and a smirk on his face, casually leaning on the wall next to the kitchen door. You could have taken an hour to collect yourself and prepare for your pending doom, and it would not be enough to prepare you for the Hoseok you were facing now. Especially when he is smirking at you, looking at you like he knows exactly what thoughts are roaming around your head. Add to that the horrible soundtrack courtesy of Jungkook, and you are overcome with a sudden wish to die, right here, right now.

“You’ve been avoiding me again,” he points out the obvious.

“And you’re cornering me again,” you argue back, hoping that he didn’t notice you gulping, literally gulping.

“I’m not cornering you,” he chuckles. Your eyes go wide when he stands up straight, no longer leaning on the wall. Slowly, he starts walking towards you and you walk backwards right into the table, no longer having room for an escape. He stops in front of you but he’s too close, too close for comfort, to the point of you being able to see a single freckle on his nose, despite having a decent amount of alcohol in your system already.

“Oh no,” you suddenly move to the right, towards the door, towards your escape. “Stay away from me, Satan!”

“Satan?” he laughs in disbelief.

“Yeah, Satan,” you confirm without a second thought, looking at him up and down. “Did you look into the mirror before you left your house? You’re sex on legs, Hoseok. So yeah. Satan.”

“For someone who’s about to run for the exit, the words you’re saying are making me think you don’t really want to do that,” he laughs, although he doesn’t step any closer to you. As ready as you were to call him Satan just seconds ago, you see his true good self shining through. He’s chasing you, very obviously so, but he is not pushing you too far and you know that he’ll recognize if he actually should step away. He doesn’t want to literally make you run in the opposite direction and the space he leaves between you is confirmation of that.

“You think I don’t want to run?” you ask and immediately he nods. “Maybe. You’re here. You’re hot. For some reason I can’t fathom, you want something with me. That’s inviting, yet very scary at the same time.”

“And do you want something with me?” he asks, no longer smirking.

“Honestly? Yes and no,” you answer, cursing yourself in your mind – alcohol always makes you talk more than you should. But in this case, maybe that’s exactly what you need - just a little bit of honesty. “I’m attracted to you, you’re an amazing kisser and we’re both single. Why not? And the answer to that question is simple - we’re friends. There’s… way too much at risk here, Hobi.”

“We’re better than that,” he shakes his head immediately. “We’re not stupid, horny teenagers. We know each other well. We’d be mature enough to stay friendly, or at the very least cordial, no matter what happens.”

Both of you do have a reputation of remaining friendly with your exes. Except for your last one, but that’s a story you don’t wish to revisit, especially not tonight. Broken hearts mend with time, people grow, find others and life goes on. If you set the terms the way you both want them, in theory, it truly doesn’t have to end in tears.

“What exactly are you offering me? And miss me with that ‘whatever you want’ bullshit you offered me the other day,” you interrupt him, chuckling when he closes his mouth dumbly, obviously having been ready to say just that. “Do you want to make out? Do you want to fuck me? Once or on a regular basis? To kill time until someone better comes along or in the hopes of it becoming more? I can’t make a decision if you don’t tell me exactly what you want, Hoseok,” you tell him. You were honest with him and now, it’s his turn.

“I want you.”

“Effective, but not effective enough,” you mumble, ignoring the stirring in your stomach that started as he said those words with… earnesty, with meaning. Hearing that you are wanted is always a good fluff up for an ego, but to hear it said like that, dead seriously, by someone you find incredibly attractive? It’s so good, it’s borderline painful.

“I’ll take what you give,” he shrugs casually. “What do you want?” he throws the question back at you. Shameless is what he is.

“A husband, two kids, two dogs and a house with a white picket fence?” you joke.

“Y/N,” he glares playfully at you, laughing. “You might want that down the road but do you really want that now?”

“God no,” you snort in response.

“So what do you want now?” he asks again. “It can be a one-time thing. It can be regular. As you said, we can kill time until someone better comes along,” he rolls his eyes at the phrase, obviously not liking the sound of it. “It doesn’t have to be sex, for all I care. We can just fool around at parties. Or we can pretend like none of this ever happened and just continue being just friends,” he shrugs.

“When you say it like that I wonder if you even want anything from me,” you laugh.

“Y/N, I have barely been able to stop thinking about kissing you ever since that night,” he deadpans, looking straight at you, not a trace of teasing or joking on his face. “Which was pretty horrible, seeing as you’ve been avoiding me and I had a molecular biology paper to finish. I do want you, probably more than you realize or want to accept. And I’m taking whatever it is that you offer. If I had my pick, we’d be friends that… occasionally become more than that.”

“So, to put it in simple terms, you want a friends with benefits thing with me?” you ask.

“Yes. But if you don’t want that, I’ll respect it and stick to it. You’re my friend, Y/N,” he smiles at you and it’s almost calming to be on the receiving end of his genuine smile and not that evil smirk that does things to you. “I’m not losing that friendship if I want to fuck and you don’t. So… whatever you want to do, that’s the way it’s going to be.”

Here you are again, faced with an opportunity that you know will likely end badly for you, perhaps even both of you at once. And again you wonder, if all the possible negatives are worth it - worth of finally succumbing to this sudden and overwhelming desire you feel for Hoseok. Turning his offer into reality… is it worth it?

“I need to think about it,” you close your eyes, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I’m not thinking straight right now. I’m not wasted, I’m just… hazed. Horny. However you want to call it. And I don’t trust my judgment around you right now. If we go through with this, I need to have a clear head when making the final decision.”

“Take all the time you need,” when you open your eyes, he’s smiling at you still. “I do have two tiny requests, though.”

“Shoot.”

“Please stop hiding from me. It’s weird and I think you’re scaring Jungkook,” he grimaces.

“You saw that?!”

“Of course I did,” he laughs. “It was cute.”

“Stop!” you order him.

“Okay, okay, I’m stopping,” he lifts his hands up as if he’s surrendering. “I’m pretending you didn’t duck and hide when you heard I was around,” he laughs. The fucker knows how embarrassing it is for you and he’s enjoying every second of it.

“What’s the second request?” you ask, desperately wanting to change the topic.

“Would you let me kiss you again?” he asks.

“Hoseok…” both your words and eyes are warning, as it’s going directly against what you want right now - a clear head. Kissing him would muddle it all, you know it. Not to mention how easier it would be to take things a notch further, given that you both know now that you want more.

“Just one kiss,” he elaborates. “It’s not gonna turn into a kitchen make out session or something more. And if you don’t want it, it’s not happening. We’ll never do something you don’t want, Y/N. You know me, I’m not like that.”

You do know him and you clearly remember him refusing you at first because he thought you might have had too much to drink and were acting out. You didn’t, you were well aware of what you were doing. Yes, you had no idea why you were doing it but your actions were not a drunken side-effect. Not then and not now. And damn it, you really want to kiss him again.

“One kiss,” you lift your hand in warning, but that was enough for him. He takes a few steps and closes the distance between you – was he being deliberately slow or were you imagining things, you’re not sure. All you know is, it lasted enough for your heart to start going into overdrive even before your lips met his.

It’s just a kiss, but at the same time, it isn’t. He’s not grinding against you, he’s not groping you, he’s not taking it anywhere it shouldn’t go. His hands are in place on your waist, gentler than you remember them being the last time. He’s respectful and careful, in every way except with the actual kiss. Before you even get to mentally prepare yourself for it, he parts your lips with his and tongue meets yours.

You’re the one who moves. You’re the one who threatens to take this further than it should go, as you put your hands around his neck and run your fingers through his hair, pressing your body just a bit closer to his.

It’s his fault. His kiss made you do it. He’s way too good of a kisser for his own good.

Thankfully, the one who initiated it is also the one who pulls away. Breathless and with eyes on your lips, Hobi moves away, letting your hands drop out of his hair as he keeps a safe distance.

“One kiss,” he repeats your earlier words. “Until you tell me you want more.”

Yeah, it meddled with your mind. Despite telling him you need more time to think about it, you know it’s already settled in your mind. You’ll definitely be coming back for more.

#hoseok series #hoseok fic #hoseok smut #hoseok fwb #hoseok x reader #hoseok x y/n #btswritingcafe #bangtanarmynet #btshoneyhive #thebtswritersclub

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hot-cocoa-addict · 2 years ago

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nanowrimo 2022

hi i just wanted to announce that i wrote a lot of words. i cannot remember if i even mentioned that consequences started as a nano project and was supposed to be just 50k words (that did not happen lmao). more details under the cut as i’m writing this at 12:30 am after an 8k day and so i’m just gonna word vomit about this

okay, so, for starters this is my third nano year ever and in a row. i have actually won both years previously, but always with a very desperate last push to get over the line and usually just barely before midnight. there was a rush to update with 10 minutes left on the clock here in the PNW, but not to hit 50k.

i hit 50k all the way back on the 18th of november, and in the 12 days after that i nearly doubled my word count and my goal. i hit my three highest single day word counts this year, that being: 6,130 words on the 1st; 7,306 on the 28th; and 8,087 words yesterday on the 30th. i went into this year’s nano with three goals in mind. One, and most importantly: get the fucking consequences rewrite started because i did NOT handwrite around 17k words over the month of october for my damn story outline only to not go anywhere. Two: hit 50k this year and continue my winning streak. Three, if possible: get every badge on a project for the first time by writing at least 1667 words every day. i did all three

this was not easy. i was really lucky to a) have the musical i’m in be pushed back from opening in the first week of december to opening the the second weekend of january. if this had not happened i would have been writing through tech week and as a lead in the show i’m in i simply would have not had the time. b) had very light workloads in all of my classes and my creative writing class being dedicated solely to working on nanowrimo. no my teacher does not know i wrote fanfiction and no she does not get to know. c) had a ton of support from the two local regions whose borders i technically straddle. it’s a whole thing i’m not getting into because i am not telling a bunch of internet strangers where i live, sorry guys :( this was a really long post ik but i just needed to vomit it out somewhere because i feel like this is an accomplishment worth sharing? also i’m really sorry to announce that chapter 3 ain’t going up until i finish chapter 4 and although i promise i’m really close to finishing chapter 4 i’m not letting myself touch it for the next few days. actually that brings me to another point i’m sorry this is all stream of consciousness and i cannot be effed to edit it right now but! most surprising thing of overachieving this hard?? i actually really want to write right now and am likely going to have to actively force myself to take a break for at least the next day or so. i’m not proud of everything i wrote this month but i wrote a lot that i am proud of and everything that’s on my doc feels good to me right now. For anyone else who did NaNoWriMo this year and actually read to the end of the post, I have one last heartfelt message to y’all. No matter who you are, no matter where you come from or what you do, no matter what goal you started out the month with and no matter whether it changed or not. No matter if you wrote 1k, 10k, 25k, 50k or even beyond that, you did it. You got through November. You got through NaNoWriMo. You wrote words that no one else could have, You created something else no one could have. Whatever you wrote is uniquely yours, and you took a first step that so many people never took just by writing your story down. Whether you finished your story or, like me, still have a long ways to go from where you are now, you did something beautiful and so very impressive. And if there is no one else in your life who appreciates your accomplishments, then know that I do. The first draft might suck, but that’s okay! Twice now I’ve completely thrown away my previous year’s draft; only now that I am on a third year with a third draft do I feel this that my story is actually close to about as good as it’ll get. It may take you many more drafts than me to find the version of your story you like best, but know that there will always be people out there looking forward to reading what you write. for anyone else who read this far i love you <3 (platonically) and i want you to know that even if you don’t write, if you create anything so much of what i said can apply to you too (the broad points, not the specific stuff about writing). creation of any kind is beautiful and incredible. and for any non-creative types who see this, don’t worry! you’re wonderful and have your own place in this world of ours. i really wish i had more to say to y’all who don’t do nano but im very sleepy and, again, am coming off of an 8k day already so my brain is kinda empty rn ngl. i’m gonna get this tagged and go to bed now as i’m finishing this post at about 1:00 am my time and may or may not have school in the morning if it snows again

#nanowinner2022 #nanowrimo #nanowrimo2022 #nano 2022 #overachiever #long post #ramblings #like 12:30-1:00 am kind of ramblings #this might be incoherent i apologize in advance #definitely a bit of a brag #i say bit like i didn't nearly double my goal but i'm more just trying to share my achievement #i'd get more into the reasoning but as i try to type it i realize it is for my therapist and not random strangers on the internet #that probably sounds worse than it is #also some (hopefully) encouraging words for other people who did nanowrimo under the cut near the bottom #some of this probably won't make sense if you don't know i'm a fic author #so there now you know i write fanfiction for the hell of it #almost 100k words of fanfiction in a month ig #god how does anyone write this much i still can't believe it #and i want to write more??#okay i'm going to bed now #like i really need to learn to shut up in the tags too #swear it's like writing a whole other post down here #someone needs to stop me #some day. maybe

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binniesthighs · 4 years ago

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hello stranger | reader x changbin |

a/n: hehe hello cuties, before i get to the chapter, I just wanted to say thank you so much for all of the support and lovely messages you that you sent to me for the last chapter. as I said, it was one that was super personal to me and for it to be so relatable and emotional for you all makes my heart feel so, so full. these themes are going to continue, so please read the warnings cuties. as always, thank you so very much for reading my stories <3

Part 6

Pairing: self insert, female reader x seo changbin, female reader x han jisung

Genre: strangers to lovers, fluff, smut, angst

Tags: (of this part) college au, rapper!changbin, rapper!jisung, establishedfwb!jisung, artist!reader, skz side characters, bestfriend!chan, bestfriend!felix, roommate!minho, explicit language, HARD fluff to HARD angst, some sensual-azz fuckin’ (muhaha), unprotected sex (stay safe cuties!), lil bit of breath play, nipple play (f), cumshot, mentions of food, changbin has a cute butt (that’s the tweet)

CWs: aftereffects of traumatic experiences, mentions of past toxic relationship, self sabotaging tendencies

Word count: 6.6k (remember when i said i wasn’t gonna write long chapters? wellllll...ooP)

Chapters

When you were back in high school, before you knew a thing about what love was, your Art teacher had given you an assignment: what do you think that love looks like? At first, all you had really known love to be was the kind that you shared with your friends and your parents, and maybe with your family dog. You had read about love in your favorite books and seen it in your favorite movies, but you had never really considered what it looked like. Obviously, the assignment was all up for you to decide, but there being a million and one things that you considered love to be, to put it to paper with your own hand was something different entirely.

At first, when you thought of love, you thought of the typical: hearts, hugs, the colors red and pink. But, this was too simple.

“What are you drawing?” You had sneakily whispered to your classmate.

She shrugged, and continued scratching away at her sketchbook. You had peeked to see what she was putting together, and for her, she had started to draw what looked like a house on the edge of a lake. The house was in the middle of nowhere and it was surrounded by trees of all different kinds and there was a single bench that sat at the edge of the water.

You figured, love can be a place, so you started drawing that.

Your pencil swiped over the paper in strokes big and small, and the lead rubbed off on the side of your pinky as you outlined the corners of your apartment building.

You thought, I love the people who live here, therefore, this must be love.

It made sense. People and places could make up love.

When you turned in your drawing of your apartment building you were surprised to see the variety of other paintings and drawings that the other students had turned in. One student had turned in a whole piece that had been drawn with oil pastel. It was a jumbling of colors: mostly red, as you had expected, but it also held streaks of gold, black and teal. You remember your teacher really liking that one.

Today, if you would’ve gotten that assignment, it would’ve been completely different.

It was a sunny afternoon when you sat at your easel with your pencil in hand. Drawing out the mere outline and rough draft, tears welled in your eyes. A long time ago you had promised yourself that if your art didn’t mean anything, what even was it?

The sun filled your room in the golden hour of the day best it could from your frosted glass window. The warmth that the rays held made your whole body swell with a warmth, and it gave your shaking arms the power to keep going.

You brushed lightly over the rough canvas with your pencil, tracing out the lines as if they were the very memories that you had kept painted in your mind.

You drew a snowy night, not much unlike the ones that you had been seeing recently. You drew an empty alley, not lit by much light. You drew the way that the oil slicked in potholes mixed with the snow. You planned out the way that the industry of the city lit his back as he stared out into that dark expanse where you knew that darker figures were hiding. You drew him. You drew him on that exact same night that you had fist seen him: a dark outline, who would become full of color.

╚ ——————————————— ╝

“What’s that?”

Changbin pointed to your easel with a sheet draped over it.

“A surprise.” You answered. “I know that I’m not good with surprises, but, are you?”

“I don’t mind them.” He chuckled. “For me?”

“Mmhm. Its not ready yet so you’ll have to wait.”

“I’m fine with waiting.” He sighed out.

You nuzzled closer into his bare chest, right up to his heartbeat. Both of you were admittedly a bit dewy in your sweaty afterglow, but this was of no concern to you. These past few days, this had been your preferred way to drift off to sleep. Even on the occasional times when the both of you would be too busy to make the time, when you finally could see him, it was everything to you. In his large and muscled arms, there was no place else where you had felt safer. You too wrapped your whole being around him with a feeling so close it must’ve been unreal. If you could hear the muffled little rhythm of his heartbeat, you were sure that he could hear yours.

“Soon, all this snow is gonna melt, and then I can take you to loads of other places. I’m just getting started.” Changbin’s airy breath tickled your scalp.

“Really? Taking me to all the usual places?” You mocked.

“No.” He said seriously. “I want to take you to places I haven’t taken anyone before. My secret places. I...you know...wouldn’t mind if you could draw them for me either.”

You giggled, “Ever heard of taking a picture?”

“Hey! It’s not the same.”

“Fineee. Okay, okay. I’ll draw them for you.” Your fingertips traced down the muscles of his back. “Maybe I should start charging if you’re gonna keep being like this.”

“You don’t do pro-bono?” He ran along with your joke.

“If you ask nicely, maybe I’ll consider it.”

He tsked, “Could you please draw for me?”

You masked another adoring chuckle. “I do like it when you say please.”

Everything about the one moment felt so sickly sweet, it was like you must’ve dreamt it up. In between the swaddling of sheets, you tried your best to enjoy the one moment: it was just enough to keep the doubtful whispers away. After all that he had done, said, all the pain that he had kissed away, or compliments he had hushed into your ear, the creeping feeling that you hardly deserved it all would rear it’s head time and again, even when you didn’t expect it to.

The two of you were quiet for a moment as you fell into the serenity of just existing together. After a while, you would narrow your focus best on the way that his breaths would rise and fall and the way this his body heat would melt into yours under the mess of sheets that neither of you bothered to fix. He would use his thumb to rub reassuring little strokes into the back of your neck where he had you.

Your hand would fall down his arm, all the way down this wrist where his scar lived. Ever since you had noticed it, you couldn’t stop looking at it. Every time that you did, you were given a tangible reminder of everything that he had been, and was, to you. You rose the uneven skin to your lips to gift a little kiss to it.

Changbin tried his best to hide his giddy smirk at the action.

“Do you have to leave tonight?” You settled his arm around you once more.

“No. Not tonight. But, for the next few days I don’t think I’ll be able to. They put me on the matinee shifts at the theater. I fucking hate those. No one comes in at all so it’s like I’m just sitting there.”

“Wanna sneak me in some time this week? I should have a break.”

“I would but...I’d prefer to keep that job. As much as I hate it.”

“We could do something this Thursday? You aren’t busy on Thursdays as much right?”

“Ahhhh I think so.” Changbin rolled the two of you over, allowing himself to lean over top of you. With a sly smirk he lowered his voice to say, “You know, my ribs really aren’t hurting as much any more.”

“Oooh? Good to know.” You ruffled his curly strands.

“I’m trying to say that I can go for another round if you would like to?” He bowed his head to kiss lightly into your neck and the fading love bites that he had put there himself.

Your eyes wandered to your clock telling you that it was nearly 2 in the morning. If you had better judgement, you would’ve said no. But, these days, judgement wasn’t something that you took too seriously.

He kissed down deeper, and pulled at your skin just in the way that he knew you liked it. Changbin knew the ins and outs of you perfectly, as well as exactly what to do send you quivering under him. All he had to do was press his body into yours so you could feel his weight, and it made you fold just for him. He followed his kisses up your jaw where he then lead them into your bottom lip and over every angle that your mouth would crave him. He often didn’t mean to do it intentionally, but between your parted mouths, his tongue would sneakily find yours, and he would slowly slide it against yours.

“Do you want to?” He muttered between kisses.

Under the covers, his hand cascaded down your side in a way that tickled slightly, but also made you shiver.

He broke from his kiss to hold your eyes seriously. “We don’t have to.”

“No, I want to.” You reached up to hold his sleepy and puffy face in your hands.

Changbin said nothing more, but instead returned to weaving kisses back down your neck. Under your waist, you felt him angle up your hips higher and the heat of his tip teased at your entrance still slick with your arousal from before, and now renewed. He bowed his head down to your chest to pump himself with a few muffled grunts. After, he rose his head to hold your eyes with his own. The muscles on his arms flared where he held himself up, and those adorable little stretch marks in the corners of his arms moved with them.

“God, you’re so beautiful.”

You melted under his compliment. No matter who many times he had said it, you still weren’t use to it.

“So are youuuu.” You said with a dreamy tone. One other thing that you had figured out about him was that returning such comments to him made him a flustered mess. It was utterly adorable for someone as stoic as him at times.

“Psh.” He scoffed, then lowered his voice once again. “Beautiful how I fill you up sweetheart?” Changbin angled your waist up higher, then spread your thighs, finally pushing them into your body to tighten you. He aligned himself over you, then pushed himself in agonizingly slow. “Beautiful how I can fuck you so deep? How I can m-make you...”

He had given up on talking, but rather thrust himself further into you with his shaking breaths and little “mmm’s” getting caught on his tongue.

“B-Bin...fuck, f-feels s-so good--”

He pushed your legs up closer to your body, allowing himself greater access to graze your g-spot. Your busy fingers found their way around his back to claw all the way down. He still relished in taking his time with you, and would never rush fucking you--it was as if he had all the time in the world to unravel you. You returned around him, tightening has he fucked in and out with his own pace. After a while of doing the same, his hand crept around your neck to give you a couple choking squeezes that made you whimper out like a kitten. He would never keep it going for long however, but rather indulged himself in the way that your gasps would remind him of how good it all felt. After, Changbin dipped his thumb into your mouth to run the pad over your tongue.

The tip of his teeth caught the skin of his lip which he bit into hard.

“You feel so good baby. F-feels so good on my cock. It’s all for you angel.”

An unrestrained groan escaped from your mouth as he continued and your orgasm pooled steadily. In and attempt to steady yourself you clawed back into your pillow supporting your head.

He swiftly changed your position, taking both of his hands to turn you on your stomach. Without a pause he lead his swelling head back into your pussy where he kept on going at his favored slow pace. Your face smushed into the pillow with hips raised in the air. The fluffy fabric muffled your helpless moans.

“Louder for me princess.” He growled.

With one hand he arched over to tweak at your nipples with force: twisting and pulling, then he wet his hand with his own saliva to let your skin feel the cold and wet sensation. His other hand he used to reach around and rub circles into your clit. He was gentle at first, but worked your bud harder and faster. Your knees and legs shook the faster he rubbed, and you spilled your loudest and most unapologetic moans into the room that had risen in temperature.

“Fuck...” He swore. Changbin allowed himself to quicken his pace inside of you. The action alone sent you spinning wildly into your orgasm: a tear of white hot heat that shook your whole body and turned your swollen bud into a sensitive mess under his fingers which did stop, even when when he knew that you had just cum all over them. The harder he pressed, the more wonderfully painful it felt, and you let your tears fall hot from your eyes to the sheet. You attempted to call out his name, but no words that left your mouth made sense.

He turned your body once more, using brutish hands on your hips as he pulled you overtop of the sheets to fuck you into the bed once more with your sweating back stuck to the comforter. Your body shook with your orgasm still, and you needily brought his lips down to yours to kiss him with your thank you’s as he milked himself out in your tightening walls.

Changbin was animalistic in the way that he finally let his hips snap over you, at last reaching his orgasm mere seconds after he had pulled out and jerked himself over you. Ribbons of his white cum came spilling out over your gasping chest and stomach and dripped lazily from his pink and flaring tip. He took in shallow inhales as he did, and kept rubbing until the very end and he had nothing more to give. Even as his hand dropped, you took his dick in your own hand to just twist lightly and ride out the last of his orgasm. He softened in your hand with eyes closed in his focus and came down.

The combination of your lust held in the air for a few silent moments, then he collapsed back down next to you into a blushing and exhausted mess. His pink chest shook, and his soft heather eyes found you.

“We should...probably take a shower right?”

“Probably.” You grinned.

Changbin leaned over to plant even more sugary sweet kisses on top of your lips. He always was one to admire his work, so he chuckled lightly seeing the way that he had properly covered you in his cum.

“I can help you clean that off.”

The bed shook and he rose to get you something to clean up. You wished that you could’ve moved to see him saunter around your room without a single piece of clothing on. It was no secret that he had one hell of a cute butt.

Changbin helped you out of the bed, finding that your legs had started to shake and betray you a bit more harshly than you had intended. He ran the water for you both, inviting you in to take the task of cleaning you to himself. He took the suds in his own hands to brush them all over your body and took careful and gentle attention to the more sensitive parts of your body. He giggled a little at the way that even under the warm water, your nipples would still harden when he ghosted his fingers over them with soap.

“Don’t look at me like that.” You scolded him.

He took care of the little bruises on your neck and collarbones, giving them kisses under the clear stream of water as if he was healing them. After he was done, you did the same and cleaned out his hair with your shampoo. He always let out happy little groans when you would massage his scalp. He still had a couple scrapes on his face from a few weeks ago, so you kissed all of them too.

Changbin’s favorite part was how he could mess up your hair with the towel afterword and make you look as ridiculous as possible. Of course, you would do the same. You would brush your teeth together, and dress somewhat all of the way back again. A while ago he decided keeping clothes at your place was a good idea, but you ended up wearing them more than he did. You blamed it on dirty laundry, but you really did just like the way that they would smell all tangled up in your blankets on your nights alone.

With bare legs, you would tangle yourselves all up in eachother once more, and not even bother to look at what time it was then.

As it had become his habit, before the two of you drifted to sleep, Changbin would kiss into your forehead “l love you. You know?”

╚ ——————————————— ╝

Chocolatey goodness wafted up Felix’s nose, and he let out a happy little squeal.

“~Thank youuu~” He beamed to the waitress.

He took a careful sip not to burn his tongue, then turned his head to watch the way that the snow had started to flurry outside of the diner window. Minho flipped the pages of his book and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Whatcha reading?” Felix said with a little tap of his feet under the table.

Rather than answering, Minho sighed out and closed his book. “Nothing now. If you’re gonna ask questions, then I’ll get distracted, so, nothing now.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Felix frowned.

Minho rolled his eyes, suddenly becoming exasperated over his new friend’s dramatic reaction.

“It was something that I’m assigned to read for one of my classes. It’s about economics or something like that. I’m kind of just skimming; reading because I have to....” He took a sip of his coffee. “Y/n should be reading the same book considering that we are in the same class...but I haven’t even seen you with it yet.”

You prodded at your plate of half eaten waffles. “About that...”

“If you think that I’m gonna give you the SparkNotes you are sorely mistaken.”

You writhed in your seat a bit like an upset toddler. “Come onnnnn, Minho, you know that I don’t have time for that, working at the library and such...”

“--More like stealing my roommate from me. I hardly see him at our apartment anymore.” Minho made his remark with a type of snark, but knowing him, he was still just as sarcastic.

“Yeah,” Felix piped up. “The three of us haven’t hung out in a while either!”

“...Sorry, I’ve just been getting...caught up in things.”

Minho cleared his throat. “I’m not saying that its a bad thing. It’s just something that I’ve noticed.”

Felix nodded, “Me too! I’m really happy for you!! So is Chan, don’t get me wrong. We haven’t seen you so happy and like, not serious in such a long time. Really, I’m so so glad that you have someone like him for a boyfriend.”

Your fork scratched your plate. “--Boyfriend?”

“Yeah!” Felix beamed. “Isn’t that what he is?”

Minho too held an expectant gaze.

“I-I don’t think...we hadn’t really talked about what it is that we’re doing...or are.”

“So you’re saying that he’s not your boyfriend?” Minho cocked his head in his confusion. “Well, you ask him and he’ll think that it’s a different story.”

“H-he talks about me?” You sat up straighter.

“Well, he hasn’t explicitly said anything, but the way that he never shuts the fuck up...” Minho suddenly became much more interested in his coffee.

“What? You don’t want him to be your boyfriend?” Felix looked just as confused.

In your hands, you crinkled up the napkin that you had resting on your lap. You hadn’t in fact, ever thought of such. Merely, you had thought that you loved him, and that you enjoyed being around him and that he had made you happy. Was it odd that the thought had never crossed your mind?

“And he hasn’t said anything about it either?” Felix leaned in. To his side, Minho nudged his arm in the most non-obvious way possible.

“...No?”

Your heartbeat quickened in pace.

“Af...after everything that happened back then? Didn’t you say that he like, confessed or something and you did the same? You’ve only been hanging out with eachother for weeks?” Felix pushed his cocoa away from himself to lay his hands flat on the table.

“I...don’t think that we should press the issue.” Minho patted down the boy sitting next to him.

It was the feeling that you had been avoiding for weeks: that kind of uncertainty and fear that you had pushed down so far after the night that it all came together, but you didn’t expect it to manifest like this. In your chest a knot tied itself together tightly and in a way that you couldn’t explain.

“I...just like what's happening right now between us, I didn’t think that he would want--”

Felix nudged Minho by the hip, motioning for him to let him out of his side of the booth. Minho rolled his eyes, but did so muttering, “I said we shouldn’t press the issue but here you go...”

Felix slid over to your side of the booth, nearly shoving you up close to the wall with how near he scooched to you. Carefully, he removed the napkin that you had scrunched up into your palm.

“Relax okay? You’re doing it again. Just calm down.” While his tone was sweet, you couldn’t help but find some condescending edge--real or not.

“Doing what? I don’t think that I’m doing anything wrong??”

Felix let you squeeze his hand tight, as patient as ever.

“Do you not want him to be your boyfriend?” He repeated. “But he treats you so nicely? There’s nothing to worry about.”

At first you were angry at yourself, angry at yourself for feeling the hot tears well up in your eyes in public,

I’m so fucking pathetic.

Secondly, you were furious at yourself for feeling anything less than the happiness that had made up your whole world for the past few weeks. You had worked so hard just to make something that made sense, and he made sense. Why did it have to be much more complicated than that?

“Y/n?” Felix bowed his head down with his softening gaze.

“F-Felix, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I’m just trying to understand so I can help you out with this. Clearly there’s something that’s upsetting you about, I don’t know, putting a label on it? If that’s the right word--”

Minho sucked at his teeth, “He’s too nice to say that you’re self sabotaging again. Listen, you don’t have to have the answers right now, we’re just saying you’re getting in your own way at having something that could be really great.”

Felix shot daggers in Minho’s direction.

“I wasn’t gonna say this, but Bin’s been going through shit right now with his family that I’m sure he isn’t telling you about. Someone tipped them off about what he’s been doing and they’re furious. He’s been telling them that no one knows that he’s tied to them when he raps but they aren’t listening. Literally when he goes to see you it’s like, what’s helping him forget all that shit. He cares about you a fuck ton, and I’ve heard about it all. He wants you to be his girlfriend. Believe me. Don’t know why he hasn’t brought it up yet, but...”

Felix took in a shaky breath, then turned his attention back to you. “Besides all that, I think that you should at least talk to him about this all. I had no idea that you felt this way. I’m sorry for making assumptions. At least, if you and him talk about it, you can figure something out right?”

You took at the papery and crinkled napkin and dabbed it harshly on your eyes to dry your tears before they had a chance to run further down your face.

“Why the fuck doesn’t he tell me anything?” Your voice wavered.

Minho folded his hands on the table. “Knowing him, he probably thinks that it would be burdening to you. Selfless dick. He thinks that putting that shit on you somehow makes him seem like a handful or some shit.”

“B-but I don’t feel that way?”

“Then tell him!!” Felix’s volume rose. ��When you talk to him, tell him that.”

“What the fuck is this, a drama?” Minho laughed a little. “These communication skills are god-awful.”

“Oh fuck off Minho,” Felix rubbed your back to soothe you. “This is real life, and we’re here to help out Y/n.”

“That’s fuck off Minho-hyung to you.” The older boy stuck out his tongue.

You wiped your nose against your hand, then Minho threw another napkin from the holder in your direction.

“I promise that things will get better when you talk to him.” Felix nodded. “Talking always helps.”

╚ ——————————————— ╝

Thursday afternoon came, and the forecast had called for snow, but none had come. Rather, the atmosphere had turned to be dreary and grey the whole day long, and the temperature dropped so low that some local schools had to cancel classes for the day. Your university had decided to do the same. While you had been thankful and decided to spend the day working on your various projects, you couldn’t bring your hand to the canvas.

All day long you had spent figuring out what it really was that you wanted to say to Changbin, and you still hadn’t figured it out yet. Even you didn’t know what it was entirely that scared you deeply. But, you knew that somewhere you did.

Why her?

You could do better.

Isn’t she...boring?

You hugged your legs to yourself as you waited on your couch. The memories seeped into your brain like some kind of poison diffusing its way.

No, no. You’re wrong. You tried your best to banish them.

You’re all mine. No one else’s. Don’t you ever forget that. Tell me. Who’s baby are you?

You squeezed your eyes shut, and dug your nails into the fleshy part of your knees where you held them.

You don’t own me. You don’t have the fucking power.

Three knocks clicked at your door, and you knew that it was Changbin. Your chest shook with a type of anxiety that felt like prickling thorns. You rose to open the door.

“Fuck. It’s so freezing out there.” Was the first thing that he said. “I wouldn’t mind not having to go back out there if you are?” He slung his coat over one of chairs to your two person dining table. As soon as he was undressed, you were overcome with the desire to be as close as possible as you could get to him. It had been your safe place.

Changbin let out a little surprised noise when you launched your body at him, but he just as quickly held you back firmly.

“Is everything okay?”

For a moment you let his rosemary and cedarwood cast aside all the ideas and words that ate away at you.

“Can we talk?” You mumbled.

“Yeah, of course. Can we sit down? Get a blanket maybe?” You nodded and let him do the work of going back to your room to get back your knit blanket that he knew you liked best. He threw it over his shoulders them beckoned you to join him in his arms. You snuggled right up into his chest where he had tucked himself into the corner of the couch. “Want to talk about it now?”

With glistening eyes you tried your best to look up at him. His cheeks were still bitten pink from the cold.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me about your parents? Or about what’s going on right now?”

Changbin sighed and bit at his lower lip in his discontent. “Minho said something didn’t he?”

“You can tell me, you know?”

Changbin shook his head. “It’s not your problem to worry about, so I don’t want you do.”

“But you’re my problem to worry about. Don’t you get that?”

He sighed once more, then rested his head atop of yours. Where he held you around your arms, he rubbed gently.

“And if...being with me helps you...I’ll come around anytime alright? You don’t just have to come here.”

He laughed a little. “My place isn’t as private as yours is.”

You toyed with the fraying fabric of the blanket. “You know that I can be quiet if I need to be. Or if you just want me to sleep over, I can do that too.”

“I don’t want you going out of your way--”

“--I don’t mind.” You nuzzled a little deeper. “So, your parents are giving you a hard time?”

He tsked. “Yeah. It’s just...stupid is all. They care so much about what I do and don’t do when I left so it wouldn’t bother them. They’re trying hand out some kind of threats to me like they have the right to do so....they don’t.”

“What are you going to do?”

Changbin helped you up a bit higher up his body so your head could rest on his shoulder. “Nothing. Keep doing what I’ve always been. No one knows except the people I have closest to me. They’re worrying over nothing.”

You formed a “oh” with your lips.

“But, it’s nothing to worry about. I promise.”

Already, you had forgotten what you really had decided to talk to him about. It had slipped from your mind just as quickly as you had let it arise. The two of you grew quiet, and you let yourself become overcome with the feeling and warmth that his body and the blanket gave to you. You wondered if he would’ve gotten mad if you had fallen asleep just then. It didn’t seem like the worst idea.

“As long as we’re talking about things, do you mind if I ask you something?” Changbin asked after planting a small kiss on your forehead.

“What’s that?” You said with a sleepy and cracking voice.

“You...don’t have to have the answer right now, but I just thought it would be worth it to ask, since we’ve been doing you know, this, for a few weeks now. You already know how I feel about you, I think that I’ve made it pretty damn clear, but, I was thinking that we could make things exclusive between us? Like, it just becomes me and you?”

Drip by drip, the drowsiness that had swept over your eyes dissipated.

“Would you be up for that? I just, it seems a bit odd to me that we haven’t talked about it yet considering...well, I think that it would be easier if we knew what we were so then we could, I don’t know, plan or something like that? It’s kind of a commitment, I know, but I want you to know that I’m willing--”

“Bin...” You pulled yourself up from his chest.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that? Did-did I say something wrong?”

Who’s baby are you?

“You want me to...be yours?”

“Well, not exactly, you know what I’ve said before, but, I would like you to be my girlfriend--”

A sob clogged your throat. Now that he had finally said it, the realizations came flooding over you like the deathly winter chill.

“Angel, are you scared again? I told you that you don’t have to with me, I swear that I don’t ever want to hurt you or anything like what happ--”

“--Like happened what? Back when I was so fucking stupid to get myself locked up in something that I thought would be good for me? Why is it that you want me to be your girlfriend, huh? I-is it because I-I fall over for you? I can’t run away from you? Am-am I just a good fuck for you? What is it?”

“What the fuck? Where is this coming from? Y/n, you know that I love you, I fucking love you like crazy and I don’t think any of those things!! I’m not trying to restrain you our use you or anything like that, I don’t know why the hell you would think that!”

“B-because you might not now, but what about later down the line...when I get boring or you figure out that I’m not as exciting like I used to be or--”

“--What?! No! That’s not gonna happen!” Changbin reached out to pull you back into his arms, but you shook him off.

Salty tears filled the corners of your mouth. “The last time that I-I did something like this, I--”

“--Well this isn’t last time, this is this time, okay? It’s different! I swear to God that I’m not that fucking asshole. I get that you’re scared, okay, that’s totally understandable, but I’m asking you to trust me alright? Can you trust me?”

Part of you wanted to trust him. In fact, a much larger part of yourself wanted to trust him so bad, it hurt. But, a smaller part of you, a much smaller part of you still screamed into the abyss that he was the last person in the world that you could trust; and that voice, was much louder.

“I want you to be my girlfriend, and I want to give you everything that I have. All my fucking time, my attention, hell, just minutes ago you said that I was your problem, can’t you be mine? Is that not allowed? I’m just...I DON’T get you!!!” Changbin growled out the tail end of his sentence and only after he had said it he realized it was much louder than he intended. “Oh God, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean...please. I’m not mad at you.”

Your body had weakened, so when he had reached out for you, you let yourself fall into his arms.

“Angel, can’t you see that what I’m trying to do is the complete opposite of what you think I am? Yeah I mean, it would be nice to call you my girlfriend, but not because I’m trying to control you or anything, but because...fuck, you make me happier, made me feel like I’m less lonely in this fucking crazy-ass world. I want to be that for you and you only.”

Poisonous thoughts. Why were they even more alluring than the antidote that you had right in front of your face?

Your limp body mustered up the strength of push yourself off his chest. Looking into his eyes you felt numb. With all the care that he held for you, you felt as if you didn’t deserve one single ounce of it.

Why her?

You figured that in some parallel earth, you would’ve been able to have said yes. In that parallel earth, nothing bad would’ve ever happened, and you wouldn’t have been crouched in that alley with snow melting into your dress. You would’ve lived a normal life without pain and doubt. Maybe you would’ve met him there too, and you would’ve been able to say yes.

“You...don’t have to have the answer right now, but can you please consider it...for me? I meant everything that I said, but I...I also can’t wait forever.” You heard his voice grow thick. “I know that if...you can’t do it, or iff you don’t know, then I can’t just make it happen. There’s not a lot else that I can do. But at least I want to try.”

You could do better.

“I-I think that I need to be alone...right now--tonight.” Two more hot tears fell down your cheeks with a sting like a papercut.

“Right now?”

“Yeah, just--there’s things that I need to think about, I don’t..I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“No. I understand.” Changbin sniffled.

Slowly, your two bodies seperated, and the heat from his body faded. You thought to yourself, it wasn’t yours to keep in the first place.

You lead him quietly to the door where you watched him lace up his shoes and throw on his coat. His eyes had become puffy, as much as you figured you had looked as well. His grey eyes looked tired, just like the dreary day that you had spent all day hiding from. Still, he smiled.

“Y/n. I know that you think that you’re hard to love. But you’re not. If you take away anything from this, I hope you know that your past doesn’t define you, and that you can have happiness after it all. I want to be that for you. If you’ll let me. Only if you’ll let me.”

Your clogged nose made a horrible stuffed sound and you nodded. You had listened to his words, but had you heard?

He sighed with finality, then bent down to kiss at the salty taste on your lips.

“Call me, okay?”

You closed the door after him, then collapsed down the door. Your pent up sobs flew out of your chest with loud and ugly sounding sobs. Each one hurt more than the last to get out. You crumbled against the wood door, and didn’t even mind the cool draft from under the crack. Your world became a blur in front of your watery eyes and your hands shook as they took your phone from your pocket.

Words of self loathing filled your ears as you searched up the name, but it was the only one that you could think of in your blind emptiness.

If only things could go back to the way that they were.

╚ ——————————————— ╝

The walk to his apartment was cold, freezing even. You had worn the shoes that you had been scolded for, and the coat that provided you with barely any warmth. You knew the way to his apartment well--it was almost muscle memory by now. Streetlights passed you overhead, and finally the snow that was promised started to drift from the heavens and before you.

Your hands cracked with the cold when you pushed the button to his intercom, and he buzzed you in without saying a word. You showed yourself up the staircase with empty sounding footsteps echoing against the walls. Your eyes had welled with tears once you reached his floor, but you blinked them away harshly. It was a futile attempt considering that he would see how red your eyes had become.

His door was cracked with old paint, and the number had been scratched off with age. You knocked one time, no more than that. Somewhere a tiny voice had hoped that he wouldn’t hear the knock at all, and figure that you hadn’t even come up, and that you could quietly slip back away.

But he didn’t. He must’ve been waiting.

He too looked to be a mess: his cheeks and eyes had puffed up and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. He wore minimal clothing that hung loosely on his frame.

“--Jisung--”

Before you could say any more, he had leapt into you, and wrapped his arms around you so tightly that he could’ve rid you of all your breath.

“Baby, thank you so much for coming. Thank you so much. I’m sorry how I acted at the concert. I just missed you so much....I missed you so much.”

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headcanontheshitoutofsoulsborne · 3 years ago

Text

Sekiro Chain 1

Original prompt: Kuro teaches Wolf how to play Shogi. Mun's note: I love how this chain turned out. Everyone did such an amazing job. Please show your apprecation for the characters by checking out their work and consider giving this chain a reblog.

@ghoulsteak

In Kuro’s tower, the summer air is warm and still. The sliding doors stand open to let what breeze there is pass through unimpeded. Sun streams in through the western door, painting a bright square across the tatami. Motes of dust spiral in the light.

Kuro can see Wolf from where he sits reading, a dim figure with only a foot caught in the sun, seated with his back to the opposite wall. It’s easy to forget he’s there, both because Wolf has been present in the corner of Kuro’s eye for a long time now and because being forgettable is a trait the shinobi has carefully cultivated.

He stands now and pads silently across the floor. Time for another inspection, Kuro supposes; another circuit around the tower’s perimeter (cliff side included), another quiet pass among the sun-streaked piles of books in the upper room. Wolf is always conscientious in his checking and rechecking, but today he seems to be wound even tighter than usual. On a day as beautiful as this one, that strikes Kuro as something of a shame.

As Wolf steps back inside from his patrol, Kuro sets down his book. “Wolf,” he calls. The shinobi’s head turns. “Would you like to play shogi with me?”

“I do not know how, my lord.”

“That’s no matter. I can teach you,” Kuro says.

Kuro himself learned from Owl. The old man taught him the game years ago while he lingered at the castle. He kept to himself whether was simply resting between outings or sniffing around amongst the servants and courtiers. Kuro has beaten him only once, and he suspects that the old man threw that game. He is as difficult for Kuro to read as his son is easy.

But still, he offers Wolf the same reason for learning as the Owl gave him. “They say shogi is good for the mind. It helps one practice strategy.” He knows Wolf struggles to justify doing things that don’t reap tangible results. The shinobi’s chief leisure activity, insofar as he can be said to have one, is sleeping. Wolf inclines his head in agreement.

Wolf seats himself across the table, and Kuro begins setting up the board. He explains the rules of the game to him; they’re a lot to take in, but he knows Wolf prides himself on only having to be told something once, and thus does not repeat himself. He listens in silence, nodding from time to time or interjecting with a murmured question, and they begin to play.

A minute and a half passes. Wolf loses.

“Hrm,” he says, brow furrowed. Kuro hides a smile with his sleeve.

“I didn’t think you’d want me to take it easy on you, Wolf,” he says.

A slight shake of the head. “Of course.”

“Again?”

“As you wish, my lord.”

Kuro offers him no advice. He doesn’t want to teach Wolf to play like him; even after three years’ worth of rainy days spent at the board, he suspects his own style is still too much like the Owl’s. He wants to see how Wolf plays shogi.

As they begin again, he watches the shinobi’s expression. Between turns, his gaze darts about the room, quicksilver eyes beneath a stone brow. His attention is divided a dozen different ways. This, rather than his inexperience, is why Kuro beats him again.

“Again?”

“Certainly.”

Perhaps, Kuro thinks, he should ask him to play next in a room with shuttered windows and a single, easily barred door. He can see the roots of Wolf’s technique, the shape of his quick, guarded mind beginning to describe itself upon the board, but he won’t let himself become immersed in the game. Wolf can’t let go of his awareness of the tower’s points of entry and escape, of the distance between the palm of his hand and the hilt of his sword.

Kuro begins to push Wolf’s slow offense back, intending to corner him on his own side of the board. Confident in his advance, he overreaches. Wolf capitalises on the chink revealed in his armour and cuts behind Kuro’s lines. As he finishes his move, he glances up at Kuro.

“Hah!” Kuro sits back in surprise, eyes alight. A hint of a smile runs along the furrows of Wolf’s face, and is gone just as quickly.

“I apologise, Wolf,” he says. “I underestimated you.”

Wolf inclines his head. “It is no matter.”

As the game continues to its close and the game after it begins, Kuro watches Wolf’s hold on his vigilance relax a little more. Perhaps there’s something comforting to him after all about a battle with no stakes, an enemy who wants nothing more than to pass a summer afternoon.

@dragonbasket

@fateoftheundead

“Are you ready, Wolf?”

Sekiro nodded and knelt before the low table across from the young lord, who busied himself shuffling a stack of papers. Kuro’s movements were not that of a studious priest, or a graceful shinobi, but guileless and clumsy like the youth he was.

“Why is this necessary for my mission?”

“Your sentiments are pure and honorable, but the pursuit of knowledge and understanding is just as pure, just as honorable.”

“As you insist. I do not know exactly what it is I do not know.”

***

The Wolf turned his head back and forth, flustered as he had ever been and rarely showed. “As I told the Heir, I do not know what it is I do not know. I… have heard that that is a good place to start. To start knowing.” A snort emerged from the background, amidst the wooden idols.

Emma, the mild doctor, approached, frowning in the direction of the snort. “That is true. Do not be so hard on yourself.” She took a seat. “Please continue.”

Sekiro handed the stack of Kuro’s scrolls to the man seated on the ground, who blinked with wide open eyes at the documents. Fujioka gave the smile of a man retreating from a tiger. “So whaddya need me for, anyway?”

“My letters are insufficient. You are the right choice, despite your grumbling.”

“Fine, fine, some compliment.” Spreading the papers out, he bent his head to the scroll he had selected. “So… I have heard it said, oh monks, that… hmm, I dunno that’s the best way to begin. You’ve got far more wisdom than you know, Wolf, but these doctrineses may be too big a breakfast. Tell me- what scriptures did you learn as a child?”

Sekiro sighed. “I remember very little from before I was orphaned, and once the Owl had adopted me I had very little time for scriptures or doctrines.”

Another scoffing laugh came, and this time it’s owner came closer. The Sculptor rose creakily and made his way over as well, though much less gracefully than the doctor.

“Ahh, these old bones need a stretch anyway. The Owl? Ukonzaemon Usui? One slip of the pen and he would have been a cloud-and-water man. Bah, you’re more a cloud-and-water man than the old fool ever could have been.” He bowed deeply to Fujioka, his wooden left arm almost scraping the floor. “Forgive me, scroll jumbler. Forgive me, Wolf. Please continue.”

“I suppose that I know as much as anyone. Gate gate pāragate pārasaṃgate bodhi svāhā?”

Seeing the lost look on his face, the others in the room repeated the simple sutra. “You all know it. I’m gald I knew it as well. Perhaps this is not the correct interpretation, but it has always struck me... gone, gone, everyone gone... What does it mean to be shinobi? If we become one with the shadows, then do we exist at all?”

Fujioka beamed. “Oh, that’s wisdom alright, Wolf! As direct as the 6th Patriarch’s famous verse, and maybe as good.” He looked around sheepishly. “What? I know stuff.”

“Do you know who else had something to say about the Heart of Wisdom?” The Sculptor’s grimace was unreadable. Emma turned to him, but cut him only with the gaze of her eyes. “Master Hakuin! Do you know what he said about our beautiful Heart? Scripture scrolls dug from piles of garbage!”

“Garbage?” Emma’s face at last betrayed a hint of anger.

“Easy, sweet doctor. I mean no offense. We may pare our nails at the foot of a burning lamp, we may polish a brick into a mirror, but these base things are not bad. Simply a glimpse of truth. These,” he said, flinging a gnarled finger past the Heir’s donated stack of scrolls. “are wonderful in their own way, but for a man of my inclinations, I prefer the schematics our Wolf brings back. To build wondrous things!”

“Not from piles of garbage.” Sekiro’s face grew dark as he thought back to where he had found many such scrolls and the like that he’d found, in pockets and pouches, in dark corners used as hiding places, and he thought of the secrets he’d found as well, the deep crimson secrets that lay at the heart of men. And monsters.

“Of course, Wolf. Now, of all the treasures you bring back to our little ryokan... I prefer the sake best.”

“Sake!” Fujioka theatrically covered his face, mimicking the voice of a mortified grandmother. “In the midst of our scripture study! Would that not violate the Fifth Precept?”

“Indeed, indeed, sir, but there is one sin that the Tathagatha held more grave than any violation of the precepts.”

“What is this sin, Sculptor?” Emma’s face had lost all anger and she seemed genuinely curious.

“The disruption of the Sangha! Chaos amongst friends and disciples! Vituperation!” He grinned. “I am an old man. I get cranky when I do not get my sake. And when I get cranky...”

“The next time I find any sake, I will bring it right back. For the Sangha, that is.”

“Make sure you do. My friends, is anyone else cold? Without a little something to warm my belly, I feel every draft.” Without waiting for a response he walked over to the hearth where a few embers struggled to produce rarefied strands of flame. “We’re out of firewood.”

The others ignored him and Fujioka produced another scroll from the pile. “The Hekiganroku... some of these things the Heir sent us are quite advanced. Don’t get me wrong, I find a quality koan to be pleasing on its own merits, but the solution of these... beyond me.” The information broker squinted down at another scroll. “Oooh, ooh. The Heir left a little note in the margin. ‘Master Dogen’s commentary is superb.’ Aha! Dogen.” Fujioka became suddenly excited and turned his squint towards Emma. “Waittaminute...”

“I was indeed apprenticed to Dogen.” A faint smile. “Not the original Dogen. He was centuries ago. How old do you think I am?”

Before the broker could reply, Sekiro piped up. “Doctor, you don’t look a day over 200.” She rewarded him with a widening smile at the quip. She rubbed her hands together.

“It is cold. My Master Dogen would sometimes pretend to be a Zen master and jump out of corners to frighten me. He made a crude kesa out of bandages and covered his hair with a sack to seem bald.” She paused in thought. “I am not sure why.”

“Students must sometimes go along with their master’s teaching, I am sure.” Sekiro nodded.

Fujioka continued. “No offense, Wolf, but I got something here from the Hekiganroku that reminded me of you, and our dear ol’ sculptor. Case 54...” He recited the koan and put the scroll down.

“Yunmen Extends His Hands. I see. But I have only one hand.”

“Between the two of us we have two, Wolf,” called the Sculptor from the background, still puttering noisily among the idols. “Yunmen would slap us well if that were the case.”

Sekiro stood momentarily from where he’d crouched across from Fujioka and stretched his back before sitting again. “I recall some dharma if you forgive my rough understanding.”

“Of course!” The broker smiled in anticipation despite himself.

“Yunmen’s koan reminded me of another great master fond of hitting his disciples. Rinzai! What a fearsome teacher. There are tales that I have heard of his striking pupils to teach a lesson, but his most impressive act was worthy of a shinobi. In the meditation hall, during the most serene meditation, he would appear out of nowhere beside any monks whose minds were wandering, and beat them with a stick!”

“That stick is called the kyosaku and the monks must raise their hands and ask to be struck. It is an efficacious remedy for a sluggish mind.” Emma nodded to Sekiro as she rose as well. “I think I prefer your version, though.” “Aha! A fine Buddha indeed.” The Sculptor appeared with one of his wooden idols, one of surpassing craftsmanship. Without any hesitation he flung the idol onto the fire. The others reacted with a combination of horror and disbelief that led into a general clamor. Sekiro himself adopted a blank expression, as there was certainly a finer point to this act that he did not understand. “Protest all you like, it’s only a statue.”

“Of the Tathagatha. Such shame you bring with your recklessness,” seethed Emma. The sculptor scoffed.

Having recovered from his initial shock, Fujioka looked into the Sculptor’s eyes. “This is something I heard about once. That old pervert Ikkyu once did the same. But...”

“A common error, sir. Not Ikkyu, but Tanka.” He turned to Emma. “Do you mean to say that I burned the Buddha himself? Some relic of the Shaka Nyorai?”

“No, it is simply a wooden statue, but-”

“Simply wood,” he interrupted. “Then you do not mind if I burn another as the night grows colder?”

No one spoke for a long moment.

Fujioka broke the silence. “Ya think maybe we studied enough for the young master? I’d like to know for next time... I mean, if there is a next time... who are the masters you’d wanna hear more from?”

“Let us decide which sage would win in a battle, then!” The Sculptor’s face creased with amusement. “Wolf, who do you think?”

“Rinzai, of course. His stealth and fearsome strikes would take the day.” He turned to Emma. “What would you say, doctor?”

“Eno, the patriarch. His touch could make even the most ephemeral things as immovable as mountains. They say in a distant temple he sits mummified, unmoving but still meditating. True strength.”

“I dunno if the Heir thinks this is appropriate. Says here the Buddha himself specified that this subject is not suitable for the path to enlightenment.” He leaned forward with a sly whisper. “I would be like Dorin. Simple, happy teachings, and could spring through the trees like a monkey. Or a shinobi.”

“My turn,” said the Sculptor. “I am sure of my preference for the toughest master. Eka, Damo’s disciple. A great general before that, a fearsome warrior. To prove his devotion to becoming a student of Damo, he cut off his own arm and presented it to the patriarch, and became a great teacher in his own right. Invincible.”

Sekiro’s intuition prickled at him. He tensed, sensing something akin to danger, but...

The sculptor removed his wooden arm and held it aloft. “Wolf, I’ve seen how well you adapted to my previous arm. Such clever uses of the humble mechanisms I installed. But this thing? What use is it? I carved one arm with the other arm. Eka did not even replace his. So perhaps...” He shivered. “Is it cold in here?”

The sculptor tossed his wooden arm onto the fire.

There was no outcry from the others. Only a shocked silence. The sculptor rubbed the bare spot where his shoulder terminated. “Now, Wolf, about that sake...”

A slight smile. “For the Sangha?”

“For the Sangha.” Another uncomfortable pause, then the Sculptor let loose with a cackle.

In the warmth and light of the fire, the others joined him in laughter as the arm lit the room with its flames. @thefatladysang

@poisonhemloc

The old route to Senpou Temple started in the silvergrass field. Genichiro had never been to the temple, but there was a first time for everything. He needed the Mortal Blade, now, that was held there. The crimson one. The black one was further but much easier to get to, and relatively unguarded- but he didn’t want to risk the black one, the one that would kill Grandfather if he used it too much. Grandfather staying alive was the only reason the Interior Ministry hadn’t fully attacked Ashina. And he didn’t dare hasten the illness’s work before he had the Dragon’s Heritage, true immortality, not the Sediment’s poor version. With the Dragon’s Heritage he could stand up to the Interior Ministry, and win.

Grandfather had obviously thought the Sediment was making him unstable, when he stopped to tell him where he was going. A little part of Genichiro still wondered why he had even taken the time to do that. And wondered why he had come out here, where he had lost against the shinobi for the first time by a hair’s breadth, when the more reliable route to Senpou now ran through the dungeons. He turned to leave-

-and a strange depression in the grass caught his eye.

There was an arm. There was the shinobi’s arm, laying here unrotting. It had been a month, something should have at least tried chewing on it, but it looked as though he had just cut it off.

Some part of him knew why. He waited for the knowledge to work its way to the front of his mind through hazes of red.

The Dragon’s Heritage. The same as Tomoe. And Genichiro remembered a spar between Grandfather and Tomoe, when he was younger, before Takeru had died and Kuro had been born.

Neither of them were trying to be careful, but Isshin was always better at swordplay than Tomoe; xe had shined with archery instead, and taught Genichiro. And Isshin had cut off Tomoe’s right arm, with the same lunge Genichiro had used for the shinobi. And had given Genichiro a look, as Tomoe collapsed, and held the arm next to the stump, and when Tomoe revived it had reattached. And it had been like Isshin had never cut it off.

It must have been due to the Dragon’s Heritage. And now…

The prosthetic Dogen had spent days, months, working on, had been given to the shinobi. Every shinobi trick conceivable could fit in it. It would be better, smarter, to leave this somewhere the man would find it, and have him reattach it and lose the prosthetic and the advantage it gave.

But the rational train of thought was being drowned out by the louder, much more insistent voice that had listened to Orangutan complain, sometimes loudly, every time he was at the castle, about the arm he had lost continuing to hurt. And several soldiers, and samurai, who had also lost limbs and complained about the same thing. He shouldn’t delay any longer though, he needed to be moving. Genichiro grabbed the arm and left for the dungeons.

There was a brazier not far from the entrance, next to the cave Doujun had been reduced to using. Genichiro knocked it over and dropped the arm on top of the coals, watched it smoulder, and then catch when he dumped fabric- Doujun probably brought it over to tend to the stab wounds but they were fine, the Sediment was healing everything- and watched as the arm caught and blazed. He had a lot of things he needed to do but… he could wait, for a few minutes, ignoring Doujun grumbling as he retreated to the little cave and watch the armor distort and melt and the arm reduce to blackened bones before he turned and left for Senpou.

Isshin watched the shinobi nod politely, and stand. He would be after the Crimson Mortal Blade, now, like Genichiro was. He half turned- and tensed up, and grimaced, just for a second, but Isshin saw it. The prosthetic definitely twitched, and his good arm looked like he was going to grab at it for a moment, before he went back to the blank face he always wore.

“Something wrong, Sekiro?” Another little hint of emotion, he did not like that Isshin had seen that and commented on it. Now, would he lie, or admit to it? And which would make that shadow in his eyes worse?

“...Just for a second, my… injury, hurt. More than it has. I… believe I need to talk to Lady Emma.”

“Go then! Emma knows what to do with severed limbs.” Isshin watched him leave, not using the prosthetic’s grappling hook like he had to get here. Not using the prosthetic at all, actually. He would have to ask Emma what had happened. He had not painstakingly arranged for this man to get to Kuro and helped him hone his talent for killing just for his arm to twinge a little and have him give everything up.

Wolf had opened the library window Kuro hadn’t been able to budge as soon as he was back, and talked to Kuro, and now was approaching Emma. He looked tenser than he had, had Isshin given him bad news? And he hesitated for a moment, before seemingly resigning himself.

“Something… happened, to the injury.” Emma fought to keep the shock off her face, Wolf was asking for medical help beyond the gourd? When she went to check in with Isshin would she find him cured, talking to a normal, sane Genichiro?

“Okay. We need to take the prosthetic off anyway, I need to check the bandages. What happened?” Wolf had been keeping his voice quiet; Kuro hopefully was too engrossed in reading to notice, and Emma stayed quiet as well.

“It felt like I touched metal held in a fire, with the cut part of my arm.” Emma frowned, helping him remove the prosthetic and the remainder of the kote, not touching the scarf he was overly protective of. Pain from the missing limb, that happened a lot, and he had said it felt like burning. And pain in the remaining limb, from being cut. Burning in the remaining limb was not normal.

Wolf tensed up when she started unwrapping bandages, too, but that was normal for him. There were clean bandages up here, at least, Emma didn’t want to reuse what she was unwrapping. She should have changed everything when he woke up, but there was no way he would have trusted her enough to let her. Nevermind that she had bandaged the arm in the first place and been changing it while he’d been unconscious, and worried that it never looked like it was healing, just not bleeding as much.

Now it did, it looked… like he had said, like someone had cauterized it. Which was normally what Emma would have done anyway, except the Dragon’s Heritage should have healed it completely.

“You were just talking with Isshin?”

“Yes.”

“...Well, it cauterized itself. I don’t know why. It’s still going to hurt- it might hurt more, for a while. I need you to stay here for a few hours, at least, in case something else happens.”

“I cannot. I have Lord Kuro’s orders to fulfil.” Like he hadn’t asked Emma to check his arm. “I will-”

“Not leave until tomorrow at earliest.” Loud enough Kuro heard, hopefully. “Give your arm some chance to heal, since it’s finally started to.” She ignored the dirty look that flashed across his face for a moment as she placed new bandages and helped replace the remains of the left kote that the prosthetic tied onto.

Kuro walked to the front of the library as Wolf pushed Emma’s hands away and finished tying on the prosthetic himself.

“Wolf, please, if you are in pain the ingredients can wait.” Kuro was frowning, one of his hands was fidgeting with the book he still held. “And you did just duel Genichiro. Everything can wait til tomorrow morning, Wolf.” Kuro was probably too far away to hear a bitten back sigh.

“Of course, my lord.”

Emma had her own quarters at night, and Kuro had blankets in this room and had insisted on giving Wolf one of them; he had insisted on giving Wolf several of them, actually, and it had taken a few minutes of careful discussion before Wolf convinced him not to, but he wouldn’t be budged on Wolf having at least one and continuing to refuse was inviting him to order Wolf to accept more. How much Kuro seemed to care for Wolf- Wolf, who had failed at Hirata, who had spent too long trying to find Kuro and get to Ashina, and then failed again immediately- was. Strange. It must have been because Wolf was the only person left from Hirata, this was not how masters treated their servants. At least Wolf would stay awake if he was here, stay on guard.

And he failed at that, too, jerking awake in the middle of the night, biting his tongue to stop a yell like he had with Isshin, feeling like his missing arm had been crushed. It was still gone. The pain persisted for a few minutes, before fading back to the burning pain he had been trying to tune out. Emma was not being told about this, if she came before he left in the morning; Wolf had a duty to his lord, and he did not want to be delayed again because she thought he couldn’t work through pain.

Genichiro, angrier already than he had been, stomped back down the passageway, snapping at the soldiers he had ordered to keep watch down here to pay attention. Senpou was a waste. The monks were easy enough to kill, not one of them could block a swing from him, but every bridge to the monastery was broken. What was he supposed to do, scale Mt Kongo itself just to get to the main hall?

So the black blade would have to do. Open Gate. The weaker of the blades, sure, but it was enough. It was closer too, easier to get to; why had he even bothered with Senpou Temple? He should have gone straight for it. Yes, Grandfather thought it was tied to his life, but no one really knew, just some shrine maiden twenty years ago wrote a lot of stuff on a scroll to justify keeping the sword. It was all speculation. And it was just in a shrine halfway to Hirata and north. And Dragon’s Heritage or not, it would kill the shinobi for good and Kuro wouldn’t have a choice, and with enough of the generals sharing immortality they would drive off the Interior Ministry.

...Here was the remains of the fire where he’d burned the arm. The bones looked blackened, but still recognizable. Genichiro stamped on them as he passed, splintering them into pieces, and continued out of the dungeons, back out of the castle, before it was light.

#sekiro shadows die twice #fanfiction #fanart #sekiro chain 1

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ginkgomoon · 4 years ago

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Lucien's Iridescent- Analysis

Finally, some more Lucien-based content! I'm so sorry for the wait, Lucien stans! If you’re out there please let me know so I can say hello to you individually and ask questions about your fav!! I want to interact with the community more so I can expand my knowledge and perception on the different characters and aspects of the game. I’d honestly love to have a chat about MLQC anytime! I didn’t expect to be posting this today because this is one is a freshie! (Started working on it today, and posted up today, unlike the other hundred that I have drafted...) Lots of spoilers for the character of Lucien and for future content. Please do not read if you don’t want spoilers! Thank you! Hope you enjoy!! 🌈 💜

Iridescent definition-

“Showing luminous colours that seem to change when seen from different angles.”

Origins

The pen is originally brought over from England, where Lucien was studying when he was younger. It actually belonged to a Granny before Lucien, and she told him, "give this luck to the special someone when you meet her."

Lucien didn't really care for the pen that much other than that, though.

"Although I had always felt that he was not gentle with me, this time I knew he did care for me. My joy didn't last for more than ten seconds, when my owner took me back and gave me a faint glance, and then gave his full attention the girl."

Also, it's tiny bit ironic about how Lucien can't see colour and names the pen "Iridescent".

"A rainbow! It's my favourite scene- that's where my name came from. But my owner can't see the rainbow. he doesn't know how to appreciate these colours." -Rainbow Luck Rumours and Secrets

Iridescent and MC

“This is for you."

A silvery- white steel pen glinted in the sunlight with an "X" etched prominently into its surface. (The "X" refers to his Chinese name, "Xu mo")

MC: "Isn't this the pen you left in the set the first time you were on the show?"

"Yes, at the time I rushed back to the set. Everyone had left but one girl was still foolishly sitting there, just to give me this pen. For the first time I thought, compared to my own actions of running back there, she didn't seem that foolish at all."

His lips curved up in a smile, and his eyes softened.

"It wasn't foolish. I was slower than you, but afterwards, I saw."

I didn't understand what he meant. I tilted my head and looked at Lucien. His eyes were streaked with shadow and light by the sunshine.

MC: "Why are you giving me the pen?"

"The pen has a name. It's called Iridescent. It's a lucky charm that's been with me for many years. Now, this luck belongs to you."

Lucien opened my hand and placed the pen in it, then closed my hand back over it with an assertive force.

"It's just a pen. Take it."

Lucien turned his head and looked at me, the sunlight glistening on his lips, clear and warm. -Chapter 13-10

Lucien gave a lot of thought into giving MC the pen.

"He had been staring at me for so long his gaze almost penetrated me! My owner had always been very decisive and unwavering, but this time, I could feel his hesitation. What was it for?"

But why?

"At the moment I was a little dizzy, and thought, am I now a "love token"?" -Rainbow Luck Rumours and Secrets

I would argue multiple reasons actually. Firstly, as Iridescent itself stated, it was used as a "love exchange"- a silent confession that he loves her. He uses this pen for his work, and since this "work" was focused on the QUEEN and BLACK SWAN, it was almost like a declaration that what Lucien had owned- what Ares will soon gain, that no matter what, both personas would be by her side.

He knows that she's always in danger, from others and from himself, so he silently hopes that this pen in becoming that "lucky charm" would also help her so that she wouldn't really get caught and tied up in BLACK SWAN business.

It serves as a reminder for himself too, that a part of him will always be kept close to her. And like how its name is Iridescent, that aspect of him that can see colour is being surrendered back to her, because only with MC, can Lucien finally witness colours of the rainbow.

But of course, like all rainbows, they don't last forever, and MC uses this pen- in the name of colour- his weaknesses and the symbolism and connection of their relationship- against him.

MC: “Why?”

“I warned you before. You still had time to run too bad, you had no awareness of danger. Or one could say, you trusted me too much.”

He spoke in a tone that was provocative and mocking.

With ease, he ripped open a scar that hadn’t fully healed, and my tears came pouring out.

I don’t know why, but in that instant, I seemed to see a flash of sorrow in his eyes. But in less than half a second, he had resumed his composure. Then he pursed his lips and made a faint smile.

Thick blackness surrounded him. Even the brightest of setting suns couldn’t reach him.

But I still hoped that the hint of sorrow I caught was real. I hoped that he was still the way he used to pretend to be. But then why did his eyes seem so sincere?

Even now, I wasn’t willing to completely believe. My heart told me that it wasn’t lies.

Helping me save my final show was real. Rescuing me from danger was real. Every bit of encouragement and help was all real.

If all of that was real, how could the person in front of me now be fake?

I strained to find in his eyes any sign of pain, struggle, even a moment’s hesitation. But there was none.

There was nothing at all. We were like two strangers.

“Ares, what are you waiting for?”

I don’t know where my strength came from, but in an instant, I held something sharp to my neck. I tremblingly held the pen, sensing the bitter taste in my throat.

Seeing my action, everyone froze.

How ironic! He clearly gave it to me as a gift, and now it was carrying out its mission like this.

“You won’t do it.”

My neck was in terrible pain, and half my body was going numb.

I didn’t even realise that a trickle of blood was streaming down my neck. We stood there, neither of us was moving.

“Don’t do anything foolish.”

You’re right, I am too foolish. When I was at my lowest, he held out a hand of friendship to me and I took it in with full trust.

And now here he was again, saying that same voice I was so familiar with, that was all a trap.

He stood there, aloof and cold, with all those emotions swirling in his eyes that I never understood before. Now I final understand. It was the thrill of laying a trap and the joy of watching your prey take the bait.

MC: “Let me go.”

“You think you can negotiate with me?”

MC: “You still owe me a thank you gift.”

A tear rolled down my face silently. (This line killed me.)

He smiled mockingly.

“I can let you go, but next time, you won’t get such an opportunity. Don’t let me catch you next time.” (In other words he means, "pen you did well, now she can escape.")

MC: “Next time I won’t trust you, Ares. I will never trust you again. Because you aren’t Lucien. He would never harm me. They have nothing to do with each other!”

He turned but said nothing. That was the last time I saw a gentle look in his eye. Then he looked up at the sky as his whole body emerged into the shadows, and he continued onwards.

The pen fell from my hand onto the ground. The “X” etched onto it gleaming, seemingly telling me a story. -Chapter 13-19

"I saw the pain in my owners eyes and felt the trembling of the girl's right hand passing through me... grasping me as she left, she could not control her shaking body. She seemed to be holding onto me with all her strength, as if I was her only support.

I was accidentally dropped to the ground and rolling into the dust. but the girl didn't seem to notice, as she was in a trance looking up at the kites in the sky. But the girl crouched down to pick me up and gently wiped the dust off of me. Everyday at nightfall, I knew how much pain she endured and how much she cried in her sleep. I thought she would abandon me, but she did not... -Rainbow Luck Rumours and Secrets

n a way, it's also a silent promise, or a reason for him to keep returning to her. The tie that she always clutches secretly in her pocket that she, too, still cares for him and still thinks of him. MC still evens put the effort in the take care of Iridescent, making sure it doesn't get lost or broken. This is similar to how the ginkgo bracelet is a form of support from Gavin to MC.

As I put away my camera, I again reflexively felt around inside-

MC: “Oh no!”

A ball of sweat fell from my forehead. Where was that pen!?

A single possibility suddenly presented itself to me- but another thought immediately supplanted it-

MC: “It’s his anyway. The staff will give it back to him…”

Having confidently convinced myself with that reasoning, I left.

See how they're back to how they were from the beginning- where she was starting to get to know “Lucien”, but now she’s starting to view him as “Ares”. The two personas correlating to this one pen.

I banged my head on the table. I clutched my head in pain, and the metal pen rolled away, stopping before a pair of black shoes. Then I saw a slender hand daintily pick it up.

“You came back to find this?”

He looked at me with a playful look on his face. He raised his eyebrows and held the pen in front.

“Don’t lose it again.”

I reached out for it, but that sunny late spring day suddenly flashed before my eyes, and I started to regain my posture. Maybe I shouldn’t have come back for it.

MC: “Never mind, I’m always losing things. And it doesn’t belong to me anyway. At this point, it should go back to its original owner.”

He slowly and deliberately put the pen away, then gave as light nod. -Chapter 16-11

"With determination, the girl gave me back to my owner. The moment he took me, the last thread linking them together seemed to have broken. My owner withdraw his gaze from her and after a long time he said softly, "my little fool". The words sounded unfinished, with untold tenderness hidden behind them. But in my opinion, should the fool refer to my intelligent owner himself?

I couldn't help but think, did my owner lose his colours? Or will he find them again, someday? Because, those who have seen the rich colours of the rainbow, would not be reconciled with grey again." -Rainbow Luck Rumours and Secrets

But in the end, the pen was returned back to MC.

Lucien carefully took out the pen from his pocket and placed it in the girl's hand. The he leaned over and whispered into her ear-

"Next time, don't rush into danger by yourself. Especially on my account." -Chapter 16-22

Like how Lucien would always come back to her- Ares or not, because those are his true colours- that Lucien, like how he’s also “iridescent”, would show all sides of him to her, and that he would love MC no matter which side he's on.

#I CAN EAT DINNER NOW #literally typed out the whole of chapter 13 #proud of myself #恋与制作人 #love and producer #mlqc #mr love queens choice #mlqc translation #mlqc analysis #mlqc cn #mlqc en #mlqc Lucien #mlqc xumo #xu mo #Lucien #mlqc spoilers

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katytheinspiredworkaholic · 4 years ago

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Wip Wednesday

Untitled fic (Correspondence)

Summary/Story so far: HotchReid, slow burn, AU where Reid never joined the FBI, but got roped into consulting for the LA field office while working and teaching at Caltech. Hotch gets his email from a fellow agent, and they start to work on cases together -- until they start talking on a regular basis. Regular becomes frequent, frequent becomes constant. We are now months into this... tentative thing that is beyond friendship, beyond flirtatious, they still don't know much about each other on paper... but this feels a lot like dating. And then one day, Hotch abruptly stops answering his phone.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

(Set in season 6, unbeta'd, still the first draft, text/email templates are temporary)

((Notes: Spencer's POV this time, he is 29 and working at CalTech, Hotch still doesn't know how old he is though he does know that he's at least younger than 45 now. Hotch has been MIA now for about 18 hours.))

Spencer spends way too long online that morning, searching for anything about the case Hotch is working. There's nothing about a raid, or a shooting, or even an arrest -- which could all just be apart of the ongoing media blackout -- but it also does nothing to stop him from panicking.

With a drafted email pulled up to Ms. Penelope Garcia, the BAU's personal tech analyst, he ponders how to... even word this without it sounding too personal. Too much like he and Hotch have more than just a working relationship.

Because they do. They have... something.

Something that gives him fluttering sensations in his stomach, makes him check his phone constantly, and react to even the slightest chime similar to his text tone. Makes him smile when he sees Hotch's name on his notifications, in his email inbox, makes him message the man in the middle of the day at the most random thoughts. Just because he wants to make him laugh.

[]You're going to get me in trouble.

[][]Did I make you smile?

[]I'm at a crime scene. There's a dead body in front of me.

[][]Then why are you checking your phone?

[]You know why.

But that’s not something that is shared with the rest of the team, he’s sure. So he should be careful how he words his email, lest Ms. Garcia realize that Spencer isn’t asking purely as a colleague.

Surely they know he has friends, though?

Chewing his lip, Spencer types out a brief email asking if Agent Hotchner is feeling well since he missed an appointment the night before and hasn’t been returning his calls. It’s a phrase he’s used often, so it comes naturally to Spencer as he types it out, and he realizes… he hasn’t called. He’s sent a dozen text messages, but not a phone call. Never a phone call. That was against the rules.

He looks to his phone beside him on his desk, and tries to fight back the dueling forms of panic clawing at his chest. Panic that Hotch might not answer, panic what that means for the man he’s been… becoming more and more inclined to than any other person he’s met in so long. Panic if he does answer, breaking that barrier of written words to spoken, and the opportunity to hear Hotch’s voice. But he would also hear Spencer’s, and then there would be no hiding just how… how young he really is.

But his phone is in his hand before he can stop himself, and Hotch’s contact pulled up and his thumb hovering over the phone number with baited breath.

Was he really going to do this?

He presses the touch screen and can hear the line connecting, the dial tone ring even before he gets the phone up to his ear and waits. It rings, and rings, and rings a fourth time -- before clicking over to voicemail. And Spencer’s hyper-fast thought processes realize he’s going to hear Hotch’s voice for the first time. Frozen in a panic, unsure if he wants to or if that had been something he wanted them to do together that the seconds slip by and suddenly it’s too late.

“You’ve reached the voicemail box of -- (703)-567-8790 -- this caller is not available. Please leave a message after the tone--”

It’s an automated, female voice that rattles off the numbers and generic call back message, and Spencer hangs up before it can begin recording him. Exhaling a shaky breath, that nothing had been ruined between him and Hotch thanks to an ill-timed phone call.

He keeps the momentum going without much thought, and adjusts his email to Ms. Garcia before sending it.

It feels so understated, and yet over dramatic the more he thinks about it. The more he reads it.

Please let me know of his well-being.

God, no wonder Hotch thought he was in his 60’s.

But Spencer has to keep the façade up, not give away anything he doesn’t want to just because the emotional part of his brain is running rampant over the rational one. There are… many explanations as to why Hotch isn’t answering him. His gut feeling aside, he doesn’t need to be panicking like this. The world is still turning, he still has work to do, so Spencer tries to gather himself into some semblance of order and preps to talk to his doctoral students within the hour.

His morning routine progresses as usual, to start. Dr. Reid has his mandatory round up with his doctoral candidates going over thesis and dissertation parameters, class lecture schedules, updates, the works. Like morning announcements, but he requires them all to be there and to listen, and they all show up. Everyone knows of Spencer’s eidetic memory. He will certainly not forget a single date or schedule change, and he expects his students to not forget as well.

But this morning Spencer is fully distracted, his mind elsewhere, somewhere in the state of Delaware with an agent who may or may not be in danger. Because Spencer cannot shake the feeling that something is wrong. It almost seems more like a fact than a feeling.

He becomes even more distracted when his email pings, a response from Ms. Garcia of Quantico, VA flashing across his laptop screen, right in the middle of his department announcements. Spencer’s eyes skim the preview sentence in the pop-up box, and his voice trails off as his mind… whirls.

Dr. Reid, I’m sorry to tell you I don’t know when Hotch will be available again. There was an incident, and he’s still in surg-

Surgery.

That vice-like grip of worry that has taken hold of him since last night tightens further, to the point Spencer can’t breathe. Hotch is hurt, he’s in surgery, and if he hasn’t been answering his phone since last night -- or even late yesterday afternoon -- it was not a minor thing.

Hotch is hurt.

“Dr. Reid? Are you okay?”

“I--” he’s still looking at the email pop-up box, and is clicking on it before he can stop himself. Immediately disconnecting his laptop from the projector as his email loads there. It takes him a faction of a second to read the email. “I’m sorry, an emergency just came up. Kimmy, finish reading off the schedule for me?” He doesn’t even wait until she answers him, just picks up his laptop and retreats to his office as fast as his long legs will carry him.

--surgery and we’re still waiting on word. I know you 2 talk on the reg so I’ll keep you posted.

Fret not, genius professor, our fearless leader has been through much worse than this.

She’s using informal speech patterns, which she has never done before. It bleeds her nervousness, and worries Spencer even more. Ms. Garcia also revealed she knows he and Hotch talk, but surprisingly that doesn’t have the effect he thought it would on his already rattled nerves. Instead, any and all reservations fall away as he types out a response much in the same way he and Hotch had started their friendship all those months ago.

Please, is there anything you are allowed to tell me about the case or his condition? We --

Spencer pauses, bites his lip as he considers crossing this boundary into the uncomfortable unknown, and then thinks about Hotch on a hospital operating table three thousand miles away.

“Screw it,” he mutters and continues to type.

--We’ve become good friends and I’m very worried.

The reply is almost immediate.

That makes 2 of us, boy wonder, but I’m already hacked into the hospital records database and Prentiss is in the waiting room.

I’m sending you the case files and the incident report from last night. Maybe you can see some shiz we can’t b/c the bossman is tough but he’s been in surgery a long time.

Of course, whatever he can do to help. Spencer’s heavy heart-beat triples in his chest as pulls up the files and immediately prints them out so he can read through them faster. But then his mind sticks on something from the email.

Boy Wonder.

Ms. Garcia knows how young he is.

She must have done a background check on him, that would make sense since he’s been consulting so much lately. But why would Garcia know his age, and not Hotch?

Ms. Garcia, did you update my dossier with the bureau after you ran my background check?

If you’re referring to why Hotch seems to think you’re rocking the senior discount at restaurants and not still getting carded for beer, then no I didn’t update it. I’m very anti-gov files having every detail of our lives in them, that’s what I’m for, and I figured there was a reason he didn’t know. Your secret is safe with me, sugar bean.

The real reason is Agent Anderson of the LA field office is a dick, with a bully streak he never outgrew after high school, and didn’t bother filling out a full file on him the first time Spencer consulted for the FBI. Then, he couldn’t be bothered to update it when his consultations became more than a one time thing.

But that was all in the past now, and Spencer can’t even be upset about it. Because now he has Hotch.

Thank you, Ms. Garcia. I’ll let you know my findings soon.

He skims the file quickly, pulling information out at lightning speed. It appears a very straight-forward case. As straight-forward as a murderous sociopath can be, anyway. Very anti-establishment, specified targets that devolved to anyone in a uniform. Anyone who appears too official, or lables as official.

It’s easy to see, now why the unsub attacked Hotch instead of running from him. He practically served himself up on a silver platter. But there’s something about the kills that’s bothering Spencer. The knife wounds, bludgeoning, even the gunshots during the first murders -- it’s all overkill. Rage. Every single target has died from massive internal bleeding, M.E. reports all label the knife wounds and beatings as the cause. But the amount of blood left over, measured during autopsy, doesn’t add up. They bled too much. No wounds indicating intentional bleeding occurred, and the tox screens are all clean.

Except, every victim has elevated potassium rates.

“Oh, God,” Spencer whispers, quiet and horrified. “Hotch.”

There’s no time for email.

He picks up his phone, goes to an older email that has full contact details in the footer, and dials Ms. Garcia’s direct line in Quantico.

“Speak, and behold greatness.”

“Ms. Garcia, it’s Dr. Reid,” Spencer says, and his tone and quickened speech patterns gives way to his panic.

“Dr-- Dr. Reid?”

“Yes, quick there’s no time. Do you have Hotch’s hospital records in front of you still?”

“Yes,” Garcia says, her voice a musical thing even in it’s breathless reaction to his heightened state of haste. “Updated every two minutes.”

“Is his potassium elevated?”

Some quick typing of keys that move faster than even he could ever hope to type. “... Yes.”

God. “Okay, okay I need you to call the hospital right now,” Spencer says in a spiel that all sounds like one word. “Whatever you have to do, he needs Sodium Polystyrene Sulfonate as soon as possible, to counteract the chemical imbalance or he’s going to go into kidney failure and bleed out.”

tbc...

#THIS IS JUST A SNIPPET #I s2g it is but it is also long af #legit this ended up being 1900 words i just didn't feel like stopping you know?#so yall get like... 25% of the entire chapter basically #sorry not sorry #expect a wip every week now #wip wednesday #HotchReid #Heid #katyswriting #don't ask about the dots tumblr and I are in a formatting fight and aren't on speaking terms rn

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confetti-cupcake · 3 years ago

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Full disclosure, writing was really, really hard for me in February and March. I was extremely busy, feeling a little burnt out from work, and weeks went by without me writing a single word.

So I decided to try something new and challenge myself to write at least 150 words every day for the month of April — on any fic or combination of fics of my choosing. And, to my surprise, I managed to stick to it!

I didn't think I'd make much of a dent in anything with 150 words a day, but it turned out to be the perfect daily goal. It's the equivalent of only a few sentences, so it was easy to meet, even if I was really busy that day. If I met the bare minimum for the day, I'd always have a nice starting point to build off of on the following day. But most of the time, it got my creativity flowing enough where I'd be inspired to write hundreds, sometimes even thousands, more words! In total, I netted 13,817 words over the course of the month across 3 different WIPs!

And because I love a good chart, here's a daily breakdown of how much I wrote per day:

Hoping to keep the streak going in May and to keep posting my progress each month to hold myself accountable! And if you're like me and are really susceptible to writer's block, or can't ever seem to find time to write, I really encourage you to try this for yourself!

Goals for May 2022:

Continue the streak of 150+ words/day

Finish first draft of The Perfect Match Chapter 6

Get started on The Perfect Match Chapter 7

Finish first draft of Til Death Do Us Part Chapters 1 & 2

Overhaul edit Thirty-Nine Days (Survivor AU) Chapter 1

[and if by any chance anyone wants a copy of the word tracker spreadsheet I used to log my progress, hit me up! 😊]

#writing stats

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nlights37 · 4 years ago

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three stars ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️

::In very convincing Matthew McConaughey Texan:: Alright alright alright, 3 stars, 3 fics to disclose little nuggets of info on...

1. From Fixer Upper, Chapter 4 - Jon and Dany’s text exhange:

She was laughing even as she sent the text, knowing how touchy he was about this topic. Honestly, it was the whole reason she sent it.

Dany: I can’t believe we’ve been fake dating this long and you haven’t sent me a single dick pic 😖

The text bubble appeared for so long she was a little worried, but then his novel-length answer appeared. She was two lines in before she was laughing so hard she was crying and her vision blurred beyond her ability to continue reading at all.

Jon: How ABSOLUTELY DARE YOU?! Apparently I need to explain this AGAIN? If the Westerosi Security Agency is going to see my dick they can come here and do it in person like men. I’m not just gonna offer it up on a silver platter for them. Also need I remind you I am a small business owner, madam? This store is my kingdom and you ask me to besmirch it’s good name so you can see my cock at 2 pm on a Thursday? I’m disappointed in you Daenerys, I really am.

It should probably come as no surprise, given the ‘Buttslut’ text I shared awhile back, that a lot of the dialogue I write (including text messages) comes from the way my husband and I talk to each other, and in this case I based Jon’s reluctance to free the Peen digitally off my own husband’s unbreakable stance that sending dick pics means your dick is then somewhere in the cloud and idk I guess he thinks the Governtment is just chilling and collecting nudes all day. Anyway, I really did ask him once when we were dating why he had never sent me a dick pic and he said something along the lines of Jon’s response here, and even now, years later, it still makes me laugh, so I used it :)

2. A Thin Line (Just some thoughts on this fic in general, that I’m not sure I’ve shared):

I was SURE, ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN that a lot of people would hate this fic. Like, I was over the top about ‘Hey this is crack’, etc, because as much fun as I had making them just awful people to each other, I was like ‘ugh there’s gonna be some stans in both camps that maybe get pissed about this’, but I figured fuck it, let’s do it. The thing about them in this fic that I really, really enjoyed writing was that they are completely and totally unapologetic about themselves, and letting myself just really let them be the worst versions of themselves, I don’t know, guys. It felt good. So good that I was like ‘hmmmm, maybe keep it in the drafts.’

Because that’s the thing I like best about them and this fic - it’s not a redemption story about two tortured souls who find each other and then learn the error of their ways. It’s more like two villains meet at villain convention and will they birth the antichrist? Who knows, really, but probably, yes. Definitely.

Anyway, I really dug that so many people enjoyed their unspeakably assholish tendencies and please know I haven’t abandoned my part 3, in which Dany gets to snob it up in the North and you know, so more light bondage, maybe some matching prenups, I don’t want to give it all away.

3. From Fang and Claw, Chapter 1:

“When you say fucking,” Drogon drawled, “what exactly do you mean, snack?” The three were all gathered near the stone walls of the Keep, guards watching anxiously as the three creatures of legend circled and paced.

“Stop calling him that.” Rhaegal leaned in, nipping at Drogon’s swishing black tail. “He has a name.”

Drogon rolled his eyes, looking at his brother incredulously. “I’ll call him whatever I like. What’s he going to do? Howl me to death?”

Rhaegal glared, inching closer to Ghost. “He’s magic, like us, and he’s Jon’s, so you’d better behave.” The green dragon growled. “You know what mother said.”

The black dragon gave a dismissive snort, his eyes searching the windows of the Keep instead of Rhaegal or Ghost. “Be nice. Yes, I heard her. This is me. Being nice. Not eating this talking little snack.” His eyes shot to the wolf’s. “Rather nice of me, isn’t it,” teeth gnashed together, grinding as Drogon uttered grudgingly, “Ghost.”

The white wolf ignored the black dragon, his eyes also falling to the windows. “You want to know what fucking is or don’t you?”

“I want to know what it is you mean when you say Jon is fucking my mother, yes.” Drogon sounded angry, offended even, and Ghost was surprised two mighty creatures could be so absolutely innocent to the ways of the world. Why, he’d been fucking for years now. Surely there were girl dragons flying about somewhere, though the lack of fucking certainly explained the black dragon’s horrible attitude.

“I feel itchy.” Rhaegal was shifting restlessly beside him.

Ghost gave a wolfish grin. “You’re bonded to Jon now.” Rhaegal nodded though it was not a question. “That’s what it feels like when Jon’s fucking your mother.” The wolf’s mouth fell open, and he panted in Drogon’s direction. “Like an itch you need to scratch.”

His red eyes fell to the windows till he found the one he wanted, and he whispered for the duo to follow as closely as they could as they slid along side the ancient stone, ‘til they were just under the window to Jon’s chambers.

“Hear that?” He certainly could, and by the look of confusion on the dragons’ faces they could as well. The Silver Dany let out a throaty yell then, followed by Jon’s name, the sounds and smells of mating flowing from the open window and out into the night.

“Is he hurting her?” Drogon was rumbling and thrashing his tail about, rage building in those mad eyes.

But Rhaegal responded before Ghost could answer. “No.” He drew the word out, his head rising until he could look into the room for himself, then shooting back down to stare at Ghost. “Why are they doing that?”

Drogon mirrored his brother’s actions, even angrier but endlessly puzzled when he lowered his head as well, clearly befuddled by what he’d seen. “Explain this!”

Ghost gave a shrug, padding off a few paces, ready to give his brother a spot of privacy with his mate, heading for the clearing along the tree line where he could scent some rabbits running. “It’s what they do.” The pair was scrambling after him, landbound, awkwardly lumbering after the sleek wolf. “Humans.” Both dragons remained clueless, and Ghost snagged a hare and crunched down heavily, warm blood streaking his fur, downing the small prey in a few bites before continuing. “When they want to make a pup.”

Drogon shuddered as he watched Ghost eat. “You’re a fucking savage.” He grumbled and groused, claws swiping out to catch an elk, idly shooting out gouts of flame to cook the meat before he began to tear it apart. “You don’t even cook your food, little snack.”

Rhaegal ignored it all, focused only on this new knowledge. “But our mother is a dragon.” His eyes lit up, suddenly, turning to his brother in excitement. “It’s how they make eggs!”

Ghost gave a snicker. “Humans don’t lay eggs.” He looked at the pair with amused eyes. “You lot come from eggs?”

Rhaegal gave a nod, but Drogon preened, proud as he broke his meal’s rib cage between his jaws. “You should be so lucky. We certainly do. Beautiful eggs people pay large sums of gold for.”

Ghost crouched, his attention on the deer he could now sense beyond the tree line. “Like a chicken then.” He leapt as the black dragon roared in outrage, his jaws sinking into the deer’s neck, and he pulled the twitching body out of the treeline to drop it in a heap before Rhaegal.

“NOT LIKE A CHICKEN!”

Rhaegal looked at Ghost pleadingly before he cooked the deer his host had provided, his eyes begging the wolf to stop baiting his brother, and Ghost grumpily complied.

“Alright, not like a chicken. Point is, humans have pups that look like them, and they don’t come from eggs.” He sat on his haunches, watching the pair as they ate.

“So,” Rhaegal snapped into a femur, “you meant to say that’s what Jon’s doing. Trying to put a small human in our mother.”

The wolf couldn’t stop the snicker of amusement. “Oh, no he’s already done that.” He looked at the pair wonderingly. What sort of beast were they, that they couldn’t smell the pup in their mother? “Now he’s just fucking her because it feels good.”

There is nothing funnier to me than the idea that (1) Ghost would ever try ot explain to anyone what sex is and (2) that the dragons wouldn’t know and would be VERY offended and it took a little bit for me to write this scene way way back ago when we all thought that Season 8 would not be a massive shitstain in history because I kept laughing so hard picturing this shit.

This story is probaby one of my favorites, just because it’s silly and every magical creature is TIRED TIRED I SAY of everyone dicking around and just the notion that they’re all like ‘THESE HUMANS ARE SO DUMB UGH DO WE HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING?!” It just really tickled me, and I might never have written it had the amazing @aweseeds not requested it after her winning bid for the Jonerys Unites charity event. So, everyone say thank you to aweseeds lol, this might’ve just stayed in my head and silly tumblr posts without that fine investment in fandom content.

Thank you lovely @frostbitepandaaaaa for the ask! I LOVE YOU BITCH, I AIN’T NEVER GONNA STOP LOVIN’ YOU BITCH!

#jonerys #jon x daenerys #fanfic #my fics #fic asks

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mommymooze · 4 years ago

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That’s My Spot

Hubert x Reader

Warning: Blood and guts. come on, there’s a war going on.

You’re the best healer at Garreg Mach. You teach new techniques and spells to Manuela. If there is any research that needs to be done, you are the first person that they reach out to. Crushed bones? You can mend them together in your sleep. Identifying poisons? One of your specialties of course. You have a huge section blocked off in the greenhouse for your specialized herbs and plants. So why do you not work in the infirmary? Because your bedside manner leaves much to be desired. You can handle any unconscious person, but as soon as they start talking to you, it pisses you off and you say things that healers are not supposed to say.

Manuela’s favorites:

Shut the fuck up or I will let you die.

Move one more time and I will break this leg again and leave you.

Leave me to my work. I don’t appreciate your staring. One more minute of you and I will scoop your eyes out with a dull, rusty spoon. (This is her favorite, most likely because you said it to Hubert as he was watching you work on an unconscious Edelgard. You don’t like an audience.)

Nobody knows it is you healing them, bringing them back from the brink of death because once they are conscious you are gone. Antisocial is your middle name. You have no friends except for books. You do nothing beyond medical treatment. Your food is delivered to your room every day. You are in the infirmary, your room, or the library.

There are no problems until the war begins. Then Manuela is pestering you to join them in Enbarr. She finally convinces you that you would have the same arrangements there. You will be left to your studies, not required to take any infirmary shifts, given your own laboratory and a small private greenhouse.

You settle in the Imperial palace well enough. You go to the library and begin to peruse every book they have on healing, poisons, and anything you feel may be useful to your research. After a few days you have found the perfect reading spot. There is a superb amount of light, the chair is very cushioned and low. You cannot feel any drafts, it blocks out most of the noise of others and is not obviously in sight of anyone that may wander about the library. A table sits at the perfect height for your notes and ink pot. A formerly empty shelf holds the most recent books you are reading. This is your spot. For three weeks not one person has disturbed your studies. Bliss.

This morning you turn the corner, coffee in hand, to see that someone is sitting where they do not belong.

“This is my spot.” You complain.

“Hmmm..since when.” Hubert scowls, not looking up from the book he is reading.

“This is the perfect spot for my reading and research. This chair does not suit you. You are very tall and your knees are higher than the seat itself. It is difficult for you to raise yourself to a standing position due to the low height of the seat.” You nag.

“I find it comfortable.” The dark mage smirks.

“Go find a chair for tall people. Chairs that allow my feet to touch the floor suitably are few and far between. You would think Emperor Edelgard would have more chairs suited to those with smaller stature such as ourselves around here.” You grumble, taking a sip of your coffee, looking daggers at the dark haired man hiding behind his curtain of hair.

“I’m staying.” He growls stubbornly.

“Fine.” You huff. You place your coffee on the table, retrieve the book you have been reading from the shelf and then climb up and seat yourself onto his lap.

“What is this nonsense.” Hubert cries, his hands go up in the air as you climb upon him, using the collar and lapel of his jacket to pull yourself onto him.

You are seated facing to his right. Taking your book in hand and removing your parchment that is marking your page, you begin to read where you left off.

Hubert appears quite confused, frowning at you. People are normally intimidated by him. Raising a single eyebrow can clear an entire room. To suddenly find himself being used as a piece of furniture by someone that is a half a foot shorter than Lady Edelgard is…concerning.

“What do you think you are doing?” He chastises.

You ignore him, reaching for your inkwell so that you can copy some notes from the book.

“Explain yourself.” The dark mage demands, a small concentration of dark magic begins to gather in his right hand.

“This is my spot. I am taking what is mine. Shut up or I will silence you.” You wave your hand, dispelling the magic that is gathering in his hand and return to your writing.

“Do you have any idea how many different ways I can kill you?” He leers at you menacingly.

“Do you have any idea how many times I have brought your sorry ass back from the brink of death?” You stick your index finger in his face, nearly stabbing his nose. “Removing poison laden knives from your ribs, stuffing your intestines back into your gut at two in the morning when you warp back from a messy mission, repairing cracks in your skull when you come back from a battle with a lance wielding lunatic. That’s just the start. Do you think that libidinous sot Manuela is the one that pieces you together? I’ve done everything short of reattaching your head to your neck. You need me. Your Emperor and the Strike Force needs me. Shut it, you ungrateful git.” Hubert’s head jerks back involuntarily. He’s not certain if he wants to blast you with a mire spell or laugh. The fact that you do not fear him in any way amuses him. He shifts in the chair slightly and decides to continue reading his book while attempting to ignore you.

Time passes quietly for several hours. You simply concentrate on your research.

“Ahem.” Hubert clears his throat.

“Now what.” You roll your eyes.

“I must head to the kitchens to test the food for Emperor Edelgard’s lunch.” He says flatly.

You continue reading. Why should you cooperate when he has not cooperated with you?

After a minute the tall dark haired man puts his book down. He sees that you are taking no action to remove yourself from his lap. He puts his hands under your arms, lifting you and placing you standing on the ground. He frowns as he has difficulty getting up from the chair as you had stated, however he brings himself to standing, refusing to not give you the satisfaction of telling him ‘I told you so.’ Without another word he leaves the area.

Scrambling onto your chair, your beloved spot, you continue your work.

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

Several weeks pass by. Your spot is safe and sacred most days. However, just to annoy you-of that you are certain-Hubert is planted in your chair one day per week. Just for spite he places large and uncomfortable items in his pockets, hoping to annoy you. You did not sit close to his body, just upon his legs which are very long and it is no problem to be perched closer to his knees. One day he decides to warp away, dragging you with him. Unfortunately for him, he arrives at his destination in that oddly shaped position causing him to fall flat on his ass and you landing across him. You cuss a blue streak at him as you leave and return to the library.

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

These are times of war, and as the army goes, so must the medical staff. You shove away a crying and gasping Linhardt as a barely breathing Caspar with more blood on the outside than on the inside is brought before you. Your magic glows brightly in the blocked off section of the medical tent as you work miracles. Caspar is moved from your surgical table to a clean cot, no blood seen on the outside any longer, his color is amazing considering all that he has been through.

Another battle a few weeks later has Dorothea rescuing a freshly speared Ferdinand, the spear sticking through him completely and exiting his back on the left side. Only Hubert dares to approach your sequestered surgery for brief observations. Your eyebrows heavily furrowed in a frown of concentration, your low worktable containing Ferdinand and multiple metal instruments and vials. Your right arm is nearly up to the elbow inside the man, glowing brightly with healing magic. You work on him for several hours before you finally sew the front exterior wound shut. You clean him from head to toe, addressing every wound on his person, continually going back to his abdomen, concentrating and sending magic to specific areas to treat. Slowly you drip concoctions into his mouth, massaging his throat to assist him with swallowing. One last check listening to his breathing, listening to his gut, then you send him to a bed for recovery. Quickly you clean everything and are ready for the next patient to put back together.

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

Back in Enbarr you are allowed two weeks of uninterrupted time in your spot. Your reprieve is broken this day. Hubert sits sipping his coffee as you turn the corner. He places his cup down upon a shelf and pats his lap.

You hesitate, take a deep breath and place your coffee cup down on your table. Hubert lifts you onto his lap and rests his chin on top of your head as he hugs you gently around your waist.

Placing his cheek on the crown of your head he says, “Thank you.” in a deep, soft voice.

You close your eyes. “I don’t ask for thanks. I’m doing my job.” You say, trying so hard to not reveal how much this means to you.

Hubert hugs you a bit tighter and you involuntarily sigh. He leans back keeping you close to his chest, his cheek still resting on your head.

Maybe, you think, it is time to have a friend.

#fe16 #Fire Emblem Three Houses #fe3h #fe3h x reader #hubert von vestra #hubert x reader

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eirian-houpe · 4 years ago

Text

Threads

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold

Characters: Belle (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Mad Hatter | Jefferson

Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Angst, Retrospective, A Monthly RumBelling May 2021

Summary: Even when cursed, memories have a way of persisting, and sometimes hints of the present, or future can find their way into the depths of Belle's troubled mind. Written for the May 2021 Monthly Rumbelling.

Threads

The croft had an old stone well tucked away in the woods behind the yard, but still on the property. The Realtor had warned them that it was as dry as bones baked in the desert sun. Every morning, though, just as the sun’s infant rays drove away the predawn shadows, and left the colors muted ghosts of themselves, she lowered the wooden bucket and pulled up a full pail of crisp, cold, sweet water. She looked into the water as the ripples stilled and always saw a new reflection - never her own. That morning it was a castle nestled against a snowy mountain peak, high above the trees that graced the slopes below. She dipped the ladle into the water and brought it to her lips to drink thirstily. Perhaps if she drank enough she might find the castle in her dreams and explore its vast imagined hallways and grand ballrooms. When the water stilled again there was a new reflection; a town that stretched like a blanket at the foot of the hill on which she stood. She shook her head at all her fancy, and slowly carried the water back to the croft.

The Realtor’s warning hadn’t deterred them. After all, the croft was sound, and they’d need a place to stay, and later, she hoped, to live - the difference… the presence of the man she loved, who like the other men was gone away to war. In the meantime, until his return - from her thought to the ears of the gods - the croft would be a place of safety for her… and maybe for a child that she would hold in her arms as he walked back into their home when the war was done.

She hadn’t wanted him to go, what wife would? She had hoped that his advanced years would spare him the draft. It hadn’t. They opened up the letter that morning to find the papers demanding he report for duty the following week, and so with duty of her own, she packed a duffel for him.

“Only essentials,” he said, and she nodded, offering him a sad smile, not trusting herself to speak. Out of the closet she pulled a shirt of the finest silk, with ruffled cuffs, a dark leather vest and the snug fitting pants she most admired. His high collared coat she set on the back of a chair for him to put on when he had to leave. The rest of the space she filled with clothes she found in his closet; small, as if for… a child?

There was. There was a son…

He didn’t say goodbye as he slipped out before dawn. She simply woke, slowly, to the scent of the steam, rising from the cup of tea he’d left for her on the table beside the bed, where, the night before, their bodies had spoken their love in place of words.

With no shame, for none was needed between man and wife, she sat up and lifted her night gown over her head, reaching for him then. She cupped his cheeks in the palms of her hands and drew him to her, their foreheads rested, briefly, each against the other, before he gathered her closer, worshiping her body with his lips, bathing her too sensitive flesh with his tongue, before rising again to cover her, and sink deep inside. Two became one as he filled her, and she cried out for him and he answered with cries of his own, until at last, spent, he lay down to cover her, like a blanket.

In the morning he was gone. The steam rose, a specter in the darkened room, but not without hope. The teacup sat upon three saucers, the three pillars of their marriage. Love. Trust. Desire.

And so she continued, day by day, to do those things that she had always done, but days became weeks, and weeks turned to months, and then years followed, and still no word.

In the summer months she plucked roses from the bush that grew by the gate, and waking in a panic one night reached to take one from the vase beside the teacup on nightstand, the cup long since washed and dried, and standing face down upon its three saucers; waiting to be used again. She stroked the petals of the rose with her fingers. These were white, with just a steak of yellow. The roses he had always given her before were red and pink, and purple. Slowly, one by one, she began to pluck the petals from the white and yellow flower.

“He lives, he lives not, he lives, he lives not…” each petal she let fall onto his empty pillow, but she stopped before she had denuded all the bloom. Such an infantile game - and did she really want to know?

She laid it crosswise on his pillow atop the plucked petals, a place marker for his head as much as was the rose that rested on the book she read. A pale lilac or lavender, she left it there to scent the pages with its sweetness. It would surround her the next time she picked it up, either by sunlight or lamplight, as now, to read and soothe her loneliness. When she read, she could be anyone - anything - could even be at his side when he marched into battle, or returned to barracks wearied from the trenches.

I’m coming back, Rumple…

She kept each book she read on the corner of the dresser. Slim volumes that she piled atop the book he had left there - a thick, leather bound tome with gold edges to each page. She had never seen inside. Full of secrets, she imagined, like some ancient book of magic that he wrote in with a feather quill. He never offered to show her, and she never asked. She merely dusted it to keep it in good order, and each night when he came to use it, he thanked her with a gentle kiss.

August became September, became October, and still no word, and so, though not a woman of superstition, at the appointed hour on the last day of the month, she took a patchwork quilt that she had sewn, and set it down in the fallen leaves near the well. She made an altar of their picnic basket, with a pumpkin from the garden, and a jar of home made apple cider as libations, to go with the fruit cake she had baked. She wrapped two of her most precious books in plain brown paper as a personal sacrifice to the gods in the hope they would grant her wishes, written onto a folded piece of card that she weighted with stones. She lit the candle and spoke the words aloud.

“Please… I promised him forever. Do not separate us now. Bring him back to me, or bring me to him… only - let us be one once more.”

It was a full moon, low and round. She could see it through the frame of the window as she looked up, briefly, from beneath her tangled hair; from where she waited… still waited. Night and day had become one, as had waking and sleeping, but the last thing she saw through the filthy, narrow window, its tendrils of growing mold looking like naked branches, before turning to cram herself into the corner, was the moonlight, and the single, rapid streak of light beneath.

“This time,” she whispered. “Maybe this time… perhaps now…”

She woke with a start. Perhaps it was the shift in the pressure of the air in the cell, but she looked up to see an orderly - not one of the orderlies she had ever seen before - standing in the doorway, tall and with dark hair that framed his pale face, and anger in the steel blue of his eyes. He held out his hand to her.

“Come with me,” he said.

#rumbelle #canon compliant #angst #retrospective #a monthly rumbelling may 2021 #a monthly rumbelling #Threads

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watchtower-feed · 5 years ago

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Breaking and Entering

Notes: I had this idea on a whim and since I haven’t written for Death Do We Part. I have ten drafts with only like five sentences each. Words: 706

“Hello, 911? Yes, I would like to report an intruder inside my home!”

“I’m not an intruder,” he chuckles, “I’m Nigthwing!”

You had just moved to Bludhaven a couple days ago. You have no idea what a Nightwing is.

You were making a list of things you still need to buy for the apartment. The only things you’ve managed to take with you are a thin mattress, a cooler, a microwave, and a lamp.

You were wearing these amazing headphones you just bought which thankfully drowned out the noise of the city. Unfortunately, it also masked the hurried foosteps of people going down the fire escape.

And your window being shimmied open.

You saw him the moment he closed the window, his back turned to you. Fishing out your phone, you already had your pepper spray aimed in his direction. He turned the moment he heard the ringing.

“Hang up the phone,” he says gently while taking a step toward you with his arms raised. “Please?”

“Hello? Does the intruder have a weapon?”

You stare at the masked vigilante and look him up and down. He speaks before you can. “Kind of in a bind here.”

Before you could wonder what he meant, your phone gets cut off and there are no more bars on it. “What the hell?”

“Shhh!”

This Nightwing presses himself against the wall beside the window and motions for you to hide. When you hear people running up the stairs of the metal fire escape, you crouch low and hide behind the table.

“Are you sure he’s up there?”

“We didn’t see him down there so where else could he be?”

“I swear, Fred, if he’s not up there and you made me go up these stairs---”

“Don’t call me by my real name. Are you stupid? Call me Hawkfire.”

You quickly raise your eyebrows and look at this Nightwing who’s pursing his lips but the corners are lifted up in a cheeky smile.

“Hawkfire? What kind of fucking code name is that?”

“Hawkgirl and Starfire, obviously! They’re the best pair.”

Nightwing raises both his hands to cover his mouth and even with the mask on you could see his eyes are wide.

You both hear a loud smack on skin. “Are you really a criminal? You should be picking codenames likes Ivyquin or... Luthvage.”

“Luthvage?”

“Just shut up! Let’s just knock in some windows until we find the stinking bat.”

You narrow your eyes at this Nightwing who’s still clutching his stomach and forcing his mouth shut. “I don’t really get it but if I think this is the time for you to get out there?”

“Give me,” he wheezes, “Okay. I’m good.”

“Please take the fight outside,” you quickly plead.

“Will do, citizen.” He salutes you before he slowly opens your window and steps outside. He closes it again and pulls himself up to the second landing before he yells out, “Hey Hawkfire! Luthvage! Looking for me?”

You hear him chuckle as a scuffle continues overhead. You sit down on the floor and go through what just happened. This is your first time meeting a hero, having grown up in a relatively peaceful neighborhood that was too boring for any vigilante to be stationed at.

While picking up your list and calling a night, there’s a knock on your window and you see the same guy in his black and blue-streaked costume. You walk over and open the window.

“Bad guys taken care of and not a single window broken.”

“Yeah, just broken into.”

He chuckles and suddenly you’ve gotten attached to it. You smile and move aside, “Want some coffee on your way to your next crackdown or whatever?”

He raises an eyebrow at you, “Who drinks coffee at this hour?”

You narrow your eyes, shocked he’s judging you, “Who picks fights at this ungodly hour?”

He laughs, louder than before, “Welcome to Bludhaven. Come for the weather. Stay for the nightly activities.”

You mock a groan, “I knew I should have moved to Star City.”

He grimaces, “Yeah, if you like whiplash twice a day. Plus, their villains are a lot more intense than ours. Trust me, you’re going to miss guys like Luthvage and Hawkfire.”

✧ Watchtower Masterlist ✧

#DC fanfiction #DC imagines #DC reader insert #Nightwing fanfiction #Nightwing imagine #Nightwing x reader #Dick Grayson imagine #Dick Grayson fanfiction #Dick Grayson x reader #watchtower-feed #acropen #lexyartem #nonrequested

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kandadiff · 3 years ago

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Runnin' with the Devil 1

You watched your husband from your place on the couch and pulled your legs into your body in an attempt to warm them, your mind wandering to just a year ago. Where you were in the warm arms of Jay Park, spoiled with champagne and as much sweet things as you could fill yourself with. But now . 'Nothing like how it used to be,' You thought. You missed Jay, he made you laugh, not that you did much of that these days. How could you? When you were in the same house with your biggest enemy?

Your eyes wandered over to the massive ring that stood out on your finger, making your hand look even smaller then it already was. The huge diamond complimented by the other diamonds that rounded the rock, gold encasing their holding and a small red dragon engraved within the main diamond. It was no mistake what this ring truly symbolized. You belonged to him now, The Red Dragons and the Kwon Family.

Your mind floated to when the Red Dragon rescued you from the Brotherhood. You were with Jay on his arm at one of his lavish parties that he threw every year to keep the peace between the families that ran the state. Except instead of the night being filled with the sound of laughter from to much drinks and music from the DJ, it was swollen with blood and gun shots. At first it was Jay that grabbed you when he heard the first gun shot ring out into the air made by some hired man. He pushed you to his second in command, Jackson, and you were with Jackson for a long time until a bullet went through his chest and your face became streaked red. Another Brotherhood member, Chan Bang, grabbed you and seemed to bring you toward the masked intruders who in shock all you could do was watch as they shot down people like it was a sport. Most of them laughing as they did so. You fought against Chan, but maybe it was the excessive alcohol your drank that made you unable to get out of his iron grip or the fear of being next. One of Chan's close friends, Hyungjin brought Min and Suzy, a short bubbly girl and a baby faced angel of a girl who were dating another brotherhood member, and you watched as the masked man shoot both of them point blank as they begged for there life before he pointed the gun at you.

yA pop rang out in the air and instead of you going into the pile of bodies with Min and Suzy, it was the masked man. POP! Another one shot down Chan, you came loose from his grip as he fell into the piles. However before you could run the shooter grabbed you. "Let's go!" his voice was rough but his touch was gentle yet urgent. He led you through the ballroom avoiding the gunshots with skill, as though he was trained for this his entire life. You knew who he was, everyone did. Jiyong Kwon, son of YoungHwan Kwon leader of the Red Dragon's and next to take over. Once you were outside he rushed you into a car and drove as fast as he can while cops sped past him heading to the bloody scene which would later be called THE BALLROOM MASSACRE.

He brought you back to his lavish penthouse and brought a doctor (thats how you reconnected with me) to check on you and him. Physically, you were unhurt minus a few scratches but mentally- you were not. He suggested you stay with him for a few days until everything cooled down. And during that time, the news of the event, soiled your mind more and more everyday as more and more bodies were counted as dead. People you knew, people who you laughed with, cried with, loved. Gone. No news of what happened to Jay - you presumed he was dead. Only seeing Jackson on the TV, beat up and on crutches. Through all that Jiyong was there for you, one drunken night bringing you close, spilling secrets to each other with the only witness the fire that burned in the fireplace as you drank. Those few days turned into months and soon you found yourself in love with the man especially when he drafted another peace treaty with the other mafia families and excited those who killed at the Ballroom Massacre.

Which is how you ended up with two children babbling upstairs. You aren't sure how you became pregnant - not at first at least. You were careful or at least you thought you were. You used condoms, even had an IUD. But one day you were feeling nauseous and bloated and tender and he suggested going to the doctor. He made me come to the house and take blood, a few minutes later you found you were pregnant. And though Jiyong tried to hide it, we argued or were cold with each other every time we saw each other. 7 months later you gave birth to Anastasia Min-Lee Kwon and Apollo Taehyun Kwon and you were married at a huge ceremony in the city that was more protected then the royal family. But like all good things, that too must come to an end and thats when your life, which seemed to be going to well fell apart in your hands.

"About" stomach turned as you thought about that day only a week and a half ago. You sat in my house, a smaller less extravagant house then yours however the garden that surrounded it was a perfect place to sit. A gazebo gifted to us by Jiyong after I helped you after the massacre, is where we sat. Eating at the small table watching while, Marceline and Salem played with the babies, your nannies enjoying that they are getting a quick break in this picturesque area.

You smiled hearing the sound of your babies laughing, happy to hear it without your father in law interrupting the noise, you were about to comment on it when I interrupted your thoughts. "I wish I could have protected them better." Your eyebrow raised at the serious of my tone but before you could ask I spoke again "with Marcie mostly," I clarified "Salem - he doesn't know all that Marceline knows." I hadn't really gotten into what happened in the past before I showed up back in this town. But I left with a man named Negan and came back with a little girl and a friendship with Mr. YoungHwan Kwon and a body guard only known to you as Suga.

You weren't sure what to say so you said "We do all we can, you know. You're a good mother." You looked at me concerned seeing something clearly on my mind. "Whats wrong?"

"I'm sorry, adi." Confused you just looked at me waiting for me to explain. "I wished I could have protected you too."

Your mind flicked to the bloody mess of that night and you shook your head, in an attempt to stop thinking about it. "You couldn't have known, you weren't even there."

"I wished that I could have protected you from Jiyong," I said and your mind swirled in even more confusion. "I should have warned you when he took you from Jay. But I didn't want to believe he would do that- I was so stupid. Yoongi told me but I didn't believe him. Then when you got pregnant- Yoongi and me were trying to have Sunday. He was so happy when he first held him, I don't think ive ever seen him happier. The smile didn't leave his face for weeks and even now every time he speaks about the kids his face still lights up the same way it did all those years ago. He even tattooed there names on his chest, that was the first thing he did out of the hospital. I saw the same thing in Taeyang when he had his son, and in Bom and her husband; just pure unfiltered joy." You raised an eyebrow about to ask what that had to do with anything when I looked at you. "When I Jiyong told me you were pregnant, that look - wasn't there. It was something else; something darker, like he had just accomplished his master plan. Then I remembered you told me you had an IUD and you wore condoms. So after I took your blood, I went into your bedroom and searched until I found the condoms and went to the sink. I filled all of them with water and each one had holes in it. I told Yoongi about it and he questioned the other doctor on Jiyong's payroll - after about an hour with Yoongi he admitted to drugging your wine and taking it out."

Your heart sunk, no, your husband wouldn't do that to you. I was mistaken - it had to be some kind of joke. You shook your head but I nodded.

"Its true." I said "and he found out I knew, thats when you caught us arguing. He knew after getting you knocked up, you'd marry him. He pretended he was the perfect husband so why wouldn't you?" You looked down at your ring instantly feeling nauseous.

"Why didn't you say something?!" you shouted bitterly catching the attention of the nannies. I waved at them to continue and told you to stay quiet. "Why should I?!"

"Because he's listening." I said motioning to the ladies. One of them carried a small device pinned to her chest, it was supposed to be just a pin but I knew what they were. A little transmitter like Negan used to use.

You're heart beat fast in your chest and you forced yourself to be quieter. "why didn't you tell me?" I motioned once again to the kids. "Oh please, Jiyong wouldn't kill kids." I sighed and unfolded a small series of pictures. There you saw pictures - candid shots of mine and Yoongi's small family, shopping, eating, taking them to school along with a phone number written in Jiyong's district handwriting along with the words 'Keep my secret and ill keep yours'. "What does this mean? who's phone number is this?"

"Negan's." I said simply and before you can ask why can't he know I stopped you. "I didn't just leave Negan. I escaped from him, he wouldn't let me leave and he killed everyone who tried to help me or talk to me. His entire fucking compound is decorated with the body parts of people I used to be friends with. He wanted me to rely on him and only him. He wouldn't even let me out with Marcie without him. When I left he told me he'd kill Marceline in front of me if I didn't come back to him. For the next week he killed a woman every single day, just cause they sort of looked like me. The day I got out of that town he killed a woman and her son because he thought it was me and Marcie in disguise, the little boy was only 4 years old and he shot him in front of his mother and strung her up on a tree in the park. Imagine what he would do to them" I looked at the laughing children, "or Yoongi, I know if I ever see Negan again I'm dead but I'm not going to let him find out about anyone else."

For a while you were silent, sitting in the news that shattered your view of your once perfect family. "Why now?" You asked after a while.

"We're leaving - it's the only safe option and I want you to come with us. Take your children and come with us. You aren't safe there." I said and you let out a shaky sigh "Yoongi is the best at disappearing; we'll be untraceable." You heard the nannies in the distance telling the kids its time to go inside and I stood up. You eyes wandered to the children running towards you while the nannies, wheeled the baby carriages over towards us.

"Mommy!" Marceline shouted holding up a handful of flowers "Look!" The nannies approached at a quick speed, to quick for your liking; if you were going to meet me, how were your going to know where?

"Look like its time to go Mrs. Kwon" one of them said to you "Mr. Kwon is calling."

"Good;" I smiled acting as though I didn't drop that bomb on you. "Have a good trip home," I lifted your twins out of there carriage and kissed each on the cheek. "say goodbye to your aunt." My children wrapped there small arms around your legs shoving flowers into your hands and pockets, causing you to laugh and hug each of them. I hugged you tight and picked up a flower that fell from your pocket and put it in your hand where you felt the soft piece of paper wrapped smoothly around the stem. "I hope to see you soon."

Now a week and a half later you still had the piece of paper buried in the small flap under the felt of your jewelry box watching as Jiyong laughed with TOP at a show they were both watching wondering how your life got so fucked up.

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