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dropsofletters · 3 years

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avenue of tears

— summary: listening to the latest album of the living daydream that is the drummer jeon wonwoo isn’t quite the best idea when, supposedly, it’s written about an ex. missing him to bits, she decides to plug in her earphones, and get lost in the words written by him, for her, perfectly put together to describe what was once broken…but can now be healed.

— title: avenue of tears — pairing: jeon wonwoo x reader — genre: drummer!au ; podcast host!au ; friends to exes to strangers to lovers!au — type: fluff ; angst ; drama ; humor ; suggestive ; romance — word count: 19,796

For the first time in her life, she can say she is happy while having a sore-throat.

Well, there have been other good times in her life that have included such a symptom—the after-effects of a concert, the times in which she really believed the vocalists of the bands she loved would end up looking at her and falling in love, or when she screamed out of joy, whether on amusement park rides or from pure happiness. Having a voice is enough of a gift; saying and speaking out our thoughts, the most divine of talents that one can possess. Using that voice for the first time in her own podcast is a blessing.

Though, no amount of throat-clearing can get the staff backstage to open up some space for her to walk in. In some parts of her life, being talkative does not compare to being loud, and this is one of those moments she wishes her throat wasn’t dry and in the need for tea, simply to shout to the slow walker in front of her just so she can get to her boyfriend faster. Perhaps, feel the roughness of his calloused fingertips rub against her palm when they hold hands, and he gives her one of those lazy smiles that beg for her to give him a kiss.

The room has gray walls, and around four bands have gathered in the same space. She smells everyone’s deodorants mingling together, and she doesn’t know if the stench is favorable or she’d rather not smell anyone at all, even if it’s not an unpleasant smell. Masculinity exudes from every band, lacking the female character that should exist in rock by now, but someone’s bleached blonde strands of hair, long enough to reach that person’s waist, remind her that there is a representative of female power in this giant gig for small bands.

The vocalist of Wonwoo’s band.

The chopped strands of her hair are, thankfully, long enough to welcome the rotten pair of scissors she uses before every show, not standing split ends, and also not standing the way she calls out her real name. You see, one year ago, the vocalist would’ve been called Eunkyung, with pretty straight hair in chocolate brown, curves covered in small sprinkles of ink, sporting a little black dress of a nice day, but that’s far from the case. Now, Eunkyung has taken up the name Love, an ode to what she hates the most, cutting her hair like she cuts the men out of her life, sporting leather pants and chains falling from her shoulders, cheeks hollowed in absolute distaste of the place she finds herself in, but quite enjoying the bottle of beer she brings up to her mouth.

“Eunkyung!” She calls out again, waving her hand in the air but not getting a reaction. Instead, she stops on her tracks, the sole of her boots barely lifting from the ground as her eyes scan the room. Eunkyung stands out because of her hair, but it’d be difficult to find Wonwoo’s dark head of hair. “Love!”

With the bottle of beer perched up between her rosy lips, Love lifts her hand in the air to greet her, trying to call her over only to stop her ministrations. The little ounces of oxygen left in her lungs ask to remain on her chest before she passes out, her white boots probably dusty by the amount of people who have stepped on her.

Love moves in between the groups of people, pushing people away with a force that could barely be contained in her tall body, never once letting a single droplet of beer fall on the floor. Just when she reaches her, Love wraps her fingertips around her wrist, tutting her name out in a raspy tone, perfect for the edgy tune in the new band. “Shit, what are you doing just standing there? Could’ve gotten your shit stolen.”

Her hand absentmindedly cradles the back pocket of her jeans. Her phone is still there, thankfully. “Sorry, didn’t know I was dealing with prisoners and not with rock enthusiasts.”

Love chuckles at that, now much different from the person she used to be, tattooed up to her neck, flowers blooming on the thin skin. If she looks from close enough, she believes her jugular palpitates against the dark ink. “Here, they’re about the same.”

Once they reach the corner the band had taken up, she finally gets a glimpse of people she has met. In Wonwoo’s apartment last year, for example, when a list of names had been written on a whiteboard and each sounded worst than the last. A man with a burgundy and green beanie sits with his bass on his lap, thin legs parted and yet, seemingly thicker because of his baggy pants. His head is thrown back, as if the chatter around him doesn’t distract him from his thoughts, looking ahead at the ceiling as if there’s something interesting on there. She really does look up, just in case Hansol has found the secret to life in that damned white ceiling.

The bassist doesn’t seem to be paying attention when she directs the question towards Love. “What did he smoke?”

Love finishes her beer in one go, patting her hand against Hansol’s leg before taking a seat on it. The two childhood friends had been the ones to start this whole band ordeal—and to be quite honest, it’s all thanks to them that Wonwoo got the guts to be in a band. Love’s Midnight may not be doing quite well right now, but it will someday. “Vernon didn’t smoke a thing. If anything, I’m the one looking for a smoke.”

“Weed’s bad.” Hansol, or by his stage name Vernon, says from his spot as he finally concentrates on the conversation at hand. His brown eyes seem gentle, even when his dark eyebrows join in a frown. “You’re gonna fuck up your voice.”

“So what?” Love asks.

“We don’t have a vocalist, then.” Hansol continues, pushing her off his lap to put his bass back inside its case, rubbing his sweaty palms against his black pants. “And we don’t have anyone to back you up. My singing is not as good. Andy’s singing is shit and Wonwoo sounds mysterious when he sings, but put him on the front of the stage and he’s going to black out.”

At the mention of her boyfriend, she can’t help but feel a smile creep up her face. Wonwoo was supposed to only be her little cousin’s drum teacher, a little part-time job he had to keep the dream alive, but one of those times her aunt couldn’t make it, she was asked to drive the little boy to class. There, Wonwoo captured her attention, and just before she left with regrets, she had slipped a paper with her number onto his palm.

And he had called.

And now, seven months later, they’re there. Coexisting in the same world, uniting their loose threads, and living out of it.

Well, he’s not there.

“Where’s Wonwoo?” She asks, resting her hands inside the pockets of her jeans, and a little grin appears on Hansol’s face at the mention of his name.

“He’s—”

Hansol’s deep and tranquil voice cuts short when an interruption comes through in the shape of the shortest of the band, purple hair done a mess and yet, matching with the hickeys trailing up his neck, doing his best to conceal it with the thick choker around his neck. Andy, the band’s guitarist, whose innocent features bring him just about any lover to his side, thinking he understands them, listens to them…but he’s a player.

And a damn good one, too. “Twenty bucks and I’ll tell you where he is.”

“Twenty bucks and you shut up.” Her tongue is witty enough to reply, and the sound of familiar laughter stirs her heart alive. When her hands spread on top of Andy’s shoulders, pushing him to the side to look for Wonwoo, she sees him nearing them, perhaps accompanying Andy in the process, black hair falling upon his forehead in sweaty strands, framing his elongated face, rounded ears, enigmatic eyes and tender, thin lips.

He gets closer, enough to wrap an arm around her and make her feel the coldness of the chains on his leather jacket, as dark as the rest of his outfit, but she knows the red shirt underneath is the tank top she bought him not too long ago. “Don’t give him your money. He’s a scam.”

“Girls don’t say that.” Andy shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest and gently rubbing the hickeys on his neck.

“I doubt they get to tell you anything at all.” She answers, twirling on Wonwoo’s arms until he’s hugging her completely, his taut chest breathing in and out, meeting hers in the middle. “There’s only so much you can know about someone while having sex.”

“Listen—”

Love stands up from her spot to wrap her arm entirely around Andy’s shoulder, smiling wickedly at the people in front of her. “Instead of arguing with our two lovebirds and the reason why our love songs are good, why don’t we look for a blunt?”

“Be careful out there.” Wonwoo conquers, lifting one of his eyebrows as if to question Love’s actions. The woman simply chuckles, already dragging Andy away for her.

“The only difference between a cigarette and a blunt is social norms, Wonwoo.” Love complies, clearly talking about the smell of cigarettes that breathes out in the aftertaste of the cologne and mint in him. He picked it up not too long ago, and hasn’t been able to get away from nicotine since then.

Hansol, once again too lost in his own world, doesn’t seem to notice—or mind—when her lips meet his in one of those brief dances of excitement, a smile barely able to conceal itself on her face when she looks into his glistening eyes. “How was the gig?”

“Tiring.” He answers, tugging at the collar of his leather jacket. “Love insists we have to look edgy, but this make me sweat buckets.”

“It makes you look hot.”

A tinge of pink creeps up his ears, smiling widely when he moves her from side to side. “What’s with all the love today? You’re awfully happy.”

How not to be so when she’s with him? Awakening to the sound of his fingers pattering against the counter of his kitchen, mumbling out the lyrics of the songs he is always writing. Wonwoo is not only a dreamer but a dream, a sight to look at and a potion inside her stomach. If she could, she’d throw up hearts at the mere mention of him, but the impossibility only further explains her infatuation for him. Love, love is this.

“Well…” She trails her voice, just at the same time that her hands take place by his abdomen, toying with the fabric there. “Did you listen to the podcast today? First episode early in the morning. Not a lot of people tuned in, but twenty is more than nothing, right?”

His black hair covers the darkness that looms over his eyes, lips faltering that smile to instead part delicately. Even his body moves away at the mention of the podcast, little droplets of sweat intensifying on his neck. “T-The podcast was today?”

A sigh leaves her before she could stop it. Forgetfulness is not his thing, but it seems to be today. “Yeah. I told you today before you went out to practice.”

“Shit, sorry.” Wonwoo lets his hand hover on her cheek, lips leaning forward to join hers, but she can’t even purse her own to meet him, leaving him with her blank expression instead. “I went to the gym after practice, and then I was too busy to actually listen—”

“You decided to go to the gym instead of listening to the podcast I have been working so hard on?” Nights spent listening to her favorite albums, preparing topics and asking Minghao to help her achieve the best quality in sound. Publicity done just about everywhere, asking her close friends and family to listen. Twenty people had listened, and none of them was Wonwoo. Her boyfriend.

“It was a mistake.” He whispers, like the boyfriend he is, not forgetting to pour all his emotions out in the pout of his lips. Giving her another kiss, she wants to stay angry, let the pits of hell stay inside her, but his eyes glimmer as if he means it when he promises: “Maybe, next time I will listen, okay?”

Maybe. A relationship should not be gray; it’s either black or white, it’s yes or no, never an in-between. Never a maybe.

But she takes it, because Wonwoo is just the type to say things without thinking. His ‘maybe’ may mean ‘certainly’.

His ‘maybe’ may mean ‘I’m sorry’.

Or it just is meaningless. Not ‘maybe’ at all.

###

Pen to paper. Cigarettes to lips. A mess done person, or a person done a mess.

The press has met the man that she has loved for over eleven months, and yet, she feels like each article that gets out about Love’s Midnight just makes her know the people in the band a lot less. This thought crosses her as her feet come in contact with empty bottles of soda, thrown across the floor of the hotel room they rented for their first real gig. Wonwoo’s cigarettes have been his lover for the night, as well as his lyricism notebook, but Andy seems to be having other ideas in the cheap room next door. It may be just some hooker, but something in her gut tells her that the lack of Love on the afterparty gives her an indicator of who it may be…

The reaction is long gone when she closes the door behind her, sporting her best dress—the one Wonwoo always talked about, the one that had his eyes lingering on her legs a lot longer than necessary, unable to keep his hands off her waist whenever she used it. The attention from him was well received, and yet, it was lacking tonight. The lonesome yellow of the lightbulb in front of them flickers, her heels click against the tiles on the floor, and he doesn’t even pull away from his notebook, humming out the notes to the song he is writing. At least, he’s not the one with the hooker.

But, what kind of thought is that?

It’s not the kind of idea she’d normally have about Wonwoo. Her Wonwoo, all rock songs but soft heartened words. Yet, with each passing month of his newfound stardom, she sees him less. Feels him less. Talks to him in ways that feels as though he is a stranger, and not the kind that wants to meet her. Definitely not the interested strangers they were in the past, the reason as to why they fell in love.

The lighter in between his fingers basks the cream walls in a faint light, the first smoke of the cigarettes leaving his lips and then, he keeps his hand up, a little bit twisted to keep the ashes away from his notebook. She moves closer, the back of her thighs meeting the edge of the bed when she calls out his name. Nothing. Wonwoo feels like nothing these days.

There, in a pretty dress, and yet not of his liking, pushing the pink fabric to fit more of her body, like a woman in her honeymoon. Insecurity latches to each portion of her uncovered skin, clearing her throat to catch his attention as she rests her extended palm on his back.

The toned muscles seem to welcome her touch, but his face remains stoic, hair standing out in various spots, dark eyes packing worries inside his heart. “Wonwoo?”

“Baby, I’m busy.” Annoyance exists in his tone, though it’s almost imperceptible. These days, all his feelings seem to be this way—happiness is the same as sadness, as annoyance and worry. Wonwoo is just a blank canvas, and she can’t seem to paint him. “Can’t seem to finish writing this song.”

“Maybe, it’s just not a good song.” The words don’t come out in the way that normally would. He has been talking about this song for three days, maybe it’s about time he drops it. Maybe, it’s time for them to drop this strange silent treatment between them—

“What?” Finally, he looks over his shoulder, his lips barely wrapping around the cigarette before each blow of smoke is thrown her way with his words. “What do you mean the song is not good? You haven’t even heard it.”

“If you can’t write it, it’s because you’re not inspired for it.”

His eyebrows raise up at that, taking his notebook in between his finger and stomping his cigarette against the bedside table, perhaps leaving it for later. He turns on his back, on the verge of becoming silent again, when he stops tapping his pen against the notebook. “What do you know about music anyways? It’s not that easy to write a song.”

A laugh escapes her nose, because she’s not half happy at the man in front of her. “The podcast I have, the one you don’t listen to, talks about music and I have a minor in something music-related. Isn’t that enough for you?”

“I listen to your podcast.” Wonwoo defends, letting the notebook rest on his taut abdomen as he lifts his hands to rub at his eyes. “I just don’t have enough time to listen to you talk for more than an hour—”

Her legs can’t seem to stay still then, standing up from her spot on the bed and making sure to pull her dress as far as possible. Somehow, being looked at by Wonwoo at this moment feels absolutely horrendous. Earlier this afternoon, she would’ve loved to have his hands all over her, his lips mouthing the things he loves the most about her. Right now, he’s impossible. “Isn’t that what a boyfriend should do? Listen to his motherfucking girlfriend?”

“I listen to you, oh my God!” He throws his head back, covering his face with his hands before sighing. “Babe, you’re being irrational. You come in here and tell me my song sucks, and now you’re making this about our relationship?”

“Well, you were the one that told me I didn’t know anything about music.”

Wonwoo stops for a moment, uncovering his face to look at her with what seems to be despair. “Then, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Her heels click harshly with each step she takes towards him. “You can’t just say sorry like you’re bored. Saying sorry has to be meaningful.”

“That’s just how my voice sounds.” But she knows that’s not the case. Deep, tranquil, that’s his voice, but that doesn’t mean it’s not meaningful. That doesn’t mean he can talk to her in a way that feels as though he has never loved her.

“No, that’s not how your voice sounds—”

“Babe—”

“Wonwoo.” She closes her eyes tightly, kneeling to take the empty bottles of soda in between her hands. “Who are you and what did you do to the man I fell in love with?” The question is rhetorical and not meant to be answered as she continues: “You’re messy and uninterested, this is not—”

“Maybe, if you let me speak, I’d be able to tell you what’s wrong with me.”

“Oh, so there’s really something wrong?” Far too entranced in her anger, she crosses her arms over her chest. “Is it me? Am I the wrong thing in your life?”

“When you get like this, maybe.” Wonwoo conquers, standing up and taking the resting empty bottles of soda before sighing. “Hey—”

“No. Repeat that.”

“Give me a break.”

She takes him by his arms, then, his tank top moving with the motion as she makes him turn towards her. Tired eyes to tired soul. One for him. One for her. “You really want me to give you a break? Because I could totally leave you if that means you being happy.”

Wonwoo has always been a selectively silent man. His lips don’t part unless necessary. He loves being a listener, not a talker. She wishes he would’ve stayed silent that night, but he didn’t, instead frowning deeply as he pushed his body away from her. “I can’t be with someone who doesn’t listen to me. So, maybe, it’s better if we give each other a break, don’t you think?”

She has to scoff, pulling her dress further down her thighs as it had ridden up, yet not once breaking eye contact with him. “Why call it a break? Why don’t we just break up and that’s it? Call it fucking quits so you can go fuck some other chick that actually listens to you, baby boy?”

“Don’t talk to me like that.” He answers, shoulders rising and falling as he gets closer to her. “Don’t talk to me at all if you’re going to be like that.”

“Well, tough luck. That’s just how I am.” Her voice drops a few octaves, pushing at his chest to get him away from her. His eyes seem to change, then, ever so present in his feelings, burning through him when he calls his name and tries to reach for her, but she is halfway through the room when his skin barely grazes her.

“Baby—”

“Don’t you fucking touch me. Don’t you talk to me. Don’t look for me. Don’t…” Her voice breaks then, breathing out slowly when her hand comes in contact with the handle of the door. “Don’t, Wonwoo. Just don’t.”

“Hey, sorry, you know I love y—”

“Don’t.” She whispers, loud enough for him to hear when she opens the door. Why is that, even when the air in the corridor feels fresher than the one basked in cigarettes in this room, she feels more suffocated when she leaves?

Right, because she never listened to him.

And he never got to talk honestly to her.

###

“Listen, you’re a podcast host. I think you should really leave the coffee aside and go for tea and honey.”

One of the biggest wonders in this world is how in hell Minghao’s blonde strands of hair seem to be soft even when he dyes it continuously. The other wonder is how such a sweet voice like his seems to have the pointiest of remarks just at the tip of his tongue. Perhaps, that’s why Minghao is the tech of her podcast, and not a host to be exact. He’d be far too honest about the newest releases in music. What she’d call ‘something different yet not tasteful’, he’d call it ‘absolute garbage taken out of the trash, eaten by a dog, and then thrown up onto the floor’.

But hey, that’s just Xu Minghao.

Twirling on his chair, he writes something down on their shared document for this week’s podcast, two years on the run and yet, doing better than ever. Thousands of listeners check up each week, either on YouTube or on Spotify, to tune in and talk about the newest music dropped into the world. Mostly rock, but she doesn’t forget some other genres if they catch her attention enough.

He runs his fingers through his hair, leaning back on his seat and parting his jean cladded legs, fixing the plain yet expensive t-shirt resting on his slender body before she responds. “Get on with your life, Hao. If I don’t drink coffee, I could totally die.”

“Stubborn as ever, I see.” Minghao tuts, lifting his cat-like eyes from the screen just as he clears his throat. “Your kidneys are the ones dying.”

“As long as it’s not my vocal cords, we’re fine.”

“You’re not going to die because of lack of caffeine. That’s just stupid.” Yet, his eyes keep concentrating on the screen, organizing both good and bad albums to talk about, maybe a sprinkle of singles here and there as not to make the podcast too long. However, just as the straw of her iced coffee meets her lips, Minghao’s face stands out in their office setup, widening his eyes at what he sees on the screen. “You’re going to die because of this, though.”

Exaggerations are not his thing. That’s why he is so poised even when the audio cuts off, or when her voice breaks. Nothing impresses him, nothing leaves an imprint on him, so her body moves to his side before he could completely finish his sentence. “Why? Why? Why? Why would I die?”

Minghao doesn’t let her look at the screen of his laptop, instead reading out the title of the article he read online for her. “Love’s Midnight has released a new album after their one-year hiatus. The drummer, Jeon Wonwoo, surprises with his songwriting skills in their new project: Valentine. The release date is next week and…” Minghao turns to her then, eyebrows lifted as he inspects her features. “Apparently, it’s an ode to a past lover.”

It’s been two years since she opted to never hear those names again. Love’s Midnight. Jeon Wonwoo. Even Eunkyung, Hansol and Andy had been completely eradicated from her thoughts.

Valentine, perhaps because they had gotten together on February, but what are the odds of Wonwoo actually writing a song about her? An album, at that? He had never reached out, not by hand, not by text, not by a single call. Wonwoo had dissipated after a few missed calls, as if he had given up, and it was for a cause.

“Well, we’re not talking about their album next week.”

Minghao shakes his head harshly enough for a few strands of his hair to jump at the motion. “We have to. Love’s Midnight has been huge for the past two years,” The lack of her in their lives must have been the reason of their success. All friends of hers, now nothing in comparison. “And with the departure of Andy and the entrance of lady-killer Hoshi into the team, we better have all the fangirls tuning in for our podcast.”

Andy. The innocent features, short height, the banter in between them. She had not even gotten to know he had left. “Why did Andy leave?”

“Ooh, messy stuff.” Minghao conquers, not one for gossip, but one for knowing it all. “Love and Andy were dating since the start, right?” Now, that’s not the story she knows—Andy and Love were pals for lust, but they were never really a serious thing. “They broke up. Andy departed because of how difficult it was to be around her, and that was it for them. That’s why the hiatus happened, but now Hoshi joined them.”

“Who’s that Hoshi dude?”

The tech turns to his laptop, writing down the name quickly on the search before an image popped up in front of them. Pierced ears, rounded cheeks and sharp eyes, all highlighted by makeup on his cheeks to make him glisten like the sun, the thick eyeliner matching his leather jacket and his pushed back hair full of gel. He seems to be blonde in that picture, but in the one next to it, his hair is darker, playing guitar on stage with Love, who’s singing in the microphone. Skinnier than ever, with her eyes hollowed out and yet, the smile never leaves her face.

“I see,” She starts, pushing her body away when she sees a glimpse of Wonwoo with his hands up in the air in the back, ready to smack his drums again. “We’re not talking about them, though. I don’t care about anything Jeon Wonwoo can write.”

But her heart picks up just at the mere sight of him. Would he be alright? His health, fine? His lungs still working perfectly or is he still in the way to addiction to nicotine? Does the loneliness still haunt him at times in the middle of the night, or has he found someone else already?

“Don’t be like that,” Minghao states, rolling his eyes at her. “It’s just an album, and you haven’t listened to their music in a while. It was two years ago, I’m sure it will be fine.”

“What if it is about me?”

The question haunts her, makes her feel insecure in a way that she hasn’t felt in a while. Maybe, she fears to know what he really wanted to say—the regrets or the acceptance, the things he felt. If it made him happier or sadder. If he, to this day, hasn’t been able to love someone equally as much as her, because she knows she can’t. No man can compare to the fluttering feeling that came with him. “It’s just a few songs. I think not all of them are about you. Besides, it can be any past lover…and I’m sure you weren’t Wonwoo’s first girlfriend.”

Not his first love, and definitely not his last. A sigh leaves her lips as she crosses her arms over her chest. If she spoke about his album, maybe she’d prove to herself that he was wrong. Music exists in her blood, she acknowledges it as part of her, and he can’t tell her that she doesn’t know what she’s talking about anymore.

“I’ll give it a listen once it drops out.”

With a dizzy smile on his features, Minghao claps his hands in excitement. “Well, look who made you agree to something for the first time in his life.” Sending his two thumbs his way, he chuckles. “This guy.”

###

Being the center of attention has never been of his liking. It’s not the thing Jeon Wonwoo is known for, but it’s the thing their publicist wants him to do.

Flashing lights end up all over him, makeup-less and yet, not caring that he is showing every imperfection on his skin. He cares about what he has to say, though, to take out the buried memories of a past love just for the sake of an album, or for healing. The documentary they’re doing about Love’s Midnight, however, is another ordeal he can’t seem to understand. Not quite feeling connected to the camera in front of him, the white background, the staff that gather as if they want to listen to him. They don’t.

Hansol is somewhere by the corner, getting his makeup taken off for his own interview—people want it to be realistic, or so they say. Somewhere around the room, Love is singing at the top of her lungs—not reaching those notes that had once been the point of her knowledge, but still sounding like an angel sent from heaven. Hoshi is the only one nearby, seated with his legs crossed, looking at Wonwoo in understanding. Not equally as introverted, but somehow capturing the essence of dread in Wonwoo’s soul.

He shrinks into himself, each curvature of his muscles hidden by his posture, though the tank top on him does nothing to conceal what he knows will get him compliments, but never too meaningful. He sends a smile to one of the staff members that passes by him, fixing the lights one last time and asking him to take off his glasses. He does, never the type to say no.

“So, Wonwoo…” The cameraman says from his spot, learning his questions like the palm of his hand, and no amount of preparation and knowledge could’ve prepared him for the question thrown his way. His mind knew it was going to happen, but much like a teenage student in high school, he didn’t prepare. “What’s this album about?”

Her.

It’s not a ‘what’, it’s a ‘who’.

It’s his February 21st, his little memory in a pink dress, his ode to the drums, the reason why he sometimes touches the piano in hopes of composing a song. The only smile he can’t seem to remember perfectly, from the shade of her lipstick to the way her lips felt against his. The little smile she gave him after their first kiss, the way she called out his name, the only ode he has been able to give to the world…his memories of her.

“It’s about love, heartbreak, healing. All of the like.” He says, clearing his throat soon after, only to watch the cameraman move his hands, instructing him to say more. His eyes close for a second, letting out a breath that mingles with an uncomfortable laugh. “It’s about someone I loved dearly. Someone I don’t want to forget.”

“What did you love about them?”

“Pardon?”

“What did you love about them?” The cameraman asks, and Wonwoo has to lean back on his seat to capture the gasp that was about to leave his lips. He was never one to say it much—those three words that would have otherwise made her feel better. She’s talkative, he’s not.

What did he love about her?

Was it the love that she made him feel? Was it the movement of her hips, the shape of her lips, the way she spoke about her issues as if the world was falling down on her? Was it her enthusiasm, her happiness—?

“That everything about her made me want to be a better person.” His head nods once, twice, trying to further convince himself that it’s okay that he doesn’t have her. She’ll always exist in his music, in his rhymes, in his handwriting as he gives another poem to her—another melody to cherish her. “She was the only woman I ever imagined myself loving for a long time.”

Yet, he can’t clean up the mess they made. Can’t return to the avenue they left abandoned because it had taken too long to get to their goal. With one last breath, he hears another question:

“Care to explain some songs to us?”

But the words never come to him. They didn’t back then, they don’t now.

###

Okay, an album. She has listened to thousands of those, maybe even millions. It shouldn’t be an issue for her to sit down in front of her computer, plug in her earphones, and just let the melody of Love’s Midnight songs fill her eardrums with absolute bullshit. Cheesy love bullshit that never happens.

But this is not yet another album.

This is an album about her.

Minghao could be right, though. What are the odds of Wonwoo actually remembering her, much more in the form of lyricism? This thought is what has her pushing her earphones inside the laptop, sighing deeply as she presses play. The introduction shouldn’t be that difficult to listen to, and the artwork is simplistic, something of the like of a sunset merging into artwork in its abstract form. It feels romantic, but it isn’t about her.

The first song changes it all.

The first track of nine has Love’s strong vocals, reaching her high notes like they are part of her voice, slow and steady with that edge of slow rock, a plea for a lover to trust them even when they don’t seem to be showcasing their truest intention. A fool, the song speaks about over and over again, blaming themselves for not being able to point out their realest feelings to their lover.

The bass is heavy on the second track, and Hansol—Vernon, in this case—hasn’t lost a single ounce of his talent to fame. Metaphors speak about Wonwoo’s growing love for literature, grieving the end of a relationship and cladding it in pride. A man who can’t seem to understand the finalization of his relationship, covering it with more wrongdoings, and yet, begging for another yesterday, another chance. Something that has her tightening her hand against her heart, listening to Love’s voice dragging feelings through the pits of hell.

The third track is the one she likes the least, and it’s the one that seems to be the most about her. Talking about smiles, laughter, reminiscent of times much happier and yet, mixing a sound that she would’ve never imagined from Wonwoo’s band. It feels like she is walking on the streets of Madrid, waiting for a lover, letting the Spanish guitar pull her in only to dizzy her. Far too happy. Far too difficult to understand with their bitter ending.

The fourth track feels like him, enough for her fingers to hover over the space bar to pause it a few times. Slow, steady, and the pain of the break-up is felt through every single note. Loneliness haunting, drowning and drowning him into this pit of nonexistence. Love’s voice seems to fit every feeling, and she wonders if it’s just her amazing way of portraying sentiments, or it’s common for people to go through so much pain.

Fifth track, and the echo of it makes her feel even lonelier in her room, leaning back on her gray bed and fluffy pillows to close her eyes lightly. Drunken feelings, it speaks about, a man in the middle of a party with the smell of smoke clinging to him, speaking his feelings into the microphone as if they come directly from his heart, remembering how his life seemed to be easier, much easier when it was simpler. The minimalistic whisper coming from Love’s voice indicating: “I’m good, what about you?” in such a broken tone has her sending a weak smile to the air.

She’s not half as good as he is.

Insecurities seep through the sixth track, and her back cracks by the time she moves again, wanting to hear this from up close. This past lover comes haunt him in his dreams, and he only wonders if they’re happy. The sixth track is far more commercial than the rest, reason as to why it doesn’t surprise her it’s the one, they dropped with a music video she has yet to see. The allegories indicate that this lover, maybe, has found someone else, and the thought alone makes them sleepless. Insomniac. Saddened.

Huh, wouldn’t even surprise her if Wonwoo was the one that found someone else. Each of her dates have ended in her going home without a single kiss, not wanting to have anyone but him.

The seventh track shows Wonwoo’s talent by the drums perfectly, upbeat and coming directly from the 80’s, Love doing her best to portray the meeting of two lovers and the immediate chemistry between the two. A pink dress is mentioned, and the only thing she can do is purse her lips together.

Fuck Xu Minghao.

Fuck him for making her listen to this motherfucking album.

Fuck that pink dress that she keeps in her closet.

The piano on the eighth track takes her breath away, far more heartfelt than anything they have ever done—far more mature than anything she would have imagined from Wonwoo’s little band. The fear of losing someone, one last goodbye, the speech through a break-up. It speaks about turning and twisting, about running out of things to say and saying the worst ones. Tears gather by her vision when she hears that female voice speaking all the pain, she has gathered in her heart for only four minutes. It feels like a lifetime.

Getting Wonwoo to sing for her was difficult. It’d have to come after long conversations, when he was really tired, or when she couldn’t sleep. His voice in the last track was unexpected, so much that she wouldn’t even be able to recognize his voice if only she had not listened to it for almost a year of her life, every single day. His deep tone breathes out words of wanting someone back, but not knowing if he should trust his heart or his brain. Starting slow and then building up to a pop beat, it’s a nice song to snap fingers to, yet, she can’t bring herself to do anything but stare at the screen.

He’d still try for her, he says. In some point of his life, or when he wrote this song, he wanted her back.

He’ll always want her back with him.

And it’s with that thought that she closes her laptop, breathing out harshly at the same time that she texts Minghao.

To: Hao.

I hate you for making me listen to this album.

Track number three sucks ass.

Yet, her fingers hover over the search bar, letting the line tickle the write surface with its glow before she is writing down his name. Jeon Wonwoo, but with an addition—girlfriend, she wants to know who this could be about if it’s not about her—

The first pictures that pop out break her heart in a million pieces only to deliver it across the world as a souvenir. Wonwoo is getting out of a party with some model by his side, long dark hair cascading down her back, a little black dress cladding her elongated body, shiny legs in display as a shy smile creeps up her red lips.

Want you back my ass.

Maybe, it’s this model he is missing.

###

Blue lights bathe his skin in its sinful glow, seated by the entrance of a bar. Their usual spot packs people as if they’re the box of cigarettes on his coat’s pocket, one long stick of nicotine dangling from his lips only to be lit up by someone else. Some of the people gathering around him, perhaps, or the femme voice that has been asking him personal questions for the past hour. Short answers have escaped him, but seeing how risqué they are getting and how uncomfortable he is, he can’t bring himself to care.

Tonight, he’s supposed to celebrate the release of Valentine, his newest album. The happiest night of his life, it must be, but it’s far from that. Droplets of champagne pour from the ceiling, cheers being heard as yet another electronic song plays in the background. Eunkyung is lost in God-knows-where, Hansol has embarked in a conversation about the universe with a group of college students, and Soonyoung is dancing as if he doesn’t have a care in this world. He probably doesn’t, and that’s the dream.

It feels weird. Earning money and success from his sentiments should make him feel better—narcissistic in a way that fuels his ego, but only makes him feel as though the headlines are eating him alive. With each person that nears him, he feels more faux. A product, nothing more, nothing less, enough to be dismissed when he stands up from his spot, blowing out smoke into the condensed air. Some bump his side, staining the expensive leather of his coat, but the conceptualization passes him by quickly. At least, he gets to feel something.

Footsteps are heard beside him by the time he opens the door to the bar. If he’s lucky, he may get to go to his apartment, smoke another cigarette, and head to bed quickly. However, just when the black, sleek door slides from his fingertips to close it down, the flashes of cameras attack his features. Each regret is highlighted by yet another paparazzi throwing themselves at him as they ask the same old questions. The only thing that people seem to wonder about him.

“Who was Valentine about? Please, tell us the details!” One of them screams directly to his face, the microphone grazing his bottom lip and making him stumble back. He tries to smile, but the beam falls down by his fakeness.

“Wonwoo, over here!” One of the shortest interviewers says, waving his hand in the air to capture his attention. “Was it about Eunji?”

Right, Eunji. His publicist would love if he simply said it was about her.

The woman comes in the shape of a goddess, and the tremor of her voice brought a distraction for one night. A distraction, compliments that are void, words that did not have to have meaning, and the frustration of not being able to move on. Eunji said she understood—she, too, had been going through some kind of heartbreak and the relief was needed, but each text that came after said events went directly through his head and towards the deleted pile. One night was enough.

Blowing the air of his cigarette in the air, his mind desires to give the paparazzi what they want. Be the good boy he has always been in a band of people who have stood out for their unique qualities, but tonight, when it’s about her and the success tastes like blood and iron on his tongue, he doesn’t want to be who he used to be.

Jeon Wonwoo, did everything to be one of the most well-known drummers of the year, and ended up alone in the process.

“It’s just for someone, let me be.” He whispers, pushing through the seas of people with his bodyguard trailing right behind him. One good thing comes from fame, but just as he is getting away from the bar, the clicking of cameras still following along with the words from the paparazzi, he hears a lively voice cut through the air with worry.

“Wonwoo, what do you think you’re doing? That’s bad publicity.” Soonyoung speaks quickly, brushing his blonde hair away from his face to showcase his reddened face. The honesty must come from being a bit tipsy.

“Sorry.” It’s the only thing he can bring himself to say, because he knows it’s bad publicity, but isn’t it bad enough that people have been speculating about the muse behind his album? And none of the suppositions are right.

“Stop smoking and look at me for once.” Soonyoung indicates, and Wonwoo parts the cigarette from his lips for a second, quirking one of his eyebrows as they walk together. “What is going on with you?”

“I’m about to become a million seller by exploiting my past relationship and I’ve been getting more attention than usual in the process.” The night seems to swallow each and every single one of his worries, leaving him with a sigh. “I think I’ve just had enough.”

“That’s what happens, dude!” Soonyoung conquers, as if trying to make him feel better. His arm wraps around his shoulder, moving him from side to side. “You’ve done something great for our band, and you’ve been able to let go of all those pent feelings.”

Ha. That’s something he hasn’t done at all. How stupid does he have to be to be in love with her when it all ended so wrongly? Besides, it’s not like she would’ve waited for him—he was a dick, and she has all the reasons to find someone much better. The thought has him putting the cigarette up to his lips again.

“I suppose.” He shrugs, watching a limousine pull up not too far away from them. Since when did he forget about the existence of taxis and started to be too rich for his own good?

“The publicists are going to be so mad at you.”

Wonwoo stops at that, looking ahead and back, ahead and back, not knowing if he should move forward and drag himself to the past. Was it easier when no one cared? Is it easier now that he has all he ever wanted?

Was this all he ever wanted at all?

“Soonyoung…” He says those words into the air, playing a smile into his features as if he feels it. He doesn’t. “Can’t we just get in the car and not talk about this for a second? Let’s talk about any other band but Love’s Midnight.”

Something in the blonde man switches, opening the door to the limousine as he nods with uncertainty. He doesn’t like being looked at like that—as if he doesn’t know what he’s doing with his life…

Because it’s damn right.

But hey, at least he’s almost a million copies seller, right?

###

“Huh, I listened to an album this week,” Her voice drags with the continuation of her sentence, eyes trailing up until she meets Minghao’s, far too concentrated on the sound of her microphone, on stopping the echoes and making sure that those who tune in live do get to hear her properly. She has to muffle a laugh. Nervousness makes her sound stupid. “Well, duh, of course, I always talk about music and listen to albums…but I listened to a weekly favorite just last week.”

Each day has been worse than the last. The headache doesn’t leave her, finding herself humming the tunes to Love’s Midnight songs—that one song, the last track, keeps playing in her head as if she had been the one who composed it. Whatever. It happens. I’m sure most of the women in music who had songs written about them felt the same way. Maybe, Courtney Love felt like this. Could’ve been worse, at least Wonwoo didn’t pull a Lennon and wrote a song along the lines of “Dear Yoko”.

She fixes the beanie on her head, staring forward at the white doors of her office, the coldness seeping through her sweater, a shiver going down her spine. “It’s Love’s Midnight latest album, Valentine. You guys were recommending it a lot this week, wanted me to talk about it and all…” Her fingers start to play with the straw of her drink, trying her hardest not to take too many pauses. The podcast is live for some, after all. “And it’s here. I’ll talk about it.”

With the last ounce of sanity left inside her body, she takes a long sip of her drink, smacks her lips and starts pouring out her thoughts into professionalism.

“Track number three sucks. Sorry to anyone who is a fan, but track number three is the corniest, stupidest thing I’ve ever heard from them. No hate, just truth.” She lifts her hands in the air, watching Minghao lift his gaze to mouth something to her. Don’t, he says, and she remembers that was the last word she told Wonwoo. Fuck. “In all honesty, though, I liked the conceptualization of the album. I think that…uh…they could’ve added some spice here and there. Everything felt like a pile of heartbreak—”

The screen by her side lights up, showing up the live chat and the viewers speaking about the album.

Jeon Wonwoo wrote it for a past lover. He must be heartbroken.

Track number three is the best, though.

Finally, you’re talking about Love’s Midnight. Favorite band.

“But yeah, Love did amazingly with her vocals, contrary to what one would believe. She went to high highs and low lows, exquisite in her vibratos, that raspy tone of hers still captures everyone who listens.” Looking up at the ceiling, she swallows thickly. So much to say about nine tracks about her, and still the words don’t come out. “H—Vernon, he’s very good with the bass. You know, maybe our tech Minghao will agree with me on this, but Vernon is the one who makes the songs feel profitable, like it can be heard in a club, can be heard in the car, both adults and teens can like his sound. Definitely one of the pillars of the band, I think.”

Minghao nods his head from the booth, and she feels a little bit of warmth in the room. She’s not alone—if she fucks up, she’s not alone.

“Hoshi. Didn’t even know Hoshi was in the band until our tech told me, haven’t been really up to date with Love’s Midnight…” Because watching him play would only bring back the memories of the first time they met, the feeling of his skin tattered in tattoos under the weight of her hands, the tremble of his voice, the tender way he held her. Like she meant something. Like her words meant something. Until they didn’t. “God, his solos? He’s—I think in this era, in this generation of musicians, it’s impossible to stand out as a guitarist because there’s hundreds, thousands, millions of good guitarists. Haven’t seen Hoshi live, but I’m looking forward for the acoustic sets with his talent. Just from listening to him, I feel like he has real talent.”

Her eyes divert towards the screen, shaking a bit when she reads a question on her opinion about Wonwoo’s songwriting skills. There, she can imagine him sprawled on his bed, his notebook covering most of his face as he looks at her from the corner of his eye, sending a shy smile her way before venturing into a new world, writing her in it as if he cared.

Did he ever care?

“Ah…what I think about Jeon Wonwoo’s songwriting skills?” Saying his name out loud has her scrunching up her features. If she closes her eyes, he’s there, so she keeps them wide open. His voice calls her out—baby, baby, I didn’t forget you. “I think they could be better.”

It’s at this time that Minghao scoffs from his spot, shaking his head as he places his hands behind it. Liar, his pretty lips mouth at her.

“Wonwoo, whoever this album is about,” Me, she thinks, it’s about me and my stupid dumb smile when around him. My insecurities. My world. “I don’t know, it feels fake. Maybe, it’s just me…” Her voice trails for a second, shaking her thoughts out before sighing. “They’re good, they’re just not…you know, they’re not ‘album of the year’ worthy. He seems to be stuck in the same topic and I can’t judge his range if he’s only written about…one thing…you know, like—” Shit, she’s really digging her own grave right here. What is she supposed to say? That she liked it? “Like, yeah, we get it, you’re heartbroken…but, I mean, judging from what he has written in the album…he fucked up, too, you know?”

Maybe, she should just read some comments. Reassure herself that she’s not sounding like the one who had an entire album written about her.

Emo boy energy, doesn’t surprise me. Very Jeon Wonwoo-esque. One of them writes.

The drums were sick, though. Say hi to me, host!

People say it’s about Song Eunji.

Song Eunji. Model. Wonwoo’s latest known lover. The pictures flash before her eyes as she thinks about it. Maybe, it’s really about Eunji and not about her…

Why does the thought make her sadder?

“So, yeah, I’d give it an eight point seven out of ten. Favorite track is track number nine. Hoshi is the backbone of this band to me now. That’s it.”

Regret clings to her like a leech. Song Eunji. Jeon Wonwoo. An album. Failed dates. A broken relationship. Why is love always extra difficult for her?

###

“Come on, babe, lighten up.”

With rosy cheeks, her friend, Jade, speaks those words like there is enough space in this party for her to feel free. There isn’t, quite clearly, but Jade is on the brink of her youth, ready to mess up her long hair, get on some tables and drunkenly sing to the world, albeit a bit messily. Her family, all consisting of enormous classic musicians, rooted from the most intricate and exclusive of schools, would shake their heads at the sight of Jade, already rid of her shirt and practically dragging her body towards her to wrap an arm around her shoulder and keep herself steady. The bottle of champagne Jade had been drinking from is brought up to her lips, and she has to take a sip if she doesn’t want Jade to start whining in a high tone, able to break through the bass-boosted music in this club.

It’s Jade’s birthday, and Minghao is nowhere to be seen. He probably left early—her fault for trying to play matchmaker between Jade and Minghao over a year ago, but her apologies had never been enough for the awkward blind date she had set up for the two of them. If there’s one thing Minghao can’t stand is lying, and much more if it’s about his romantic life.

To be quite honest, she thought it’d be a match. Stylishly rich guitarist of a local band, Jade, and stylishly average tech of her podcast, Minghao.

Maybe, she was wrong.

“Shit, Jade—” She’s already taking off her jacket from her shoulders to drape it across Jade’s chest, who simply looks down at the fabric with a scrunch of her nose. “You’re on your bra.”

Jade chuckles sweetly, because inherently, she’s dulcet. The kind of girl that wipes your tears after a break up, lends you some powder after you throw up in a bar’s bathroom, and the one that just wants everyone to have a good time. Everyone including her. “Babe, it’s Victoria’s Secret. I’m sure it’s fine.”

“Everyone is going to see your nipples.”

“You know, it’s better for me to have two very healthy nipples than not have them at all. So, whoever wants to see, can see.” With that, her jacket is given once again to her, staring at Jade who brings up the bottle of champagne up to her lips, the pink liquid trailing down her cheeks and her chin. “Why are you here all alone?”

Because the music is shitty, Minghao is nowhere to be in sight, and Jade was playing a game of body shots not too long ago. College has been long dead for her since a while ago—and she doesn’t think she’d be confident enough to have someone drinking directly from her body.

Props to Jade, of course.

“Ah, maybe because I wanted to leave soon?” She asks, rubbing the back of her head to play with her messy ponytail. It had been sleek once, but being around this amount of people, dancing against one another, and trying to move through them while also avoiding anyone getting too close to her, was a difficult task that ended up getting her a bit riled up.

“Shut up!” Jade screeches, wrapping her arm around her once again and resting her cheek against hers. “Shut up, babe! You’re not leaving…anywhere…no.”

That’s the drag of her voice, the clear sign that Jade will be too drunk tomorrow, drunk enough for her not to remember if she leaves her alone here—

But shit, she can’t leave Jade alone. She’s shirtless, meaning that her Versace shirt must be somewhere on the floor, or covered in vomit, and she’s drunk. God knows what could happen if she leaves her alone.

“I’m not leaving you, don’t worry.”

“Yay!”

“But I should clean you up, you’re all sticky from the alcohol, Jade.” She replies, already making her way through the masses of people to find the bathroom. It must be by one of the corners, but she’s not too sure in this club. “Why did you drink so much?”

“Because—”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Just because.”

When the bathroom’s door is only a few meters away, she sees him. The song that is playing in the background is too robotic for anyone’s taste, but the one that plays inside her head is the one she mumbled to him before they fell asleep once.

‘Love of my Life’ by Queen.

Because if there’s someone that she loved in this world, in this hellish world that they dare call real life, it’s Jeon Wonwoo.

Closed eyes, head tilted back enough for his Adam’s apple to bob when he takes another drag of his cigarette. Nicotine is his lover for the night, while Love seems to tell him something angrily, fingers threading through her bleached blonde hair, dying at the number of products she puts on it, fried at this point. Wonwoo looks like himself, but he also doesn’t. She knows those black strands of hair, and how they curled against her fingertips when she tightened her hold on them after a kiss. Her mind recognizes those lips, now pink yet chapped, but when they wrap into an answer that blows the smoke into the air, he doesn’t seem like her Wonwoo. His eyes open, he stares at Love as he speaks to her, but Love’s eyes are already looking at someone else.

Eunkyung is calling out her name and there is nothing that seems to stop her as she stumbles away from her seat.

It’s at nights like these that she wishes to be forgotten. Get on a car, preferably old, drive until her feet hurt or until the gas runs low, wearing a thin jacket as she listens to classics. She’s tired of this new version of her life that she can’t seem to get used to. People that she thought she knew seem to be far too different now, with Eunkyung not existing when she reaches her and Jade. This is Love, the vocalist of Wonwoo’s band, with eyes so hollow she almost feels dead, and a mouth that wraps up in a smile that begs for a second chance.

Because everyone wants to go back.

But no one can.

“It’s been so long since I last saw you!” Love’s arms wrap around her to take her away from Jade, but her friend doesn’t seem to mind as she giggles mindlessly. Love’s hold is strong, calloused hands meeting her spine as she cages her face on her shoulder. There are tears there, an unspoken word, perhaps the need to feel like herself again. This is not Eunkyung. “Where have you been?”

“Somewhere. Always here.” She replies, pulling away and yet, capturing Wonwoo’s gaze in a single second. His eyes are already on her, twinkling heavenly in the pits of hell, and she has to give a step back to deny the gravity in between the two.

“Wonwoo’s over there. Let me call him over—!”

Little by little, she loved him.

And little by little, she shall erase the memory of him.

“No, sorry. Me and my friend are going back home.” She replies, wrapping her hand around Jade’s wrist, pulling farther and farther away from the people she had known the most. Yet, she doesn’t know them now. These people on world tours, selling millions of copies of their albums, making money out of their past…those are not people she had known.

And she doesn’t want to know them again.

Her feet bring her out of the club, and she swears she feels someone behind her, but with rushed steps the feeling becomes barely a ghost. Then, nonexistent. Finally, in the car she starts to think about it.

May the stars only know if it was him going after her.

###

With him, it always feels like one of both said something wrong. Or, rather, didn’t say anything at all.

What’s with her, this feeling of talking too much and saying too little? What’s the regret that overtakes her when her head leans back on her seat, listening to the song Minghao has put on per her request, played for their viewers and yet, not quite admitting to her most intricate of desires even on a verse? Her eyes stare at the ceiling, imagine him in front of his drums—imagine him calling her beautiful, holding her head, longing for her. All things she wants now, all equally as impossible.

A week since she last saw him, and she likes to believe Wonwoo went trailing after her. It’s the only thing that keeps her up at night—the questioning of reality and a dream. Maybe, he was never behind her—it could’ve been one of the partygoers, one of those drunken people that don’t know where to step, or it could’ve been him. Why does she feel her lungs relax against its own confines when she imagines him?

Because this is Wonwoo. The one who writes songs about her. The only man that she can’t seem to get over. Memories that come back all the time, because he’s in every single one of them. Wonwoo’s name spill from her tongue without knowing, his songs come to her in the shower without meaning to, and his scent is felt on every portion of her bed. He hasn’t been there in years, but it’s almost like he left only yesterday.

It was two years ago.

Two years, and she really should get over him.

Her eyes divert towards her computer screen, watching the messages pop in slowly before she sees a collection of digits. It’s a date—the date in which everything ended, continued by a text that has her mouth drying up.

I want to see you again.

It has to be a coincidence; it really has to be so. It could be that someone’s important date was two years ago, in that night in which everything ended. She sighs deeply, clearing her throat when the song finishes itself and she has to talk again.

“Well, now we have to talk about that album—”

Another message pops up, but it’s impossible. Wonwoo rarely listened to her podcast, and when he did, he never said anything.

Love’s Midnight album is about who you think it is about.

Please, let me see you again.

She wants to see him again, too. It’s that feeling that keeps her up at night—knowing he could be close, but never close enough.

“Ah, in case anyone comes across a bunch of messages in the chat about seeing me again. It’s just some ex.” She tries to chuckle, but her voice has long gone left for something duller, stranger, as if she can’t get used to talking when it’s about him. “Already seeing someone dude, sorry.”

Seeing who?!

Minghao lifts his gaze, his hat doing nothing to conceal the disappointment on his face. What can she do? Admit that she feels jealous whenever she hears those rumors about who the album is about? That she has looked at pictures of his possible lovers and yet, the feeling never quite settles well with her?

The last man she saw was a man of wealth—son of a record label owner, very much into music, yet not quite in a band or participating anywhere as a solo artist. Mingyu was a nice date; the kind that made her laugh, ate a lot with her, drank a good glass of burgundy colored wine with her…but he wasn’t a forever. Wasn’t even a kiss. Mingyu became a friend after, and then, she didn’t want to date again.

But it’s what she has to do. If Wonwoo can go date some Eunji, and possibly write one or two songs about her, she can date whoever…

Right?

Right?!

###

The documentary didn’t show exactly how Love’s Midnight came to be what they are today.

People love a good story. Movies are a profitable job because of that, and books keep on fueling fantasies for those who can’t live in a better world for the same reason. What happens is, if something is boring, people don’t care. There has to be sentimentalism; enough to move anyone to tears, or make them feel inspired. Everyone who has been legendary has gone through a story of pain, only to reach their best spot. There’s a downfall in between, but the point of union always brings the grand finale to life.

In reality, Love’s Midnight happened because of Hansol. Eunkyung, who now can’t seem to stand anyone calling her that name instead of Love, worked part-time in some bar downtown. The place was ratchet, with hidden call-people expecting someone to capture them for the night, some drunkards that got a little bit too loud, and the owner, who’d always thank Eunkyung’s presence, calling it Love’s Midnight whenever clients gathered around…because her drinks were that good.

Hansol said, as he happened to be sitting down in Wonwoo’s couch, that it sounded like a band’s name. Andy was there, too, partly rubbing the skin of his arm after getting his first tattoo, and also hardly listening—but it seemed to be fitting for him, to join their forces and make a group. Originally, Eunkyung was supposed to be a guitarist, but Wonwoo would not even dare step in front of masses of people to sing a goddamned song about love.

What did people who watched the documentary believe now? That it was because of Andy’s nickname to Eunkyung. Love, when they were lovers, and the midnights they spent together. It earns them more money, yes, but it’s also heavily exaggerated to have people asking for more. Andy and Love were one of the biggest couples years ago, after all, and people thirsted more and more for their little interactions, even if they were nonexistent at this point.

Luckily, Hoshi is now with them.

But people are now even more interested in the band, and the arenas for the concerts of their world tours have been selling like hot bread. The problem is that being in a van with his three bandmates gets more tiring with each and every day that they spend pretending to be people they are not. They have to be cool, edgy, attend parties when they are told to, drink alcohol like it’s water, talk like they think of themselves as the most mysterious in this world. He can’t even call Hansol his real fucking name without having one of their managers tug him by the arm and correct him to Vernon.

The news outlet displays itself on the television screen. Hoshi keeps strumming on his guitar, and Vernon doesn’t seem to mind as he lays sleepily on his bed, ready to knock off. Love is somewhere in the back with someone she met in the afterparty of the concert—some groupie that she can’t seem to get her hands off of. The worst part is that he can’t seem to continue writing this song for the next album, because a picture of him is displayed on the screen.

“Who do you think Valentine is about, Rose?” One of the hosts asks, moving her short hair away from her sturdy shoulders to look at her taller counterpart.

Rose plays with the strands of her bubblegum pink hair, smacking her lips together before she speaks up. “People say it’s about Eunji Song, but I think there’s a line of girls that say it’s about her.”

“Wonwoo’s totally a womanizer.” Another host says, fashionable in the way he dresses, one leg crossed over the other. “We have fourteen idols who have been linked with him, three models, one entrepreneur and all in the last two years. We don’t even know who could’ve slipped the public eye.”

Rose takes a sharp breath, her teeth clattering in a way that has Wonwoo closing his eyes tightly. Two models, and that was about it. Neither lasting more than a week. Neither meant to be more to him. Just two people that he happened to come across with, and helped him forget. Well, tried to, at least. “He has even more lovers than Vernon!”

“Vernon’s been with the same girl for a while. Maybe, he could learn a thing or two about a committed relationship.”

The first host chuckles at their words, shaking her head in the process. “Everyone’s into drummers. I think he just likes the attention.”

The lonesome tune of Hoshi’s old guitar stops playing in the background, and Vernon’s soft snores mix with the cars passing by. His fingers reach for the remote, turning off the TV before those words stain his heart even further.

“Want to talk about it?” The bleached blonde man in the room asks, resting his cheek against his guitar to pay his utmost attention to him. “Vernon knows. Love does, too. But you’ve never told me what happened with your Valentine.”

Maybe, Hoshi seems like the kind who doesn’t take anything seriously—but he does. His eyes glaze over as he quietly speaks into the night, but Wonwoo can only stand up from his seat, eager to lock himself in his own room and think of what exactly happened. He doesn’t know what’s going on inside his head. “It’s nothing special,” But it is. Wonwoo believed in a lot of things—that Van Gogh was the best artist of his generation, that knowledge is the best form of revenge, and that she was his person. The only individual in this world that could see him for who he was and still, gauged him to be better. “Just what happens to everyone.” He fixes his jeans then, hanging low on his hips when Hoshi scoffs.

“What happens to everyone?”

“…Just, falling in love and never being able to make it work.”

“That’s not your fault.”

He stops in front of the door that leads to his room, and he wants to believe what Hoshi says. Maybe, if she had understood him as an artist, they’d be together. Perhaps, if he had just listened to her, he wouldn’t have written an entire album about heartbreak. It was not inherently his fault, but partly, like DNA that splits in two and creates the atrocity of what they were. The beauty in the fallout. “I’m heading to sleep.”

A hand wraps around his thigh, caging him in his spot when Hoshi, with a widened gaze, asks: “Who is it about?” The gossip must’ve gotten to him, too. Secrecy at its finest made an entire festival for the world to enjoy. “Like, who out of all the women they say it’s about…the album is actually written for.”

“None of them.” Wonwoo conquers, pushing his body away from him with a dizzied smile on his face. “…And that’s all I’m saying.”

“Wonwoo—!”

“I’m not saying who it is about.”

“…Damn it.” Hoshi adds, finally leaning back on his seat and returning to his guitar, soon after playing a tune with a few invented lyrics: “Jeon Wonwoo has a stick up his ass…”

The door closes behind him with a swoosh, all thoughts of rationality building themselves down out of pure impotence. The room is far too tiny, and Hoshi will join him sooner than later when he finishes his little guitar rendezvous, but that’s far from the point now. With each step he takes towards his bed, the more he notices his phone. Changed it like four times in the past two years because of crazy groupies, obsessed people sending him threats and just because he could do so. He wanted change so much that he doesn’t need it anymore.

The bed welcomes his weight as if he had never left, molding to his every curve, bouncing at his mere presence. His fingers subtly reach for his phone, lurking through his contacts like a man searching for answers.

His past lover is taken, and he’s stupid enough to press down on her contact even when he’s not drunk. Not an ounce of alcohol clads his vision, his stance, and that only makes it more pathetic.

But, how could she be taken? If love’s not as easy to get rid of for him, it should be difficult for her, too.

The ringing stops, and someone picks up, though the voice that welcomes him is old, a femme to be exact, but definitely over her sixties. “Hello?” She asks on the voice, and Wonwoo closes his eyes tightly out of embarrassment. “Who is calling this late?”

Right, a sixty-something-year-old woman is probably not used to two in the morning calls.

But who is, actually?

Out of embarrassment, his thumb presses down on the red button and he’s once again left with his silence. This has to mean that he should stop—calling his ex-girlfriend, who said was taken, is not the worst thing he has done, but it’s outright pathetic. For a second, he thinks of texting someone else—a friend, a model, a singer, someone who clearly wants to pay attention to him, who wouldn’t mind having the star of the year talking to them about anything and everything but her.

Yet, his mind can only think about an old friend, and it’s not even a friend to start with. Calling him would earn him a few insults, so he opts to text the only direct line he has to what he wants to get back. The thread that could move him closer to getting an answer.

To: Xu Minghao.

Hello, Minghao. This is Wonwoo.

Jeon Wonwoo from Love’s Midnight.

Minghao probably recognizes him more as his friend’s ex-boyfriend, but hey, he doesn’t know what to say.

Still, he mentions her name.

To: Xu Minghao.

Do you have her number?

I really need to talk to her.

For a few seconds, he wishes he could dissipate. Of course, Xu Minghao probably has made his life, twirled in his bedsheets and perhaps, with a lover that fits him better than he ever fit his ex. He’ll probably get insulted nonetheless, knowing just how protective he is over the podcast host. It’s two in the fucking morning, Wonwoo’s not drunk, but he really wishes he was so he could have an excuse for being…

Stupid.

A dick.

From: Xu Minghao.

Are you drunk?

To: Xu Minghao.

No.

From: Xu Minghao.

Are you planning on getting drunk?

To: Xu Minghao.

No.

Her number is linked soon after, not without forgetting to add something else.

From: Xu Minghao.

Anything you say can and will be held against you.

I’ll know if you do something stupid.

Don’t fuck it up, dude.

The thing is that Wonwoo is a thinker. Immature at times, or most of the time, but really an overthinker. His dad always told him that going through life as if he’s in a game of chess would help him make right decisions. Count every movement as a step forward, but also a step closer to either winning or losing. Each and every action could cause the fallout of others, of himself, or absolute success. He doesn’t know where he stands as the phone rings and he awaits her response.

“Hello?”

That groggy tone, he has heard before. Whenever someone wakes her up from a nap or a deep night of sleep, her voice seems to be eerily quiet. It’s the only time he has heard her something far from perfect, not as knowledgeable as she is. Love-filled confessions were given at the peak of the night, when Wonwoo’s fingers would ghost over the delicate spot on her waist and she’d grasp his hand with her warm ones and say: I love you.

Muffled, silent, followed by sleep, and yet so meaningful.

“What do you mean you’re taken?” Wonwoo wants to say a million things. Say hi, and indicate that her podcast has only gotten better. That he’s sorry for not believing in her, or rather, not knowing how to show it. However, his mind is clouded with the image of her, holding hands with someone else, kissing someone else, being in absolute love with someone that is not him—and making it work. Egotistic as it can be, he is.

The bed ruffles, and for a moment, she’s silent. Too unlike her until she breathes out, much more awake now, surprised even. “Wonwoo, why are you calling me?”

The only time he has heard that surprised tone was after their first kiss. One would think that someone as beautiful as her would’ve kissed him with little to no reaction after, but his collarbones can almost feel the weight of her face at the memory. Her features hid away from him, the dumbest of smiles accompanied with a few giggles of her own. It was as if she had been waiting for him, and he had taken too long.

It’s not that different now.

“I—Uh, I needed to hear you. Hear from you.” Wonwoo doesn’t know what to say, straightening up his position on the bed and taking his pillow to slot his fingertips against the fabric. “I told you what I really felt and what I did, and all you do is ignore me.”

“I’m not friends with my exes, sorry.” She replies, and Wonwoo is about to retaliate, but the words have come back to her. Angry. Burning. Scalding. “And why in all the fucking hell would I have to tell you why I’m taken?”

“Because—” He wants to be honest for the first time in a while. With himself and with her. “Because we used to be friends before we were lovers, and I still care about the kind of person you’re seeing—”

“Do you really care?” The scoff that leaves her lips brings a frown to his face. “Go ask one of your models, or Song Eunji, about who they’re seeing and what they’re doing with their romantic lives. You don’t need to protect me from anything.”

Oh, so she knew about Eunji. “I’m not with any of them.”

“And you’re not with me, either.”

Wonwoo has to run his fingers through his messy black hair in order to grasp onto something else, or organize his thoughts before he goes absolutely insane. “I’m not.”

Silence. “So, why are you calling?”

“Because I can’t stand the thought of you loving someone else.” He breathes out, and before she could interrupt him with one of her pointy, correct, honest speeches, he bares his heart and soul. “…I’ve only been yours, I’m still yours. I want to know who it is that made you not want to be mine again.”

Again must not be in her vocabulary, and if he listens close enough, he can hear the change in her breathing, as if she starts to live life slower. “So, you date some model and I’m supposed to stay single?”

Fuck.

“I didn’t date her.”

“Then, you slept with her. Or various women, I don’t know.”

He can only stay silent.

“I know we broke up, and it’s totally okay for you to do that, but why would you ask me to stay waiting for you, when you didn’t wait for me either?”

“Okay, shit, sorry.” Wonwoo tries to reorganize his thoughts. He’s stupid. She wasn’t wrong when she said most men are stupid in the past, and now he has entered the spectrum. “I did it because it just…I just…I needed to get you out of my head.”

“By sleeping with other women?”

“Two.”

“Oh, two.” She releases, sarcasm thick in her voice. “What would you do if I said I have had more than two?”

Wonwoo closes his eyes, imagining her going on dates or perhaps, simply looking for someone in a bar. For men to sweeten her lips with a taste of their own, before treating her like less than what she deserves. It’s not what he wants for her, but it’s the same medicine he took. “It’d suck, but it’d be acceptable. We are not together.”

“Exactly.”

“…But who is it?”

“Who?”

“Who is the person you’re seeing right now? Out of your repertoire of people.”

She remains silent for a few seconds, as if she’s thinking too deeply, and yet, Wonwoo can’t keep his mouth from running. For the first time in his life, he wants to say a lot instead of saying nothing at all.

“No one.” She whispers into the dark night, the lullaby of his dreams coming directly from his lips. He wants to call it a second chance, but it just means solitude. “…Because unlike you, I wasn’t able to move on as easily.”

“I didn’t, fuck, I didn’t move on.” Wonwoo replies, laying on his stomach as he hides his face on the sheets. “I was just stupid. I don’t know how to explain myself.”

“Do so or I’ll hang up. Last chance to hear my voice—”

“I wanted to get over you, and I thought I’d do what most rockstars do. I’d just sleep with someone and feel powerful, like I don’t care…” His voice trails, eyes glistening when he lifts his gaze. “But I do care. I care about you.”

“…I don’t know if I should trust you.” The insecurity is palpable through her voice, as if she’s a star in this sky and she’s only getting farther away from him. Tiny, miniscule for her; big and bright for him. “Wonwoo, we didn’t understand each other then, when we were barely starting to be the people we wanted to be. How would we understand each other now that my podcast is doing the best it has ever done, and you have about every woman in this damned country wanting to throw their wet panties at you?”

Looking up at the ceiling, Wonwoo wants to say the truth. What he has always regret not telling her. “I’ll always try my hardest for you. I didn’t do it then, but I’d go back and do it differently if I could.”

The line cuts short after she hangs up, leaving him with no more than a sharp intake of breath.

###

The chocolate on the man’s ice-cream cracks under the force of his teeth, sliced nuts meeting the white substance in between—vanilla ice-cream, most likely, with a few lines of caramel. She had forgotten just how much Mingyu seemed to enjoy life, lips forever petrified in a smile as he looked around in the ice cream shop. Her delight has disappeared into the depths of her stomach, but Mingyu is on his second ice cream. Not a care in this world. Not a single wrinkle on his face to indicate he is feeling the weather a little bit strongly. He’s just eating, living, existing, breathing.

Jade tagged along, because something about her being in his father’s label and Mingyu absolutely needing guitar classes means that they had to ask her to come to their little ‘not a date’. Judging by the way Jade’s cheeks stain pink, and how she continuously play with the strands of hair, becoming a shy version of herself she had rarely gotten to see—unless they went to a concert and got to meet the artists backstage—, she thinks there is a reason why everything felt so inherently wrong with Mingyu, and with her setting up date for Minghao and Jade.

The young woman’s eyes glaze over when Mingyu smiles at her, and her fingertips reach for his lips to rub the chocolate away. Those stares, in between shyness and comfort, in the stage of not knowing what to say and yet, doing everything all at once—she lived that with Wonwoo, and she knows they’re probably less than a month away from calling it the truth.

So, she stands up, because if she can do something right in this life it’s making two people get together, even if she has to fake a few actions in the process. “I’m getting another ice cream. Want one, Jade?”

“We’ll share.” Mingyu adds, already putting his newly bitten chocolate ice cream up to Jade’s lips, and he barely ignores Jade’s widened eyes as she wraps her lips around the sweet and bites on the chocolate.

“Okay…” She whispers, lifting her hands in the air with her phone dinging in between her fingertips. “I’ll be right back.”

She doesn’t miss the way that Jade whispers ‘take your time’, before Mingyu joins her with sweet laughter.

Ugh, love.

It’s so motherfucking annoying when you don’t have it.

But, let’s admit it—it’s cute in its early stages.

To: Hao.

So, when I set you up with Jade…

From: Hao.

You mean: Worst idea you’ve ever had?

To: Hao.

Yeah.

Did you hate me for it because Jade’s not your type, or because you knew she’d be a better match for Mingyu?

From: Hao.

Jade denies it, but she’s always had a thing for Mingyu.

To: Hao.

Oh, tea?

From: Hao.

I guess.

She drunkenly admitted it to me once.

Well, initially she said she wanted Mingyu to tie her to a ceiling fan and make her spin.

But I continued to talk her out of it and she admitted that she thought he was cute.

And I’ve been working on building up her crush on him for a year straight.

To: Hao.

Trust Xu Minghao on finding the love of your life.

Upon approaching the counter to order her ice cream, she hears someone softly calling out her name. It’s a delicate voice, definitely not used a lot, as if the air could take away the words in one single swish. Locking her phone as she turns to the side, she sees a smaller young woman by her side. Probably on her teens, with black hair and red highlights, a band t-shirt representing the pinnacle of her youth. Long ago, before Jeon Wonwoo even existed in her life, she may have looked like this.

“It’s you.”

But she wouldn’t have said that to a complete stranger, lowering her voice to a deep whisper as she clings onto her backpack. The pins read Love’s Midnight name and logo, making her swallow harshly.

“Sorry, I don’t know you—”

The teen fan gets her phone out of her pocket, lurking through her pictures as she speaks. “You’re the woman Valentine was written about,” The lisp on her tone is ever-present, clinging to her every syllable as she shows the device to her, pictures with Wonwoo displayed one by one, moved by her finger to show even more proof. Her face behind important pictures of their first few gigs, a few messages in social media that she was sure she deleted before— “Fans have been going crazy trying to find who it was about, but I saw you in the pictures and decided to look you up.”

She has to take a step back. Fear overtakes her. A young fan could do anything they wanted with this information, and if she was able to find all that…this is not the normal kind of fan. With shaking fingertips, she clasps her phone against her chest. “Did you follow me here, kid?”

“No. This is dad’s ice cream shop.” A smack of her bubblegum fills the air, twirling her finger against the straps of her backpack. “…I just saw you here and I thought it was destiny.”

“It’s not destiny.” She speaks, curt and clear. “And also, I’m not the woman you’re looking for. Sorry.”

“You’re in all his pictures from the past—”

“We were friends.” And she doesn’t know why she’s explaining this to a teenager, instead of actually calling her father and telling him that her daughter is batshit crazy. “And it’s none of your business, ain’t it? If you really like a celebrity, you need to learn how to respect their privacy.”

“Everyone is looking for his Valentine, and if I am right with my assumptions, we’ll finally get to know—”

“What do you earn from it?” Turning around, she spares one glance at Mingyu and Jade, with Mingyu looking at them with a frown on their features. Confusion, definitely. “Whoever it is, that’s the drummer’s issue.”

“It’s you! It’s so you!” The teenager says, a smile on her face as she jumps on her spot. “The blog’s so gonna love this!”

Grasping her hand with force on top of the teenager’s, she sighs deeply. “Don’t do that. That’s wrong.” She starts, eyes raking over the room before clearing her throat. “One day, you’re going to be older, and you’re going to realize those people you look up to are as normal as you are. You don’t need to make them more important than they already are, for you or for anyone. Don’t let being a fan of someone take over your life.”

The teen looks down at their joined hands, eyelashes fluttering with the heavy mascara, chest going up and down with each breath she takes, deeper than the last. “Okay, sorry…” She whispers, pulling away from her. “I must’ve gotten it wrong.”

“Don’t worry, I was also a fan of some people in my time.” She shrugs, returning her gaze to her friends to give them a tight smile. Everything’s alright. “Thank you for understanding.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“Alright, thank you.”

The problem is that only that night when she gets home, Minghao links her straight to an article, written fresh from the oven and reading:

Forty Women (+1 Unexpected Guest) That Can Be The Inspiration Behind Love’s Midnight’s Valentine!

Scrolling down with shaking fingertips, she prays to the heaven for her to not be in that list—for it to be another rumor, another person that has been wanting to be thought of by Jeon Wonwoo, but once she reaches spot number forty-one, her heart feels like it has fallen out of her chest.

Her name is on the forty-first spot.

41. Podcast Host, Communication Major, Music Minor: This one is the most unexpected, yet the newest guess. Fans were able to compile pictures of two or three years ago of Jeon Wonwoo and this podcast host. Not only that, but she seemed to be close friends with Vernon, Love and Andy! Ouch!

Personal pictures were attached under the small paragraph, tugging at her heart strings.

Isn’t that the pink dress Wonwoo always talked about? Or could it be Song Eunji’s favorite color?

As if things couldn’t get any harder…

###

This is Eunkyung’s little dream. Her tea party filled with reporters, cameras, flashes, cigarettes and bodyguards. Everyone says that what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger—and he feels like he has become a weightlifter with how much he has coped with, leaning back on his seat as the reporters in front of them beg to eat them alive. Each question pointier than the other, each silence dragging on for longer than the last. The center of attention is not the album, not Hoshi’s guitar solos or Vernon’s enigmatic bass skills. The center of attention is that Jeon Wonwoo had fallen in love, and couldn’t seem to get his old lover back.

His friends are different, and so is he. It should make him feel better that the evolution is ever-present in their lives, but it isn’t. The man he sees projected on the glass of water in front of him is exactly who he would’ve never thought he’d become. His black hair is pushed away, forehead is full display, not a single imperfection left for the world to see as he’s covered in makeup. The red leather jacket makes him sweaty, but he still wears it. It’s a gift from Versace and there’s only two of them in the entire world; he just has to wear it, according to his stylist.

One of the reporters stands up from his seat, fixing the blue sweater atop his toned body. The long strands of his black hair give him a bohemian look, but the preppy outfit and the glasses make him look somewhat nerdy. He could definitely be a reporter in music, but Wonwoo doesn’t really give a shit, does he?

“Wonwoo, excuse me—” The man starts, voice as nasal as ever as he brings his recorder up to his lips. “Forty-one women have been linked to be your muse for the latest album, but only one of them stands out.” He already knows the answer. Song Eunji. If rolling his eyes was an option, he’d do it, but he’s been staring at the cameras flashing for too long and his eyes feel like they may give up on him at any moment.

“Sorry, uh, we said no questions about that.” Wonwoo leans forward on his microphone, offering a brief smile in order to keep it at peace. The least he wants is drama for being an absolute diva.

The reporter doesn’t listen, calling out her name as if he knew her. As if they had shared cups of coffee, mornings where conversations merged into memories, nights in which her tears couldn’t be stopped with memories of either really good or really bad times. “…Podcast host and communication graduate, whose connection with you was clarified by your fans after finding pictures from two years ago, seemingly in a relationship with you.”

Fuck.

Where was his publicist when he needed her the most?

He didn’t know that his fans were able to find such things. Each trace of his past with her had been deleted—for the sake of his band, and for the sake of forgetting her. “I won’t make any statements.”

“So, you do admit that you were in a relationship with her?”

“I said,” He presses his lips to the microphone, lifting his eyebrows in the process. “No statements. Meaning, no comment.”

“Ignoring my question is a confirmation, Wonwoo.”

This time around, Vernon is the one who takes place in the interview. “Ignoring his complaints about not wanting to answer is a confirmation of your lack of knowledge in reporting, sir.”

The masses in front of them go crazy, each asking questions louder than the last, penetrating his ears with absolute hatred. Wonwoo stumbles backwards by the time his body leaves his seat, shaking his head when his manager tries to reach out for him, make him sit down before he absolutely ruins his career. Yet, the only person he can think about is her. His fans had found her, the reporters knew about her, too. A life void of privacy simply because of him.

Once backstage, his shoulders tense, cradling his phone in between his hands and bringing it up to his ear. The phone rings a few times, but she always hangs up. Each and every call is ignored exactly in its beginning.

From: Jeon Wonwoo.

I didn’t tell anyone about us.

Tell me you’re alright, please.

Please, answer the phone.

Are you okay?

Why aren’t you answering?

I’m sorry for everything.

Regret bites at him, slices him to bits as he sits down on the sofa, hearing the commotion outside and yet, doing nothing to conceal it. Love would hate him for this, tension rising between them ever since he became the center of attention—but he never asked for this. If he could take it back to the time in which he had her, and Love’s Midnight only played small gigs in some bars downtown, he would.

And he’s been meaning to.

To: Jeon Wonwoo.

I know you didn’t tell anyone.

I’m alright.

I just need time to think of what I’m going to do.

From: Jeon Wonwoo.

I could book a hotel for you so you feel safer.

Paparazzi are going to look for you.

To: Jeon Wonwoo.

I’m staying at Minghao’s, don’t worry.

From: Jeon Wonwoo.

Fine, but take care of yourself.

To: Jeon Wonwoo.

Wonwoo?

He can imagine her, calling out his name softly as if she had never left him, as if everything was alright—

From: Jeon Wonwoo.

Tell me.

To: Jeon Wonwoo.

I need you to take care, as well.

I don’t want you to stress out over this.

From: Jeon Wonwoo.

I’ll take care, baby.

Before he could regret what he said last, she left him on read. As if she had heard him too, but decided not to listen.

###

The only beverage Minghao’s going to give her while staying at his place is lukewarm tea with honey. No matter how hard she tries to get him to give her coffee, it doesn’t happen.

The cars pass by the windows, stuffed by her breath that fans upon the clear glass. Her heart can’t stay still, much like her hands, fiddling against the other, waiting for the bad news. They have arrived—the world knows her, and past the comfort of Minghao’s place, she knows there are cameras flashing in front of her house. They had captured her before she got here, and after endless twists from Minghao, they managed to get to his apartment safe, sound and unnoticed.

Each and every insecurity is highlighted by the cameras. The fact that there had been someone else after her mocks her—tells her that people are just going to end up comparing her to those after her, or even before her. Ghosts that never existed in Wonwoo’s life, too. Some may be taller, some more petite. Some may have a clearer tone of voice, others may be unable to speak in anything other than profanities. Some may kill it on the guitar, and some may kill for a guitar. Everyone in Wonwoo’s life has been so different and yet, she’s the only one with an entire album written about her.

It’s winning the feeling of feeling unique that makes her feel less like shit. Wonwoo cared enough about her to write a million apologies in the form of notes, for him to pour his entire heart out in a guitar, a set of drums, a piano, a voice, the bass—all inspired by her, they rotate around her like the constellations around the universe. The smile she misses had dissipated with the memories of them, and she wants to bring them back. Fuck two years, more than six hundred days, because time is just a concept we don’t understand.

“Hey,” Minghao’s hair is not disheveled, put-together like he’s about to go over the runway with the newest pajama collection from, probably, Louis Vuitton. His body leans against the doorframe, wood against his soft skin, looking at her with worry as she sits on the bed of the room in Minghao’s apartment that he doesn’t use. “There has to be some good to this.”

“Yeah?” She asks, tilting her head far enough for her forehead to rest against the window. “Tell me what it is.”

The tech moves closer until he is in front of her, delicately kneeling in front of her before patting her leg. “This could bring potential listeners to our podcast—”

“Or girls that will hate me because I’m dating their rocker fantasy. Minghao, get real.” Her voice isn’t meant to sound so sharp, but it does. Her world shatters while Minghao can only see from up close, first row, even.

“Don’t think about them. Think about you.”

“What am I supposed to think about?”

“What you want out of this. If this is only a sign from the world to just get in contact with Wonwoo and clear things up. His career, yours, your relationship—” Minghao is speaking too fast, fingers fiddling with his own hair before sighing. “And if you’re not going to do it, I am. I can’t keep seeing you haltering your life because a relationship didn’t work. You are the one that needs to get real.”

She pushes his hand away then, crossing her arms over her chest to shelter herself. “Well, hear me out, you haven’t been in love, but I have. It’s damn fucking annoying when it doesn’t work, and you think that’s the only man that will ever get you, know you, feel you like he does. It’s not the same when you imagined your entire life with a man and he’s suddenly taken away from you. He changes. Twists. He’s not the same anymore, but you know that deep within him, there’s that man you love.” Her chest shakes with every breath she takes, and Minghao takes this time to step away from her. “And you wait for him. Wait for the day he realizes that you never meant to make him feel bad, and hope that he never meant to say the words he said to you. You don’t know what regret is, but I do—”

“Just mend it.”

She wishes it could be that easy. “And then, what?”

“Why do you always have to think about the future?” Her eyes inspect Minghao’s features, as if pulling away every thread of his enigma.

“Because the future is always happier than the present, ain’t it?”

His hand hovers over her shoulder, as if he wants to touch her, shelter her, but he doesn’t. Instead, Minghao smacks his hand against his side, looking for his phone before speaking up. “It’s up to us to make our present happy, too.”

The only response he gets is the sound of her sipping on her tea. Bland tea that Minghao loves, but doesn’t keep him in the room as he closes the door behind him with a thud.

For some moments, she can only look ahead. The cameras follow her, and it wouldn’t surprise her if she closes her eyes, only to awaken to the world trying to get information about her—a picture where something sags in her body, or her pimples are visible, or the stress marks around her face become wrinkles. However, even sleep seems to be out of town today, and she can’t do much but watch some movies on TV. Let the world decide for her again. The Notebook. Then, she couldn’t quite look at the screen without tears on her face.

When sleep welcomes her, it doesn’t stay for long.

It’s like the culprit that opens the door to the room, closing it behind him with an accidental bang—like the way he left. When her eyes can finally clearly see the outline of him in the dark, Wonwoo becomes a living being after years of trying to erase him. Dark hair pushed away from his face thanks to the droplets of rain that had coated both his leather jacket and his black t-shirt. His boots squeak against the flooring when he moves, stopping whatever force brings him closer to her. Eddie The Eagle plays in the background, but no star has ever been as bright as him. As the twinkle in his eyes when he breathes out his name as if he had never forgotten the lullaby in it. As if, for some reason, she’d always have a taste of that tongue and those lips, even when they are nowhere near or over hers.

Proof that love exists beneath him, over him, in him, is when he asks: “Are you alright?”

She could say no, or even just confirm it. Her words could turn into lies or truths, but they decide to stay in between. With him, saying too little or too much is granted to be a loss. “…I could be worse.”

Wonwoo lets the jacket fall on the floor with a thud, and before he could part his lips to say anything else as he nears her, she asks:

“How did you get in?”

“I was hiding in some hotel downtown, when I realized I just couldn’t leave you alone through this.” His voice is gentle, barely above a whisper when the wind keeps blowing on the windows, rain pattering like droplets of paint. “So, I called Minghao, and he told me he’d leave the door open and I just could get in.”

“No one followed you, right?” Worry piles in her expression when mirrored in his starry eyes. The music of their love has lulled to a weak piano tune. They fell, lifted themselves up, only to be pushed to the ground again.

“I made sure no one did.” And the weight of him falls on the edge of the bed, the gray bedsheets wrinkling under his wet presence, leaving an imprint of him. A memory as strong as the ones she holds of him. “I’m sorry this is the way we ended up meeting again.”

Chances, figures in percentages that we don’t expect. We hope for them, and rarely get them. The chance of meeting Wonwoo again was lost thanks to his lack of privacy, but it would a lie if she said she hadn’t been worrying about him all night. In the edge of the bed, biting at her nails, wanting nothing more than to reach out for him.

Who loves you now, Wonwoo?

Who loves you more than I do?

Is it the world? Your fans? Your bandmates? Is it someone else?

Have you been loved at all while I have been gone?

“It had to happen someday,” She whispers into the night, bringing her knees up her chest, taking her coat off and tossing it his way. The cotton material meets his hands quickly, draping it over his body as if the tears that had been dropped in the same garment manage to warm him up. “Not the way I expected it to happen—”

His lips quirk up in a shy smile, shivering with happiness and glee, or perhaps from the coldness of the room. “You expected it to happen?”

It’s her time to shut her mouth for a second, thinking of the next step. “…It’s one of those vague daydreams I have. What would happen if we met again?”

“And what did you think was going to happen?”

“…That I’d try to run away.” She replies, and his smile falls at that moment. Yet, she doesn’t want to lie to him. “But if you got close enough, I’d start thinking of your hands around my waist, or the little kisses you used to press to my hands when you held them, and I wouldn’t be able to keep myself away from you.”

Wonwoo gets closer, like a wanderer trying to land on his preferred island. Swimming through their insecurities, the issues that pulled them away— “I like that.”

“You do?” She asks. “I think I sound stupid.”

“…Love’s like that.” He shrugs. “I took the stupid decision to write an entire album about you, but here’s the thing: I don’t regret it.” His words condense every single bit of coldness inside her chest, letting the tremble of his voice awaken the senses that never left her, loving him to death. “If writing a song about you is a sin, take me to hell.”

Kicking him softly on the leg, she chuckles. “Metaphorical as ever.”

“I like to read.”

“I know, you liked reading more than talking to me.” There, one of the issues of their relationship arises.

“And you don’t know how many books I have wished to un-read just to hear you talking again.” He replies, sighing soon after as he plays with one of the threads of the blanket. “But that’s life. I make bad decisions, they bite me in the ass, and then, I try to mend it.”

“And how are you planning to mend it?”

His arms extend at that moment, taut muscles contracting against the wet shirt. “I offer a hug for the night, if that’s alright.”

She wants to say no, but her body welcomes his embrace, feeling his strong chest pressed against hers, the curve of his spine, the way his scent always seems to be there—so warm, so his, so memorable, and yet, unable to feel as strong as a perfume. It is as though the scent of him drenched in rain makes her feel better, not quite as cold as in that bed alone, even when her skin clads itself in goosebumps. Her heart thumps with so much force that he probably feels it against his waist, in the way he leans back and cocoons her into place. She can’t look at him, just because she knows herself, and she’s one centimeter away from falling.

“It’s what I need.”

“Good.”

Zero point five centimeters away from falling.

Then, his breathing becomes tranquil, and his lips rest atop her hair.

Zero point twenty-five centimeters away from falling…

Zero point seventeen…

Fallen.

###

She knows he is still in that apartment when she hears his fingertips drumming against the counter.

You know, that’s also one of the issues of their relationship…the one they had two years ago. Waking up to the sound of Wonwoo playing whatever ACDC song on their kitchen counter wasn’t a pleasant noise in the past. When she’d go to the bathroom, phone perched in between her fingertips, she’d feel the rhythm thrumming through the tiles, interrupting her precious time of privacy. He’d do it before going to sleep, when bored, when watching a show but on her legs. It’s one of those things she’d ask him to stop doing, but as her eyes open and she comes face to face with the opened door, she feels safe.

Because Wonwoo is there, and that’s more than she could ask at this moment where her name is imprinted in every magazine. Her hand looks for her phone, and for a moment, she wants to stop. God knows what most of the pages she follows on her Instagram page must have written about her—gossip sites that she is not proud of following, but does it to have topics to talk about in her podcast. Whatever. She’s a nobody, there is surely one or two things about her—

But when the light of her phone casts down on her with horrid pictures of her going through the seas of paparazzi to get out of there as soon as possible, she feels shallow.

She’s not a podcast host.

Not Wonwoo’s ex-girlfriend.

But Song Eunji’s rival.

Comparisons, one after the other, from physical appearance to the ultimate statement coming directly from Eunji. Some messages that could be understood as a simple song lyric, if it wasn’t from Wonwoo’s song itself, displayed on a throwback picture of the two of them. Finished, with of course, as much class as the model can have on an apparent drunken night, when she writes down on her caption—

Shout out to the man who writes an entire album about me and yet, can’t last more than four minutes in bed. Love you, Woo.

The laughing emojis after surely don’t settle well in her stomach.

She has to put the phone to the side to think about what bothers her—Wonwoo being with Eunji could be it, but it could also be Eunji taking the spotlight that does it. Maybe, it’s just the fact that she’s involved in all of this, covers thrown away from her body as she goes towards the kitchen, only to watch her best friend and ex-boyfriend seated face to face. Minghao, peacefully drinking from a cup of warm tea, and Wonwoo making conversation as he plays whatever difficult song he can’t seem to get out of his head.

It’s the fact that she hates it—this feeling that tells her she’s proud of being his muse, but in secret. It’s the fact that, all this time, she’d rather have him than anyone else—words be forgotten, actions be damned, only at this moment when his eyes meet hers again, and he dares say:

“Good morning. Slept well?”

How not to think of the fact that, after pushing him to the bathroom to get him to change into warmer, drier clothes from Minghao’s closet, she ended up falling sleep on his arms? That being in silence felt comfortable when around him? That healing is not quite complete when she can’t have him?

“Better than I expected.” She whispers, moving over until she is closer to him, inspecting his features before breathing out softly. “Eunji said the album is about her. People are going crazy over it.”

Wonwoo’s features soften for a second, head thrown back when a groan escapes his lips. “It’s not—”

“I need you to tell me why you wrote an entire album about me.” Her eyes don’t close, honesty overtaking her when her hands ball to her sides, breathing controlled, world stopping just for her to listen to him.

Wonwoo’s brown eyes shake, looking over to Minghao as the dullest shade of pink takes over his face, bathing him in an enchanting glow. “To forget about you,” He says, though he laughs at his antics a bit soon after. “Didn’t work out.”

“Why did you want to forget about me?”

“I thought you’d never come back.”

“And did you want me to come back?”

“From the moment you left that hotel room.”

“Why?”

“…I’m going to leave.” Minghao announces softly, already parting ways to go to his room with his mug of tea, but she can’t keep her eyes away from Wonwoo much longer. The question lingers in the air, just in time for him to connect his hands with hers.

“Why, Wonwoo? Why write about me, think about me, when you could’ve just let go?”

“It’s not that easy when it’s about you.” He says, a small smile playing on his features when he pulls her closer, not all at once but step by step. Slowly, she falls in between his legs, looks into his eyes when he lets sincerity live within his words. “I got everything I could ever wish for, and I still wanted you.”

“…Oh, God.” Her smile can’t hide itself when she wraps her arms around his shoulders, head resting on his chest as she chuckles. “Why do I like that so much?”

“Maybe, because you wanted me back, too?” The hope lingers on his voice, and she has to pull away for a second, looking up and down his features as she licks his lips.

“Let’s fix this entire mess first.”

“I’ll deny you are my album’s muse if that makes you feel better.”

For a moment, she feels the weight falling off her shoulders, but instead, she perks up, spine straightening when she says: “And why not confirm it instead?”

“Would you want to? This world I live in, it’s not good—”

“If I have to confirm a past relationship just to have you again, I will. I would.”

“…I won’t do that to you.” Wonwoo whispers, lips pressing to her knuckles like they used to at the earliest stages of their relationship. “You know what I want to do? Mend the lost time with you. Think and heal together. Talk to each other. I don’t want anyone else but us having a say on what we are…not stardom, not the band, not anyone.”

When she looks into his eyes, it feels like the old Wonwoo is back. Not the rockstar drummer that everyone has fallen for, but Jeon Wonwoo who’d laugh at the idea of ever being famous.

And it’s nice to think the world is different today, that they’re alone and there are not a thousand pictures of her online.

“Let them talk,” He finishes. “The only person I want to listen to is you, anyways.”

An avenue of tears has welcomed a sweet lake, and when she has seen her reflection in the water, she captures Wonwoo’s figure beside her. Maybe, they can get through this together. Perhaps, music united them, separated them, and now it has brought them back together again.

That’s the magic of love, isn’t it? Trusting again.

“…And you’ll hear me talk a lot about the past two years, Jeon Wonwoo.”

With a smile, he answers. “And I’ll gladly listen.”

Though, the only sound she gets to hear is the small intake of breath from his lips when she leans forward and tastes the early morning cigarettes in him. Everything she has ever wanted exists in him, so imperfect and yet, so fitting for her.

#wonwoo scenarios #seventeen scenarios #wonwoo #seventeen #kpop scenarios #writing #wonwoo au #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo angst #seventeen au #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #drummer!au #yea i wrote about wonwoo bc whenever i have wifi i have binge watched gose lemme be #also SUPER inspired by one of those ask games i did and hehehehehe i'm excited

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captainsolare · 3 years

Text

Under the Moonlit Sky

This is a request I got that ended up with a long word count so I'm making it it's own separate post.

Summary: Leopold asks his commoner crush to a party attended by nobility and royalty. She must navigate the party through her nervousness, confused feelings, and the classism of the nobility surrounding her.

Word count: 3140

Tags: angst with a happy ending, fluff, comfort, f!reader

You narrowed your eyes as you studied the boy standing in your doorway, “What did you just ask me?”

He cleared his throat, cheeks a dusty pink as he scratched the back of his neck, “I asked if you would do me the honor of accompanying me to a party this weekend.”

You swallowed, throat suddenly feeling very dry. “A party? Are you sure you’d want me there?”

Leo laughed, the sound almost grating to your frayed nerves, “Of course I do! I always have fun when I’m with you and these parties are so boring.” His lips twitched in disgust as he thought of how uninteresting these types of things were, sure his siblings were fine but with extended family he was expected to act a certain way and it felt constricting.

You smiled, and Leo perked up at seeing the twinkle in your eye.

“Oh I see how it is, I’ll just be your entertainment for the evening.”

Leo nodded, then fully realized the implication of your statement; eyes wide he held his hands up. “No! I didn’t mean it like that, I just want you to be there. Please?”

You crossed your arms, eyeing him with a skeptical look, but the longer he stared at you with those pleading eyes, the more convinced you were. Your frown turned into a giggle and you nodded, “I was joking Leo, of course I’ll go with you.”

“You mean it?” Leo asked, eyes hopeful this wasn’t a joke.

“Yes! I mean it.”

“Perfect! Thanks so much, I’ll be here at 7 PM sharp to pick you up.”

“Great! See you then.”

As soon as Leo left, you sank against the door, the facade dropping. “A royal party? Y/N what have you gotten yourself into?” You groaned, resting your head in your hands.

A party with Leo meant that royals and nobility would be there, and you were just a commoner from the city who’d met Leopold by chance. There wasn’t a drop of nobility in your blood and despite how accepting Leo was, the vast majority of the people there would eye you with contempt. At least you were a magic knight, you were in the Purple Orcas, so that would gain you a bit of respect, but the lack of noble blood was of greater importance. The more you thought about it the more nervous you became, but a promise is a promise and you’d do your best to keep it.

Your eyes traveled to your bedroom, did you have anything you could wear in your wardrobe? You pulled yourself off the floor and made your way to the armoire, throwing the doors of it open. You examined each piece of clothing, holding it up to you in the mirror. One by one, each of your dresses landed in a pile on your floor. Eyes pricking with tears you threw the last dress on the pile.

None of these are acceptable for a royal party, what am I going to do?

Your coin purse lay on your desk and you picked it up, peering inside. You had a substantial amount of money on hand, you’d been saving for a rainy day but you supposed that day had come, besides, a new dress could do you some good. You could wear it to future balls if you someday ended up dating Leo.

Blinking, you dropped the coin purse, of all the intrusive thoughts to enter your brain, it just had to be that one. You and Leo? It was laughable if the unattainability of it didn’t hurt so much, you supposed you did have a crush on him, but what was the use? Even if he did like you back, it isn’t as if you could act on it. Royalty and nobility sure, but you were a commoner, and a royal dating a commoner was unheard of, it felt taboo at times to even be friends with him.

You sighed and gathered the fallen coins, dropping them gently into the bag, perhaps you could do the more practical thing, and rent a dress, or at the very least buy it, wear it for the night and return it later. You pocketed the purse and set off for the store, heart sinking like a stone in your chest.

A bell chimed as you entered the store, and you immediately felt an oppressive wave come over you. The store felt stuffy, and you felt extremely out of place on the posh white carpet.

“Y/N! Is that you?”

You looked around at the sudden call of your name and came face to face with Vanessa from the Black Bulls, you instantly relaxed and let her pull you into a quick hug.

“Hello Vanessa, long time no see.”

You’d met her a few times while on solo missions, and had gotten to know the thread mage rather well.

“What brings you here?” She asked, lightly resting her hand on your shoulder.

Your cheeks warmed, “I actually got asked to go to a party this weekend.”

Vanessa gasped, clapping her hands together excitedly. “Was it that royal boy from the Crimson Lion Kings?”

Your cheeks grew even warmer at her question, was your crush that obvious? You nodded and she smiled even wider.

“Well, we need to find you a gown then, don’t we?”

Vanessa tugged you around the store, taking dresses off the racks and holding them up to your frame. She settled on a gray white gown, stars were woven into the bodice and the skirt, it was beautiful and you hoped it would look just as beautiful on you.

You stepped into the dressing room, tugging off your clothes and replacing them with the ball gown. As you looked into the mirror, you almost couldn’t believe it was you in the mirror. You were still you, that much was obvious and wouldn’t change, but you felt beautiful in the gown.

Opening the door carefully you stepped out and Vanessa squealed. “Oh my, you look gorgeous!”

You smiled, heart full from her genuine smile, “You really think so?”

“Of course I do, and that little lion cub isn’t going to know what hit him.”

You chuckled, imagining Leo’s dumbfounded expression was quite amusing. But you remembered your coin purse and frowned. “Could you take a look at the price?”

When Vanessa read you the price your heart sank, even with what you had saved there was no way you could afford it. Vanessa read the expression on your face and put her arms around your shoulders.

“Don’t worry sweetheart, I’ve got it covered.”

You tried to protest, but once Vanessa had it in her mind to do something there was no stopping her so you relented, handing her the gown after you had changed back into your normal clothes.

The rest of the week passed by in a flash, Vanessa showed up at your door at 5 PM Saturday evening to help you get ready. She laced the dress for you, tied your ribbon slippers and did your hair how she asked, then added a touch of makeup.

Soon there was a knock at the door and you gulped. Vanessa gave you a quick hug and you opened the door.

Leo stood there in a navy blue suit, pink sash tied as a (tacky) belt around his waist. As he laid eyes on you, Leo’s expression was as priceless as you had imagined.

“Come on, pick your jaw up off the floor, it’s still little old me inside this dress.”

“I can’t help it, you just look so beautiful.”

You gave a quick curtsy, “Why thank you kind sir.”

“Leo! Hurry up!” Fuegoleon called from the carriage.

Leo jumped, “Right! Shall we?”

You took his extended hand and he helped you to the carriage. You said a quick hello to Fuegoleon and his expression softened.

“Hello Miss Y/N, Leo has told me a lot about you. You look quite beautiful tonight.”

You swallowed the heat that was creeping up your neck, “Thank you sir.”

“Oh please, no need to call me sir, call me Fuegoleon.”

The carriage ride to the palace was awkward, you tried to make small talk by asking where the oldest Vermillion sibling was but were informed that Mereoleona couldn’t be bothered to come to events like these, and if she did she inevitably ended up setting something on fire.

“Ah, I see.”

You tried to shove down your growing nervousness, you desperately hoped that this night would not end up as disastrous as you feared. Leo helped you out of the carriage and you didn’t let go of his hand, causing heat to rise to his cheeks.

The doors opened and you quickly dropped his hand, your own tingling from the loss of heat. You immediately felt the harsh stares of the royals and nobility in the room; nobles were acutely aware who was outside their circle and although you were dressed nice it was obvious to them you were a commoner. You swallowed thickly as you made your rounds around the room with Leo, he was required to visit with everyone out of respect. You could feel their eyes looking you up and down, silently judging Leopold for bringing a commoner to a place such as this.

Relief washed over you when you finally sat at your designated table with Mimosa and Noelle. You’d met them a few times before, and you knew that you’d have some semblance of safety while you sat here.

“Hello Y/N! You look gorgeous tonight.” Mimosa greeted, pulling you into a quick embrace.

Noelle did the same and you murmured your thanks before taking a seat next to Leopold. “So, we’ve been relegated to the kids table?” You joked, causing the others to chuckle. “It would appear so.” Leopold said, eyes crinkling as he smiled.

Your table called much attention to itself as the four of you joked; it was a relief to be able to feel like you could be yourself here, until you risked a glance at the main tables and saw their judgemental looks. You took a sip of water, trying to force your bitterness down with it; you could brush things off with the best of them, but you had to admit it was hard when you felt you were invading a space you were not welcome in, just because of your social standing.

The string quartet sat down to play and the dishes were cleared along with the tables. Leopold stood awkwardly and asked you for a dance as Mimosa and Noelle giggled nearby. Your cheeks warmed, but you laid your hand gently on top of his and he led you to the dance floor.

“They’re so cute.” Mimosa whispered. Noelle smiled, hand covering her mouth, “I so agree.”

As the strings played, you let Leopold lead the dance. “You’re a better dancer than I thought you’d be Leo.” You said, smiling with a teasing glint in your eye. He stood a little taller at your words, “Why thank you, I’ve been practicing. Hey! What do you mean ‘better than you thought’?” He protested and you just smiled, relishing in the fact you had all of his attention for the moment. Leopold was so easily distracted, but not when he was with you, it made you feel like you were the only girl in the whole world, and at least for now, you could pretend that it would always be this way.

There was a tap on Leo’s shoulder, from a nobleman you didn’t recognize. “May I cut in?” He asked, his voice nasally and grating. Leo nodded, giving you an apologetic glance, and the two men switched partners. The man took your hand with a tight grip, twirling you this way and that across the floor. You could sense the hostility coming from him as he pulled you close to whisper in your ear.

“Filthy commoner, your kind aren’t welcome here. Leave now and never speak to Leopold Vermillion again, or else. We can’t afford anyone tainting the royal family’s blood.”

You didn’t need to ask if it was a threat, your heart was caught in your throat as the man’s words sent ice through your veins. You wanted to protest, but the man had planned it perfectly. You couldn’t make a scene here, and no one had heard his awful words so no one would be able to back your story up, and even if you did voice your concerns, most of the people in this room would likely agree with the sentiment that had been expressed to you.

“We’ll be watching you.” The man said quietly, before Leo could cut in again.

Leo grabbed your hand once more and instantly noticed something was wrong, it wasn’t extremely noticeable, but he had been around you long enough to know when something was bothering you. His hand rested on your lower back as you swayed with him. The lump in your throat grew larger as you met his eyes, then looked back down at your feet.

Did this really have to end? Couldn’t you pretend, for just a moment longer that this would all work out? That Leopold was the person who would sweep you off your feet for the rest of your life? Couldn’t you freeze this moment for the rest of time? Leo’s smile as he pressed his palm into yours?

You felt your heart shatter as the song ended and you pulled away, tears pricking in your eyes. Leopold looked visibly confused, but you brushed him off.

“I just need some air.”

As soon as you were out of eye and earshot you ran, eventually finding a secluded outdoor patio. You slammed your hands on the railing. This wasn’t fair, you shouldn’t have to feel this way because of their prejudice. You’d known the house of cards would come down eventually, the hope that you had placed in a future with Leo, the future you kept locked away in your heart. Tears streamed down your cheeks despite your best efforts to keep them in, and you watched as the balcony railing became slick with them.

Inside, Leopold heard the murmurs of relief that you had disappeared. They sent him bristling, which one of them had hurt you bad enough to make you need air? His eyes scanned the crowd and they fell upon the man who had danced with you last. Without hesitation, he strode over to the man, grabbing his collar. Gasps could be heard all across the room at Leopold’s sudden outburst.

“What did you say to her?” It was like a roar was ripped from his chest, his knuckles were white with the force of his grip.

The man squirmed in his grasp, “I just… I just told her we wouldn’t take kindly to her tainting the royal bloodline.”

Leopold let go of the man, his eyes wide with shock, then anger. “How dare you! How dare you treat a personal friend of royalty that way! I’m disgusted with you.” Leopold’s words came out as spats, and he whirled out of the room, desperate to find you.

He found you, shoulders shaking over the patio railing as you cried. A gentle hand was placed on your shoulder and you stiffened.

“Hey you.” Leo said quietly.

You sniffled, you didn’t want him to see you like this, but there was no avoiding it. “Hi.”

“Can I give you a hug?” He asked.

You nodded and stood, letting him pull you into a warm embrace. You always felt safe here, and that fact made you cry harder, because sooner or later, you’d have to let this go, give up his arms so someone else could be held by them.

“I’m sorry that man said those things to you.” Leo said quietly, stroking your back with a gentle hand.

You sniffled, “You don’t have to be sorry. I knew what I was getting into when I came here tonight, I’m sorry for causing you trouble.”

Leo stiffened at your statement, anger bubbling within him once more as you apologized to him.

“Hey. Listen to me.” He took a step back until only his hands were resting on your shoulders,

“Pardon my language but screw what those losers said! You are gorgeous and I wanted you here tonight. In fact you are the only person I wanted to be with tonight.”

You blinked, not believing what you were hearing. “What-- what are you saying Leo?”

“I’m saying I’m in love with you!” He swallowed, heart pounding in his chest, “I have been for a while actually, that’s part of the reason I asked you here tonight.”

To his dismay you began to cry, fresh tears streaking down your cheeks.

“Are-- are you okay?! Did I do something wrong?” Leo began to panic, studying your face carefully.

You shook your head, “No, you didn’t do anything wrong. These are… happy tears I think.”

Leo looked confused, “Happy tears? Why?”

You laughed at his expression, Leo could certainly be dense sometimes.

“I’m happy because I love you too, dummy.”

Leo wasn’t sure he heard you right, you liked him too? He grinned, smile as wide as the half moon in the sky.

You hugged under the night sky, stars glittering above you.

Leopold wiped the tears from your eyes, and gave you a kiss on the forehead.

“Shall we go inside and give those losers a heart attack?”

You frowned, “Not a literal one I hope.”

He chuckled, “No of course not, just one that will hopefully kick their classist asses.”

You followed Leo back into the ballroom, pinkies intertwined and heads held high.

“Attention everyone, I have an announcement to make!”

The room stilled as everyone turned to look at the royal boy.

He grabbed your hand more fully in his and held it up for them all to see.

“Ladies and gentlemen, and others, this is Y/N L/N and I am in love with her!” He yelled.

Gasps were heard throughout the room at his announcement, nobles looked around in shock.

“I’m going to marry her someday and if you don’t like it, you can leave!” He declared, sending a wash of heat to your face and gasps throughout the crowd.

Silence dominated the room for a long moment, and you were positive at least one woman fainted. Fuegoleon cleared his throat and the attention turned to him, “Well, it would seem we have a pre-engagement to celebrate, so start the music.”

The quartet began to play once more, and you danced with Leo for the rest of the night, if anyone took him up on his offer to leave, you didn’t notice or care; the only thing that mattered is that you loved him, and he wanted to keep you in his arms forever.

#leopold x reader #leopold fluff #angst with a happy ending #f!reader #black clover leopold #aurora borealis

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rosenallies · 3 years

Note

I've been enjoying your drabbles so much!! Prompt idea: rosé bringing denali back + jan and lagoona's reaction to it ?

I got another rlly similar prompt to this one but about them finally accepting her into the group so that’ll be the next installment of this series but for now here’s this :-)

—-

Rosé sat in Denali’s living room, her eyes scanning the random decor sat in shelves and hung on walls. Mostly pictures of friends, some professional pictures of her smiling with skating trophies littered the walls in random frames. Denali was showering, getting ready to head back to the airport with Rosé. As much as she had missed Denali on the road, she couldn’t help but wonder what Jan and Lagoona would think. They watched her break down and become near catatonic for days after Denali had ran off like that and now all of a sudden she’s back? Rosé knew they would have something to say, especially Jan.

Which is why when her thumb hovered over Jan’s contact, she felt nauseous as she pressed it, the phone ringing twice before Jan picked up, her face appearing on Rosé’s phone with a wide smile.

“Hey diva, how’s home?”

Rosé scratched the back of her neck. “Actually, I’m not home. Not in New York at least.”

“Where are you at? Did you have a layover at the airport or something?”

Sighing, Rosé shook her head. “No, I never went home. I went to Chicago.”

Jan knew what that meant, a hint of something Rosé couldn’t pick up in her eye. “Are you at her place?”

“Yeah,” Rosé admitted.

The purple haired girl hummed. “How’d it go?”

“She’s coming back on tour with us. We’re just about to head to the airport.”

Jan laughed, throwing Rosé off guard until she suddenly stopped. “Wait, this isn’t a joke, is it?”

“No, it’s not. We talked and we’re both on the same page, so I think it’ll be good.”

Jan sighed, defeated. “Fine, I’ll see you later then.”

Rosé hung up the phone and shoved it in her jacket pocket, nerves twisting in her stomach. What if Jan was right?

Before Rosé could spiral any further, Denali plopped herself down in her lap, completely nude and dripping in water.

“Hi Rosie,” she said with a smirk, wiggling in her lap a bit. “we still have 45 minutes before we need to leave.”

Chuckling, Rosé put her hands on Denali’s hips. “You just got clean in the shower and now you wanna get dirty again? My dirty little thing.”

Denali blushed, her cheeks dusty pink. “Take me back to bed, please?”

Rosé gladly took her back to the bedroom, any qualms lost in her thoughts and replaced by images of Denali’s gorgeous curves and the sound of her soft moans.

She had nearly forgotten about her interaction with Jan until she and Denali had stepped onto the tour bus and she walked away without a word, heading toward the bunks in the back. Lagoona looked at her apologetically.

“I’m sorry, girl,” she said, speaking to both of them.

Denali smiled politely. “It’s okay, I understand. I hurt her best friend, but just know I won’t do it again.”

Rosé opened her mouth to speak, but Denali silenced her with a squeeze of her hand and a slight shake of her head. “It’s okay, Rosie, I can handle it.”

Lagoona pressed her lips together. “To be honest, I’m not happy about this either, but it’s her you’ve got to watch out for. She might be the youngest out of us all but she makes sure we’re all good. She’s caring like that.”

“Goona, stop, please,” Rosé begged, a tired hand rubbed over her face.

The blue haired girl got up with a shrug, following Jan back toward the bunks while Rosé turned her attention back to Denali.

“Nali, I’m sorry,” she apologized, stroking the side of Denali’s face with the back of her hand.

Denali shrugged, brushing off the sting. “It’s okay, Rosie, they’ll come around.”

Rosé wasn’t convinced, but for Denali’s sake she acted that way.

#prompt request #rosenali #groupie au

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xbunnybunz · 3 years

Text

Flowers Between Ribs [Sans x Reader]

Summary: Papyrus is cooking downstairs and Sans is asleep. Of course, you would take this opportunity to stick flowers in his ribs... You did not know he was sensitive there.

Genre: Fluff

Date: July 21, 2016

-----

It was an unusually peaceful day. A comfortable yet rare silence had settled in the humble abode of two skeleton brothers, which was usually bustling with noise and strange misendeavours. The sun was just starting to set, and the hues in the sky cast their light into the house. Gradients of the fading twilight slipped past the curtains and washed over the room, bathing it in it’s palette of orange, pink and purple watercolor.

You would soon attribute the odd spell of quiet with the absence of a certain boisterous skeleton-

“SANS, WE HAVE RETURNED WITH THE INGREDIENTS FOR DINNER!” Papyrus kicked the door open, almost sending it off of its hinges.

The door bounced off of the wall with a splintering ‘CRACK,’ and would’ve slammed back into Papyrus’s armful of groceries if you hadn’t jammed it open with your foot.

Whew, that was a close one. There were eggs in there.

“AND I BROUGHT A GUEST! (Y/N) IS STAYING FOR DINNER AGAIN TONIGHT!”

You poked a head around Papyrus’s towering frame and peeked inside the familiar house. As always, it was relatively clean, leave for a sock in the corner. (Which was bombarded with sticky-notes.) You visited Papyrus and Sans on a regular basis, and knew this place better than the back of your hand. Scanning the room, you realized that something was missing- or, to be specific, someone.

“Hey Papyrus, do you know where Sans is?” You ask as you shift the brown bags in your arms, and walk towards the kitchen. Papyrus follows close behind, scanning the room as well.

“WELL, IF HE ISN’T IN THE LIVINGROOM, HE MUST BE SLEEPING UPSTAIRS.” Papyrus set the bags down on the counter and placed his hands on his hips, “THAT PILE OF LAZYBONES.”

You chuckled and plopped your share of groceries on the counter as well, snatching a particularly light paper bag off the table. “I’ll go wake him up, then! You better get started on cooking Pappy!”

“AH , YES. I SHALL BEGIN CREATING MY WONDROUS SPAGHETTI! HM, SHALL I USE GLITTER GLUE OR PUFFY STICKERS TODAY?” Papyrus thought out loud to himself.

As you slipped out the door, you couldn’t help but shudder at the skeleton’s strange sense of taste.

Sure, Papyrus may be sweet, but unfortunately that didn’t make his cooking any more palatable than a third grader’s macaroni-and-glitter art project.

Still, you were kind of thankful he sucked at cooking- it was what strengthened your bond with the brothers so much. Whenever you were free, you’d come by their place and give Papyrus some cooking tips (“GEE (Y/N), THAT MAKES QUITE A LOT OF SENSE. I THOUGHT THAT WHEN PASTA CAUGHT ON FIRE, IT MEANT IT WAS SPICY; ISN’T THAT WHAT THE COMMERCIALS MEAN BY ‘FIERY HOT?’”) while also preparing nice meal for the three of you. Of course, you’d leave room for one or two bites of Papyrus’s self-proclaimed “MASTERPIECE SPAGHETTI, NYEHEHEH!” which seemed to satisfy everyone.

With the bag delicately pressed to your chest, you tiptoed quietly upstairs toward Sans’s room, faintly hearing the telltale signs of light snoring. Luckily, he had left his bedroom door slightly ajar and unlocked, making your job a lot easier. (You knew Sans couldn’t be awakened by the mere sounds of knocking, and you didn’t have the adequate tools to lockpick.

(NOT THAT YOU LOCKPICKED.))

You shouldered his door open quietly and were greeted with the sight of his room- something people could politely describe as… organized chaos. It wasn’t often that you came up to Sans’s room. Perhaps you’ve been in and out of here once or twice when you were sleeping over and needed extra pillows, but that was done rather quickly.

You never really paid attention to anything (except for the odd flashlight-lamp-contraption on his dresser.) Taking a closer look at the room now, you notice many odds and ends you're surprised you didn't spot before. A dusty treadmill, heaps of clothes and stray socks littering the floor- and… A hurricane of a mess. Literally.

Typical Sans.

Stepping over the oddities strewn across the bedroom floor, you make your way over to a sleeping Sans, peacefully snoozing away while sprawled on his back. The corner of your lips quirk up a bit further upon hearing the faint clanging of pots and pans downstairs, along with the occasional “NYEHEHEH!”and you figure Papyrus is entertaining himself: you'd let Sans catch z’s for just a little longer.

You plop down next to Sans’s bed and rest an arm on the edge of the mattress, propping your head up on it. Your eyes latch onto his chest, rising up and down at a slow and steady pace. No nightmares this time, huh? You let out a small exhale and give the sleeping monster a small lopsided smile.

Despite his endless slew of lame jokes and easygoing attitude, you knew Sans always had a torrential wave of thoughts consuming his mind- in both sleep and his waking hours. At one point, you had gotten worried enough about his worsening eyebags and asked if he was alright, only to receive a broad and somewhat conventional reply. You begrudgingly changed topics, taking the hint- but pressed him for answers once Papyrus called you up begging for help at 7AM on a Saturday.

You had dashed over there with a bad case of bedhead and mismatching socks, assuming the worst- only to arrive and find Papyrus in desperate need to use the only bathroom in the house- which Sans had fallen asleep in while brushing his teeth. “no need to get so pee-ved, can’t a guy get some bath-room to himself for a bit, heh?” “Sans,” You huffed “Look, we can tell something is bothering you- and it must be pretty bad, to lose sleep over.” He shifted from one slipper-clad foot to another, eyes darting away from you.

No response.

You sigh and place a hand gently on his arm, furrowing your brows at him. “You don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to, but take care of yourself, okay? We can’t have you injured for small things that could’ve been helped, yaknow?” Sans chuckled and lightened up considerably as Papyrus came out of the bathroom, looking much more calm.

“hey, eye’m bagging you to let this go, (Y/N).”

“SANS!“

And that concluded your semi-serious conversation about Sans’s health. You knew Sans was only avoiding a direct answer to save you and Papyrus the trouble of being worried, but there was a nagging feeling in your mind that there was something more than that. Something that he was… Protecting you two from?

Your eyes travel from his rising chest to his ivory face, completely relaxed despite the constant grin that was plastered from cheek to cheek.

From afar the bony surface seemed flawless and smooth, but up close you could spot small imperfections. Chips on the surface, tiny indentations, ridges and occasional scratches decorated his face, and you found yourself struggling to keep your hands to yourself. It was strange how these small markings could be argued to be unattractive- but to you, be so entrancingly unique and beautiful.

It made Sans who he was.

Your stare catches on parts of his exposed lower ribs, a result of his white shirt and unzipped blue jacket riding up during his tossing and turning.

Your cheeks betray you and flush a deep red rivaling Papyrus’s cape, and you hurriedly avert your gaze elsewhere. It was then that you remembered what you had brought into the room with you, and an idea popped into your mind.

Smiling coyly, you pick your head up and dig a hand into the brown paper bag, careful to subdue any obnoxious crinkling. You pull out your hand. In between your pointer finger and your thumb was a dainty little flower with vibrantly colored petals and a thick, robust stem.

After you had gone grocery shopping with Papyrus, you spotted a flower vending cart next to the park you two passed to go home, covered from wheel to canopy with beautiful, multicolored flowers of all variety.

“GO AHEAD, HUMAN. I SEE YOU HAVE TAKEN A LIKING TO THE PRETTY WEEDS.”

Papyrus gestured for you to go with a wide and genuine smile, but you were too busy cringing at the unintentional jab to really notice.

“I SHALL WAIT FOR YOU HERE UNTIL YOU HAVE FINISHED LOOKING! I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AM EXCELLENT AT WAITING! AMONG OTHER THINGS OF COURSE.” You wondered if bringing up the incident where he could barely wait for the bathroom would be appropriate, but bit your tongue.

Instead, you tossed him a grateful smile and went to pick out a handful of snipped daisies, bluebells, bleeding hearts and carnations.

Chuckling at the memory, you twirled the powder pink carnation between your fingers and eye Sans’s uncovered ribs. You honestly had no idea what to do with the snippets of flowers, and had only bought them in the spur of the moment. But now, you had an idea Would he feel it? He was asleep… This could be payback for that time he stacked ritz crackers on your forehead as you napped on the couch- needless to say you got a faceful of saltine cookies once you awoke. (“aw, come’on (Y/N), don’t be mad! I’m crackerin’ up over here!”)

Carefully, you slipped the smooth, dark green stem of the carnation between his second to last rib. Seeing that it stayed put, you felt a burst of happiness and immediately worked to place as many as you could in the exposed expanse of his bones.

Selecting a line of deep red bleeding hearts, you nestled those on the innermost part of his fourth to last rib. A cute daisy followed, placed snugly next to the bleeding hearts. You decorate his outer false ribs with baby blue bluebells and tuck some red carnations comfortably against the tip of his Xiphoid Process, grinning to yourself. Lines of fresh white daises and bleeding hearts dangle from his floating ribs, and you can’t help but admire your handiwork. The vividly colored flora somehow both complimented and contrasted perfectly against Sans’s milky white bones, framing the already strong and alluring structure with a collection of complimentary daisies and bluebells, gradiented red and pink carnations, and elegant yet sharply colored bleeding hearts.

After a few moments, you catch yourself staring and shake yourself out of your stupor. Glancing inside the brown paper bag, you are confronted with one more healthy-looking daisy sitting alone at the bottom. Removing it from its confines, you stare blankly at the garden in Sans’s ribs, wondering where to put the final flower.

Finally, you decide to place it with the other daises, but- Accidentally, your fingertips brush along Sans’s costal cartilage, and static shoots up your arm.

Oh, geez.

He was unexpectedly warm for a skeleton, and insanely smooth.

Your hand instinctively draws back as you sharply inhale, eyes darting up to Sans’s face. Fortunately, he was still asleep- although a strange bluish hue had dusted his cheeks. There was no way...

Was he… Enjoying that?

A shiver travels up your spine as you hear him give an almost inaudible but throaty groan, and you press your fingers to your lips. You didn’t ever really have a chance to find out what monster anatomy was like- but it was rather odd to you that ribs of all places could be a potential erogenous zone. Slowly, you lower them back onto the same spot and wrap the pads of your fingers around the bone, giving a longer, harder rub.

The response is immediate. Phalanges curl into the bedcovers and metacarpals twist into bedsheets.

Sans arches his back with a whimper and brings his ribs into your palms, reminding you of lesser dog and his keening.

Except this one moans.

Sans unconsciously bucks into your hand and gives a crescendo of a guttural moan, sending your heartbeat sailing and skin crawling. Your head whips towards the bedroom door to make sure Papyrus hadn’t heard and come up to check on you, and once you were in the clear, you yanked your hand away despite the tingling in your fingertips that urged you on.

Well, attempted to. Your eyes widened into saucers when you feel boney fingers- the same ones that were grappling at the bed a few seconds earlier- wrap themselves around your wrist and hold you in place- if not pulling you closer.

Sans gazed at you with one half lidded eye, a lazy but knowing smile licking at his usual cheesy grin. “mornin’.” You gulped and flushed red. Caught. “I-It’s more night than morning, but…” Your eyes followed his gaze to the small flower show in his ribs, and when you glanced back at you with a grin and a raised eyebrow, your blush reached the tip of your ears.

“I-“ You rushed to explain yourself, but found yourself tripping over your own words, “T-The flowers looked pretty and- and your bones were there and i thought it'd look good and alsobeacuseoftheritzcrackersthing-“ You visibly deflate with complete and utter embarrassment, wishing you could either turn sink between the wooden floor boards or turn into one of the many heaps of clothing on his floor.

“it’s kind of like a garden.” Sans smiled at you, his long fingers still wrapped firmly around your wrist.

You mutely nodded, avoiding his gaze.

“the only thing im missing are butterflies in my stomach, but you already give me those.”

Your breath catches in your throat at the comment, and your pupils rapidly dart to-and-fro, intensely staring at anything BUT Sans. Ohgoshthiswasembarassingwhydidyouthinkitwouldbeagoodideaatall-

“hey”

You feel the metacarpals around your arm pull you forward so you were practically on the bed with Sans. Before you could part your lips to protest, another set of fingers brushed along the breadth of your jawline and firmly but gently grasped your chin and turned you to face him.

“look at me.”

He was so close- maybe just a little more and- Sans plucked the daisy you forgot you were holding from your hands, tucking it into your hair.

“don’t think I don’t know what you were doing, kid.” Sans chuckled mischeviously, the laughter coming from deep within his chest. Maybe it was just your imagination, but was his left eye glowing cyan…?

“I, uh-“

“(Y/N)!” A loud voice called from downstairs, “THE PASTA WAS COOKING TOO SLOWLY SO I PUT CANDLES IN THE POT TO MAKE MORE FIRE INSIDE.” Silence follows. “THE CANDLES HAVE DISAPPEARED.” More silence. “I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL MAKE ANOTHER BATCH!”

As you opened your mouth to respond, Sans stopped you with a finger to your lips. “let’s finish what you started, hm? you might wanna keep quiet."

His eye flared

"my room's right above the kitchen."

#undertale #fanfiction #sans x reader #reader insert #old story

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midnightmoonkiss · 4 years

Text

Hand Snatcher

Izuku Midoriya X Fem! Reader

Summary: When a creep is following you, what else are you expected to do other than to grab a hero's hand and plead for help? Who knows, you might just get coffee from it.

WARNINGS!: None :)

Category: Fluff

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: Found a prompt list, forgot all other responsibilities and cracked down on this cliche ass shit

Just To Clarify:

It’s very early in the morning

Streets are practically void of people

The reader is an office worker

Deku is just a sidekick, and reader doesn’t know about him

“I’ll buy you coffee if you hold my hand for five minutes.!”

You pleadingly whisper to the hero clad in a green and black suit, grabbing his gloved hand and trying to control the shaking of your body as you pressed close to him.

You didn’t want this to happen, you didn’t think you’d ever have to reach out to a hero of people for help, but at the moment, you didn’t have much of a choice.

It was a hard concept to grasp, that crime would show itself on the streets so early in the morning. Dawn was just breaking the sky, orange and purple rays of light shone down on the buildings, encasing them in a fire-like glow.

You noticed him following you for a while, but you put it off, figuring he just so happened to be going in the same direction as you.

Of course, when you noticed him getting closer, taking the same unconventional turns as you, you put him to a test, walking faster and taking routes that differentiate from your usual ones.

He still followed you.

He matched your pace, coming closer and closer to your much smaller frame.

He was a big, burly man, and ironically enough, he was clad in a dusty trench coat and fedora.

It was unclear if he was trying to stand out by looking shady or match the setting of a 1950’s murder mystery.

Either way, it was unsettling, and it was obvious he was trying to get to you for some unknown reason.

So the moment you spotted the hero, you immediately power walked over to him, heels clicking loudly on the pavement, trying to hide the shaking of your knees.

You had to look confident, had to act like you knew just who you were walking up to despite never seeing the hero before.

You couldn’t just scream out for help, especially since the man following you hadn’t really done anything other than give you the scare of a lifetime. Not exactly enough to scream.

All that truly mattered was that if worse came to worse, surely he, a fellow burly man, could potentially protect you.

Who were you kidding, he could! That’s what heroes did, right?

Protect innocent civilians?

It was unnerving how the man followed behind you still, despite you clearly making your way to an authority figure.

“H-Hey!” You called out, a fearful smile on your face, “Funny seeing you here, huh?”

And that’s when you whispered those words to him, locking your fingers with his own, absentmindedly taking notice of how soft his gloves were, and how large his hand was.

Deku, the hero you just attached yourself to, already knew something was up the minute you called out to him.

It was obvious you were trying to get the hell away from that creepy-ass dude following you. The man even had the gall to try and grasp your arm at the last second but stopped once he made eye contact with the hero’s cold, glaring eyes.

It would scare anyone if they saw that, especially in this day-and-age where there still was no symbol of peace just yet, and crime was still on the rise.

He was working hard to lower that crime rate, but it would obviously take many years, same as it had been with Allmight. He was only a sidekick at the moment, after all.

So, without delay, he happily squeezed your hand, pulling you towards his large frame and smothering you in a protective hug.

“It is funny, but I’m so glad you ran into me! I missed you~!” He sang out, staring down into your wide (E/C) eyes.

Oh, thank god! He was actually going to help you!

Reporters on the news always said to pretend someone was a significant other of yours to fool any potential snatchers. You were always better off with two people than just one!

With a smile of relief, you both headed off in a different direction.

A peek over your shoulder showed the figure still standing there, staring at you with blue eyes filled with malice.

It sent a shiver down your spine.

“It’s okay, I won’t let him touch you.” you looked up at the kind hero, heart warming at his gentle yet determined gaze.

“Ah.. thank you so much! He’s been following me for the past half hour. I don’t know why..” you relented, head tilting down to stare at your feet as you walked hand in hand with him.

It wasn’t that hard to tell he was trying to get you or something, you were previously alone, after all. The streets were empty. You were the perfect prey. He looked like one of those villains that stole women when they had the chance, dragging their unconscious bodies to a rusty van just for them to be sold on the black market.

The hero would know, because, funnily enough, that was his current mission. He was out on the streets so early looking for a perp just like that. He had been for the past week now.

In fact, he already sent his location to the agency with the click of a special button on his utility belt.

He didn’t expect one of them to actually be chasing a woman, he just thought he’d see one conveniently out in front of a van or something. Life really was full of surprises.

It was certainly a good thing he was there when he was, or else…

He didn’t want to think about what would’ve happened to you.

“You won’t have to worry about him anymore.” He promised, beginning to swing your hand between the two of you, a distraction of sorts and a form of comfort.

You were clearly shaken up, legs and shoulders still trembling as your free arm held itself comfortingly to your chest.

A quick look at your attire led him to believe you were an office worker of sorts, black pumps, pencil skirt, button-up shirt, and a black suit jacket.

Those shoes certainly made your leg trembles more apparently, and it hurt his heart to see someone so frightened. It always had. That familiar need to cheer someone up swelled in his chest,

“How about we get that coffee now? I’ll pay! It seems like you could use a second to catch your breath.”

Wha?! Your eyebrows rose in disbelief as you looked at him from the corner of your eye, how did he know?

Geeze, you need to start giving heroes more credit it seems.

They’re practically trained to be perceptive, you just hadn’t expected this one to see through you so easily!

You were exhausted, you’ve been walking for far too long in these damned heels, and that fear pumping through your veins wasn’t helping either.

How embarrassing..

With a stuttered inhale, you straightened your back, “I’ll be paying, if you don’t mind. You did help me, after all.”

“But that’s my job~” He teased, smirking down at your now flustered self.

“Well! It’s my job to pay back my hero!” You declared, pouting as you glared up into his green eyes shimmering with amusement.

“Alright, alright. Just this once, then.” He agreed, holding the door open to a cafe.

You had no idea how you had gotten here so fast.

Nor did you have really any idea where you were.

It seems the mysterious man had distracted you too much for you to really pay attention.

Which, in hindsight, was a relatively good thing. It definitely took your mind off of what happened only a few minutes ago.

Walking in, you were immediately hit with the pleasant smell of caramel, coffee, and the aroma of freshly baked pastries.

It was a tiny little rustic shop, polished dark wood surfaces taking up the majority of the space.

Not that you minded, it all fits so perfectly well with the cream walls chandeliers hanging down.

It screamed comfort, and you couldn’t help but wonder if their coffee tasted as good as this place looked.

You immediately walked to the front counter, delightfully ringing the small golden bell that sat on top of the display case.

The unnamed hero watched from behind, smiling at how your shoulders relaxed, your body suddenly not as tense as it was before.

This shop was a personal favorite of his, he’d often come here for breakfast or before a late-night shift. It wasn’t too far from his agency, so it was perfect. That, and he really enjoyed the food and quality of coffee beans here. Though it was small, it was certainly one of the more luxurious shops he’s been to. That’s not to say it was expensive, though, it was all amazingly affordable. A godsend to his practically broke ass.

He had no idea that apartments in the city were so much money, and they were eating at each and every side-kick paycheck he’d get.

A little old lady wobbled out from what seemed to be a break room, used floorboards creaking under her every step. “Hello, hello! Welcome Sugar n’ Spice Cafe~ How may I help y- Oh! Well if it isn’t Mister Broccoli head!” The woman gushed, enthusiastically waving at the man behind you.

Looking back, you could see he was already frantically shaking his hands, sweat dotting at his forehead. The moment he noticed you looking back at him, he shoved his hands behind himself, almost dying on the spot as he noticed you trying to hold back giggles.

“M-Mrs. Suzuki! Hi!” A nervous smile forced itself onto his freckled face, cheeks dusting a pretty pink.

Aw, he was trying to act suave, as if a little old lady didn’t just call him a vegetable.

How cute.

It was hard not to laugh at that.

His fluffy green hair did indeed resemble broccoli, perhaps that had been his nickname here for a while, leading you to the obvious conclusion that he’s been here multiple times before.

Still, it was funny that a hero, someone who is the personification of strength and power, was called a veggie.

“U-uhm,” He stuttered, gloved hand scratching at the back of his head as he avoided eye contact, “Could I get my usual?”

“Of course dear. And how about you? What can I get for you, sweet cheeks?”

You jumped as you were suddenly thrown into the conversation, previously absorbed by how cute the hero looked at the moment. “D-do you have (f/d)?” You shyly asked, shifting from one foot to the other. You hadn’t had a chance to really look at the menu, so you hoped they had it and you didn’t just embarrass yourself.

“Of course!” She beamed at you as her tiny fingers began typing on the computer screen.

“That’ll be a thousand yen, darling.”

After swiftly paying for your drinks, your hand once again was seized by a much larger one as you were led to a small booth in the back, the walls providing a sort of comfort as you sat in the corner. You could clearly see the entire shop from where you sat, and you know for a fact no one could potentially sneak up on you like this. Did he know it as well, and that’s why he had you sit there? It certainly put you at ease.

He sat across from you, shifting for a second as he made sure his flowy white cape didn't fall into the other booth.

It was a wonder how he even fit in this booth, seeing as he had large leg braces on. Muscle memory, maybe?

You sat in silence for a moment, still taking in the cafe and all the decor lining the walls and shelves.

“I’m Deku, by the way-” ‘Deku’ sputtered suddenly, hands resting on the table as he fiddled with his fingers. A nervous habit?

All around, he seemed like a nervous and sweet guy - despite you only knowing him for no less than ten minutes.

“I’m (Y/N). And, thank you, Deku, once again, for saving me. I know it must’ve been weird for you to suddenly be latched onto so early in the morning..” You laughed, fingers tapping on the smooth table as you couldn’t help but stare at his gloves.

They were so cool! You wondered what all those weird things on the knuckles were, and what purpose they served.

Heroes always had such interesting gadgets on them to help aid with something, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t interested in hero support tools. The thought and creativity that goes into them were outstanding.

“Don’t mention it! I’m just happy I was there when I was.” All this man seemed to do was smile, and it was honestly a relief to know you hadn’t really bothered him.

“Order up!” Mrs. Suzuki called to both of you. Just as you were about to get up, Deku flung himself from his seat, knees knocking loudly on the table as he did so.

“Sorry!” He called back to you as he rushed to get your drinks.

It was.. Kind of endearing, seeing him flounder around a bit, it really opened your eyes a bit. It made you realize that even if they were heroes, they weren’t perfect, and they were just as normal as you were. It was hard to see that difference in today’s society. Heroes were always held on a pedestal, ones that they graciously accepted and thrived off of.

But he certainly seemed different.

You were probably dragging him away from his work, now that you realized it, and yet he continued to stay here with you, calming you down with just his presence alone.

It didn’t even matter that he was capable of beating the shit out of that guy from before, it just mattered that he was a kind gentleman hoping to help a lady in distress.

It didn’t seem like he was looking for praise, money, any of that, he just... He genuinely wanted to help you.

You smiled to yourself. The world was corrupt, but maybe he could help with that. Be an example to others, especially to aspiring heroes already in the making.

It was his job, as he mentioned before, but he showered you in unnecessary kindness.

What a hero.

You’d certainly make sure to condemn the name ‘Deku’ to memory.

Maybe even do research once you get home from your office job.

You had an hour before it started, and you didn’t really have any clue where you were since you didn’t pay attention.

You’d have to suck up what little pride you had left and asked the man where the fuck you were.

Just then, a cup was delicately placed down in front of you, paired with shuffling as he squeezed into the opposite seat.

“Thank you for paying! I hope I can repay you someday.” He added cheerfully whilst sipping at his hot beverage, before almost choking once he realized what he said.

Your cheeks heated up at the proposition, you’d be able to meet him again?!

Ah, but,

“Didn’t we just meet, Mr. Deku? I’m practically a stranger, and you’re already proposing a date.”

You teased, similar to what he had done to you earlier as you stared at him through your lashes.

He found himself gulping quite loudly, much to his dismay, cheeks flaring up as he felt like a mouse under your alluring gaze.

“W-well, uhm, m-maybe we can.. Get to know each other for a bit? I mean! If you’re not busy, of course! I-I know this is really random! I’m sorry if I’m freaking you out! I’m not really used to all of this, it seems like a date already even though I know it’s not. I assume things too much, I’m so sorry! I’m just someone who helped you and you wanted to repay the favor- thank you again by the way! I guess you could say I’m attracted to you a bit?! Y-you’re really cute! And I! I want to get to know you more! If I’m making you uncomfortable, tell me, and I’ll just-”

You reached over, placing your much smaller hand over his own, successfully cutting off his adorable rambling.

“It is a bit strange, but I don’t mind it. I’d like to get to know my savior a bit more, too.”

His lips turn into a wobbly smile, blush darkening at the contact, despite the two of you holding hands not long ago.

“But yeah! Let’s get to know each other a bit.”

And so, after a half-hour of chatting and laughter, you were shown to the nearest train station, given his number, and a promise to meet again soon.

In the back of your mind, you wondered what had happened to that creep, but later in the day, you’d find out, thanks to local news reporters, that he was captured and arrested not long after you left the scene.

Oh yeah.

You sure were happy you woke up extra early that morning, even if it was originally to head into the office to complete some work leftover from the day before, but you weren’t too excited to spend overtime on it now that you lost the chance.

But you wouldn’t trade that time for the world, because your luck just hit an all-time high, seeing as you just potentially snagged the world’s greatest bachelor.

#izuku midoriya x reader #izuku x reader #izuku #izuku midoriya #deku #deku x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #bnha #mha #my hero academia #x reader #boku no hero academia #mha x reader #bnha x reader #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #this shit STINKS #whoopsies

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skzsauce01 · 4 years

Text

Normal Pt 4

Description: For more skilled maneuvers, dragon shifters need a rider to help them out. After rejecting multiple riders, Hyunjin, a traumatized and handicapped shifter, is assigned to you. To add a cherry on top, you’re deaf, so how are you supposed to cast spells to free him from his limitation, let alone the anger in his heart?

Warning: none

Word Count: 2k

Pairing: fem!reader x dragon!Hyunjin

Pt: 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5

“Hi half-tailed lizard.” “Careful, he’s a Twilight Terror.” “Oooh, scary!”

Hyunjin keeps his head down and continues on his way. Win a war with a handicap and you’re an inspiration. Lose one, and you’re a laughing stock for even trying. Surprisingly, it doesn’t bother him as much as it did before. He meant what he said to the boys at the clinic. The tail is special to you, and it is special to him, broken or otherwise.

Still, it isn’t right for them to say such things. “Hey! You three over there! Name, age, which dorm you live in, now. I’m citing you for bullying.”

Hyunjin doesn’t have to turn around to know that the prefect is hollering at the group of gossipy dragons. He’s seen Chan pop up a few times to defend him now. When he is finished taking down their information, Hyunjin walks up to him.

“You know you don’t have to keep doing that for me. I can take care of myself.”

Chan gives him a brotherly pat on the shoulder, saying “Of course I do! It’s my job to look out for everyone” then walking away with his golden prefect armband swaying with every step.

Ugh, how much more perfect can he get? No matter now; you had asked Hyunjin to meet you today, and he isn’t about to keep you waiting.

You look excited as you stand on the field waiting for him. Well, you look excited every time you see him, and Hyunjin is starting to feel the same when he sees you.

He tilts his head to the side, asking why you called him out today. He closes his eyes when you gesture for him to do so and feels you fiddling with his necklace. When you tap him on his shoulder, he opens his eyes and looks down to see a frame made of white gold clasped snuggly against his pendant.

‘Turn dragon, but add an eee sound to the end of the spell.’

He does as told again and watches the usual purple swirls envelop and transform him. When he is done, however, he feels a new weight on his extremity. He turns around to see a white prosthetic fin attached to his tail.

He huffs a puff of smoke at you in amazement. You beam back at him and hold up your notepad.

‘I thought about how to do this while stuck at the clinic, but it took a while to figure out even after my discharge. I hope this helps you fly with your dragon friends again.’

Hyunjin returns to human form to write. ‘Aren’t you scared that I’ll never let you on again if I can fly by myself?’ he teases.

‘You don’t get appai berries when you fly solo,’ you shoot back.

Hyunjin performs a dramatic display of misery that makes you chuckle silently. Rolling your eyes, you indicate toward a metal can that you have also brought.

‘Transform again so I can paint it purple for you.’

Your companion shakes his head. ‘I like it white.’

‘But it doesn’t look natural,’ you object.

He raises his previous message again for you to read.

You shrug, nudging the paint away with your foot. ‘Want to test it out still?’

Within seconds, Hyunjin is in the air with a discoloured tail following him. After six years of imbalance, he almost fell from the new fix, but you are there on the ground to straighten him up every time. He recalls this feeling, being able to glide to the side and move his tail however he wanted to. He used to do this with his buddies in the forest before he met-- No, Hyunjin told himself that he isn’t going to dwell on the past anymore, not when you’re here in the present right now, and he can’t bear to drop you from the sky again. It’s still a work in progress, but you promised him a shoulder whenever he’s struggling with it.

Still, there’s no crime in relishing the feeling of weightlessness in the air. As enjoyable as it is however, Hyunjin knows there’s something missing.

‘How is it?’ you ask once he’s landed.

‘Something’s not quite right…’

You furrow your brows, wondering where you could have made a mistake, but before you can come to a conclusion, Hyunjin chants his transformation spell again. He then knocks you off your feet and sweeps you onto his back.

Hyunjin lets out a roar towards the advanced obstacle course to which you laugh and lean forward in preparation. Before you can even blink, the two of you are cutting through the air, going faster with each stroke of the Terror’s powerful wings.

Much better.

Hyunjin cherishes these practices the most when there’s no one watching and nothing on the line. It’s just you and him. It’s nice, and he wishes he could keep it like this forever, but with the way your eyes twinkle with laughter and the way your hair blows in the evening breeze after he lands and you roll off of him onto the grass, he can’t help but wonder if he can have something more.

What? you ask with a motion of your head, referring to his staring.

He shakes his head. Nothing.

You nudge at his shoulder, and he gives in, turning to sit facing you. He reaches over to cover your eyes, making your breath hitch, so that you can’t read his lips.

“I know I’m not charming like Chan or reliable like Changbin, but I like you, Y/N,” he confesses. “I like you a lot.”

With that, he draws back his hands to reveal a confused expression on your face which quickly turns into a pout. He laughs and knocks your forehead back with two fingers.

‘What did you say?’ you interrogate.

‘I said ‘Take me to the Race!’’ He pumps his fist into the air.

You smile widely and imitate his action. He laughs and bumps his fist to yours. He’s going to compete. After all these years, he’s finally going to compete.

After coming to terms with his feelings and with the annual winter ball around the corner, Hyunjin knows what to do. The winter ball’s sole purpose is to celebrate the past year and the upcoming race, so Hyunjin never really had a reason to go until now. He’s feeling a little nervous about even attending the ball itself and is why he waited so long to purchase a bouquet of gold-tipped, cream coloured flowers mixed with a few pastel pinks and purples for accent.

He knows you are in the library, so that’s where he went, but he almost doubted his location for a second. Since when was the dusty, ancient place so crowded? He peers past the mob and sees you in the center of it.

But you aren’t alone.

Chan had set up a whole ambiance for you complete with twinkling fire fairies and petals on the ground. He places your hand on his acoustic guitar for you to feel the vibrations as he plays a sweet song and one of his friends nearby signs for you the words he is singing. When he is done, he takes your hand and gifts you a dozen scarlet roses.

‘Go to the dance with me?’ he signs.

No sensible human would turn down something like that. Hyunjin suddenly feels like he can’t breathe when you nod with a shy smile and Chan pulls you into a relieved hug. He slips out of the cheering crowd, unable to bear it any longer.

As he storms down the hall, he hears a familiar voice call out to him. “Hyunjin? Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry about me, Hye Ji.”

“I, um, have something to ask of you,” the girl admits. Why does she look nervous?

“Go for it,” Hyunjin nods.

“Will you go to the winter ball with me?” she squeaks.

Hyunjin looks at the bouquet of flowers in his hands with a sigh. Slowly, he lifts his eyes back up to face her. “Sorry, Hye Ji. I don’t think I’ll be going this year. I’m sorry.”

“It’s Miss L/N, isn’t it?” she calls as he tries to leave.

Hyunjin turns around, surprised. Hye Ji is looking at her boots with her hair covering her face.

“I’m sorry,” Hyunjin repeats.

“I-it’s fine,” she chokes. “Y/N’s really great and all. I would choose her too if I were you.”

“Hye Ji--”

“I said it’s fine!” she yells and runs away.

Three nights later and Hyunjin is moping alone in his dorm room, picking at his recipient-less bouquet. The prefects’ opening dance should have ended by now. He imagines you in your rose gold gown and silver heels looking like you stepped straight out of a fairy tale. He imagines you swaying gently with Bang Chan as the prefect leads you to the beat of the music.

There’s no crying over spilled milk now, he decides with a sigh. What’s someone as talented and sweet as you going to do with someone as broken and angsty like him anyway? Someone who’s charismatic and top of his class, someone like Chan, looks a lot better next to you.

There’s a sound at his door to which his ears perk up excitedly. He had ordered two portions of lamb rib stew to hopefully eat himself into a coma.

“Coming!” he calls, pulling out a bottle of cider.

Once he opens the door, he almost slams it back shut in shock.

Instead of a delivery man, you stand in front of him in all of your perfect hair, perfect eyes, perfect nose, perfect lips, perfect everything glory. Not to mention you are complete with a bag of lamb rib stew in your hand.

‘I met the delivery mister on the way. Can I come in?’

Hyunjin swallows with difficulty and steps to the side for you, nearly passing out when the tulle of your dress brushes against his leg as you walk by.

‘What are you doing here?’

You shrug your pearly shoulders. ‘Chan got called away for some duties after the opening dance. Apparently there’s something wrong with the course for the Race. It doesn’t seem like he’ll be back before the ball ends, so I left after telling Changbin. I’m not intruding or anything, am I? It looks like you bought two servings of lamb. Were you expecting someone?’

‘I must have ordered it wrong,’ he lies, rubbing the back of his head. ‘Have you eaten?’

You shake your head and he immediately offers you a takeout before getting two glasses for the cider. You thank him, and the two of you begin eating. After dinner, he excuses himself to toss out the trash, and you notice the cream bouquet by his bed.

‘Were you going to ask someone to the dance?’ you ask when he returns.

What was he supposed to say? That he randomly sports flowers in his dorm?

‘Something like that. Someone else asked first though.’

‘Hye Ji came alone today though.’

‘It’s not Hye Ji!’ he writes a little too quickly. ‘They… they can be yours if you’d offer me a dance. You know, since it’ll be a waste of such a pretty dress if you only do one waltz in it.’

You giggle, and he can’t tell if it is because of his words or how red he must be right now.

‘Sure. They’re gorgeous. Thank you.’

You place your right hand in his left, and he takes you to the center of the room. You put your other hand confidently on his shoulder, and he timorously finds your waist. After a few awkward steps, you begin singing to ease his tension. As expected, he moves elegantly with your tune as if you’re on the training grounds, flying. It’s a lovely sound, he thinks, and even more so when you’re singing it just for him in the air or like right now.

‘You’re staring again,’ you trace into his back, the motion sending shivers down his spine.

He doesn’t know where the courage came from, but Hyunjin decides to give you a proper explanation this time. He points at you, taps his cheek, then draws a semi circle around his face.

‘You’re beautiful.’

~ ad.gold

#hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #stray kids #skz #dragons #stray kids fantasy #stray kids senarios #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst #dragon!hyunjin #stray kids chapter #deaf reader #stray kids fic #hyunjin fic #20200728

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fleckcmscott · 4 years

Text

The Find

Summary: Arthur and Y/N tidy up their wardrobe. What he comes across surprises him.

Warnings: Smut, Swearing

Words: 3,664

A/N: This request comes from Karen - it’s the first one I ever got! Thanks to @sweet-nothings04 for beta-ing and helping me improve this piece by sharing her thoughts!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

If you’ve sent me a request and I haven’t responded, it’s because I am working on it and will answer once it’s posted!

Instead of allowing a lazy Sunday, Y/N decided they needed to do a project together. She had too many clothes, she claimed. And Arthur could use some new ones. Though he disagreed with her assertion, never having owned much, he went along with it. Such suggestions were part of having a girlfriend, he'd learned. Sorting through the bedroom closet would be a couply activity, anyway.

It turned out to be nice, better than when he'd kept house alone. Her smile was infectious as they rearranged everything, and it grew each time they inadvertently bumped into each other. He succeeded in talking her out of donating a sheer blouse, insisting it looked good on her. She replaced the dry cleaner bags on his Carnival costume with zippered nylon ones. Then she retrieved a wooden box from the top shelf, sat on the edge of the bed, and patted the spot next to her.

Floral patterns were carved in its top and sides, and the center held a purple and yellow pansy, pressed under smooth glass. It was quite old, the corners worn, the front closure tarnished. The hinges released a quiet squeak as she lifted the lid. "These are my most important keepsakes," she said. Her degree was in there, the Christmas ornament her sister had made, and her divorce papers. The rose he'd brought when he'd come for dinner was now dried and delicate. And she'd held onto the cork from their first bottle of wine. The letter he'd written her after Murray was sealed in a clasp envelope to protect it.

Arthur's chest swelled. The small container resting on her lap was something she'd had long before they'd met, perhaps since she was a kid. It was astonishing he took up so much space in it. Maybe she'd like to keep one of the payment slips for the ring he was planning to give her. (They were currently tucked safely in his journal.) He wrapped an arm around her back and squeezed her to his side.

The bleating of the phone interrupted them, right when he was planting a kiss to her shoulder. "Wait for me," Y/N said. "I'll tell them to call back later." He watched as she left the room, admiring the slight swivel of her hips. After a minute, "Mabel, what's going on?" drifted in from the kitchen. Ah, her sister. That would take a while. Sighing, he stood and continued alone, hopping on the step stool and humming as he went.

The shelf was dusty. The old law books were likely from when she went to college. He flipped through a photo album and set it aside to go through with her later. In the back corner, there was a red, paper gift bag, its top neatly folded closed. When he retrieved it, the weight surprised him, and he studied it with a curious expression. She probably wouldn't be perturbed if he opened it - she'd shown him her mementos, after all. Gingerly, he took a peek.

A carton was in there, a foot long. Pictures of women in athletic gear were on the side. They were holding a white object to their elbow, their calf, their lower back. He read the sentences on the packaging carefully. "Helps relax muscles." "Relieves tension." "Soothing vibrations."

Oh. Oh. Arthur crumpled the top of the bag quickly as he giggled, his cheeks on fire.

On her radio show, Dr. Sally had said the massaging wand was revolutionary. That it helped educate women about their own bodies, learn what they liked. Y/N hadn't mentioned owning one. It would have troubled him a few months ago. His insecurities would have told him it meant he wasn't very good. That he wasn't enough for her and never would be. But because of his ongoing treatment and comfort with her, those concerns were minor today. And he was intrigued.

The women he'd pasted into his journal were often touching themselves, ecstasy clear on their faces. Even though he still found those pictures arousing, he wasn't stupid and knew they were staged. Experience had stripped away the illusion. But the thought of Y/N pleasuring herself made him shiver and lean against the closet's door frame. His mind filled with images of her sprawled on the bed, on the sofa, on the floor. The scenarios he'd pictured since they'd met were numerous. His mouth at the apex of her thighs while she tried to type papers for work. Her going down on him in the dressing room at Pogo's. Or his favorite, the one he'd gone back to most, joining with her completely as she fell apart, because of him and only him. If he asked, would she be willing to-

Upon hearing Y/N hang up, Arthur haphazardly tossed the bag back in its spot. He busied himself with the sweaters and shirts in the "keep" pile, folding and hanging them as needed. She started telling him about the call as soon as she came in. Caught between his natural bashfulness and the urge to blurt out what he found, listening was difficult.

She must have sensed something was off, because she stepped next to him and said, "You look warm."

He ducked away as she tried to feel his forehead. "I'm okay." That was only half true. It was going to take awhile for him to figure out how to express what he wanted. But he shot her a grin. "It's just a little hot in here, that's all."

~~~~~

Y/N's seamed stockings finally sent him over the edge three days later. He'd noticed them when she put on her heels at the door, and ogled her as she strode down the hallway after their longer-than-usual kiss goodbye. It was possible she simply wished to be pretty (which she always was, no matter what she had on), to be professional, to make herself feel good. Still. She knew those nylons turned him on, and he chose to believe she wore them for him.

He made a quick call to her at lunch and said he was looking forward to tonight. There was strain lurking beneath her kind tone when she asked, "Why? What's tonight?" Nothing, he clarified, rubbing the back of his neck. He just missed her. She sighed, told him her day had gone sideways, that she needed to go. But she couldn't wait to see him later and loved him.

Both to relieve his own nerves and to cheer her, he resolved to make everything perfect for her to come home to. That's why, rather than cooking together, he was stirring minestrone and adding pasta. Why he'd already set the table and put the bunch of pink carnations (her favorite) from the grocery store in the middle. Why the wine was open and ready to serve. The kitchen radio had been switched to the sixties and seventies music she preferred. He swayed along to it, even as he hoped one or two slower songs would play so they could dance.

He'd been trying to find the right way to broach the subject all afternoon. Stuttering through his request wasn't his preference. It'd be fun to be playful - if he could gather his courage. God, it would be absurd if he couldn't. Shouldn’t courage come naturally if he hoped to spend the rest of his life with this woman? "Y/N, I was wondering if you could-" Cocking his head, he tried anew. "I love you, Y/N, and I wanted to know if-" Rolling his eyes, he retrieved bowls from the cupboard. "It's your fault I can't think straight." He took a breath, stretched his arms, and tried to focus. Nothing felt right. He'd have to improvise.

The unlocking of the door and the thudding of her bag to the floor alerted him to her presence. He laughed lightly as he tested the soup, enjoying the thrill of anticipation. She approached in his peripheral vision. "Arthur, you didn't have to do all this," she murmured.

The gladness in her words made it worth the effort. He poured a glass of wine for them both. "You were having a busy day."

She took a sip and braced herself on the counter. "I had to run back and forth from the office to the courthouse. We were missing copies of motions for tomorrow's hearing. My typewriter's ribbon ran out and we didn't have any replacements." A puff escaped her before she turned to him. "But every thing’s lovely now. Come here.” She pulled him in for a kiss.

Arthur tried to pay attention while they ate; he disliked missing a moment of her. But she was already driving him to distraction. The way her lips pursed as she blew on the food before taking a bite. Her caresses to the petals of the flowers. How she kept touching his sleeve. When she untied the bow at the collar of her burgundy blouse, opened the neck to reveal the start of her clavicle, his stomach flipped. "I wanted to- to ask you a question," he said softly.

"I knew something was going on." She dabbed her mouth with her napkin. "You haven't said much besides 'yeah' and 'mhm.'"

Damn. He'd tried to be normal. "Sorry." A sheepish smile crossed his face and he smoothed back his hair. "I'm a little nervous."

"You don't have to be." There was excitement in her voice, barely contained, and she scooted her chair closer. "I'm sure I'll say yes."

He quirked a brow at her. "Um, okay." A sharp exhale as he sat straighter. "I've been thinking about this a lot." His gaze darted to hers, seeing it sparkling and filled with affection, before falling to his lap. He fiddled with his spoon as he forced himself to speak. "I found something. When we were cleaning."

A pause. "What did you find?"

The wine was sharp on his tongue when he sipped it. "The massaging wand?"

The blush on her cheeks traveled to the rest of her face and she hid behind her palm. "Oh my god," she laughed.

Having the advantage wasn't usual for him in these situations. It was refreshing. Luckily, she didn't seem upset, so he continued. "Dr. Sally recommended it on her show. You're beautiful. We both might like it. I mean, I know I would, but... Would you show me?" Her quiet nagged at him, so he changed his approach. "You turn on the light every time we make love," he teased. "Don't you remember when you came home and surprised me?"

She peeked at him, the corner of her lip lifted. "It's never even occurred to me. I can't believe it occurred to you." After a few moments, she cleared her throat. "I won't lie - it's...an arousing idea. And all this," she gestured at the table as she spoke, "has made me pretty hot and bothered." Her hand went to his inner thigh, fiddling with the seam. "Though I have to admit, I was expecting you to ask something else."

His eyelids fluttered at her caress. "What?"

Grasping the tie at the front of his pants, she finished her drink. "Never mind. I'm sure you'll ask me later."

~~~~

This was happening. It wasn't his imagination. Y/N was taking a fantasy of his, one that belonged in dirty magazines, and turning it into a demonstration of her love for him. Was it weird to be moved by something this lewd? He should be ashamed to have asked her. But he wasn't. And when he felt her smile as they lay in bed, his throat tightened. Their breaths were harsh as the pearlescent buttons of her blouse opened halfway under his ministrations. A soft moan left her when he cupped her breast, tweaked its taut tip through her bra, and she yanked at his shirt until he pulled it off.

She ground against his clothed hard-on and hastily unzipped her black skirt to slip it down. He swallowed thickly, following her movements, huffing at the sight of her dark red garter belt and matching panties. It wasn't often she donned those, preferring more practical undergarments. Had she, by some means, known what he was thinking when she'd gotten dressed that morning? The notion was silly but warmed him anyway. Relieved, he groaned and reclaimed her lips.

The dance of her fingers across the lean muscles of his chest caused him to suck in air, which he held while she skimmed past his ribs to his stomach. "I haven't done this in front of anyone before," she said, a little uncertain.

Arthur chuckled, letting her take his hand and guide it between her thighs. "I hadn't, either." He pushed the cotton to the side and fondled her slit, reveling in how she bucked into his touch. It was almost enough to get him to forget the show, to forget about his plan, to sheathe himself inside her without a moment's pause.

But she grabbed the vibrator off the stand and switched it on. Its buzzing was louder than he'd presumed, like a hornet's nest. Amusement must have shown on his face, because Y/N smirked and turned the wand to a lower setting. "Remind me to plug the clock back in when we're done," she said, shedding her underwear and kicking it off her foot. He settled next to her hips, boosting himself on his elbow to see her. Shyly at first, then growing bolder, she swiped and pulled at her outer lips. They drew back as they swelled and she giggled, running the pads of her fingers over herself. "You're the only one who could persuade me to do this."

He grazed her inner thigh, the straps holding her stockings in place, and pressed a kiss to her leg, observing as she lay the massager's rounded end to her core. Even as her pelvis arched slightly to meet it, she kept it in one spot - he'd thought she would have moved it around. The heat flaring in his groin was, thankfully, lowering his inhibitions, and he found he could ask, without anxiety, "Did you do it a lot?"

"I did this more after we met." He laughed happily, realizing he'd been the cause of her increased desire. A whimper fell from her as she moved towards the vibrator again, her frame trembling. Her brows pinched with every increasing undulation of her hips. "It's been awhile. I'd forgotten-," she gasped, "-how intense this feels."

When she began writhing, he watched the sway of her breasts, straining against her bra. Her stomach was quivering with every shallow breath, and he felt his own ardor heighten with hers. He leaned forward to get a better look at her folds. But, upon finding the toy covered her completely, he furrowed his brow. And it registered that he didn't need a prop involved; he just needed her.

Gently, he caught it, waiting until she met his gaze to turn it off and put it on the bed. "You're enough," he said quietly. "If that's okay." She nodded lightly. One of her legs spread to the side, the other bent at the knee. He shuddered as she held herself open, fingers drifting over her sensitive nub. "Are you - Are you thinking about me?" Say yes. Please.

Her explorations went lower, tracing the edges of her entrance, open and waiting for him, then dipping below to gather slick on her fingertips. "Yes," she hissed, tapping her bud repeatedly. She jerked towards her hand as she bit her lip. It was enchanting, watching her play herself like a well-tuned instrument. She seemed to know exactly how to touch her own body. What pressure to apply. How fast to go...

Her breast spilled out when she pulled down the cup of her bra, her head falling back into the pillow. Her thumb teased her areola and she keened. "You're all the way inside me." Another tug to her pebbled nipple, and the hand at her vulva hastened. "Your cock feels so good, Arthur. You fill me so well."

"Y/N, god." He hadn't expected pornography to spill from her mouth. Groaning, he pushed his briefs away and gripped his erection, running his thumb along the tip as he glanced from her face to her center.

The glistening of her arousal was spreading, a spot forming on the blanket beneath her. Her cries were becoming frequent, her body tensing. Her eyes opened and went to his length. "Get in me."

That took him aback. "What?"

"Get in me. Please." He scrambled out of his underwear and knelt between her legs, positioning himself so her thighs rested on his, and he held the soft skin of her upper leg. After a couple of quick pumps, he sank into her entirely, grunting at the sight of her reddened, desperate sex welcoming him. She stroked herself, first pulling at the clitoral hood, then circling it, more frenzied with every rut.

This was far superior to any photograph, any adult film he may have caught a glimpse of. Because it was personal. She was devoted to him, and he to her. And she was repeating his name, the syllables strung together and becoming unintelligible. Soon she wailed sharply and stiffened, her pulses gripping his cock. "Fuck me harder," she whined.

His movements stilled. While he wanted to give in, he feared harming her - he was stronger than his skinniness suggested. But she begged for him again, and he couldn't resist pressing her wrists into the bed on either side of the pillow. Their kisses turned hard while she brought her trembling legs about him and he plunged into her. A wanton cry escaped with each inch she moved up the mattress, with every pound of his hips. The sear of her surrounding him was intoxicating, and he took her nipple in his mouth, laving and sucking at it. Her body grew rigid and bent into him and she moaned, her muscles clamping around him a second time.

Their intimacy had traversed the scale from slow to fast, loving to urgent. But Arthur had only been unrelenting with her once. Her enjoyment hadn't been a consideration; she’d been a means to an end that night. And the guilt he'd felt afterward had prompted him to promise himself to not be rough without her explicit permission. Seeing her trust in him in action, feeling it in the embrace of her body, pushed him forward to give into what they both craved.

He threw his head back and fucked her, up on his knees, slipping his grasp from her wrist to entwine her fingers. He held her neck and the side of her face as he mashed their lips together, losing himself in her as he increased the punishing pace of his thrusts. His motions stammered, seeking his climax, going deeper and deeper still.

With one final shove he came, emptying into her with each throb as they clung to each other. His brain was foggy with pleasure, breath ragged and panting. Vaguely, he was aware of her tight hold on his ass, as if she coveted every drop of him. As he came down from his high, the last tendrils of pleasure fading, he squeezed her hand. The kiss he gave her was tender, soft. A stark contrast from how they'd joined moments ago.

Y/N was giving him that dazed grin, the one she usually had after lovemaking. But he felt the need to check. "Did I hurt you?" Averting his eyes, he brushed his knuckles over her collarbone.

She pecked his nose and raked her nails through his hair, her look full of adoration. "You could never hurt me." A giggle bubbled up. "I do need a minute to recover, though." He stayed inside her while he softened, nestling in the crook of her neck. "I'm proud of you," she said.

His eyelids shut and a toothy grin appeared as his heart clenched. "Why?"

"You weren't afraid to ask me. Well, even if you were, you did it, anyway." Her arms wrapped about his torso and she palmed his back. "And you trusted yourself to let go."

He dragged his thumb along the faint stretch marks at her areola. While what she said was accurate, he usually liked it softer. During the periods in which his anger or despondency nearly consumed him, when he thought he might erupt, he was afraid he would lose the ability to be gentle. So far, her love and support had helped bring that tenderness back, even if it took a couple of days. He ached for that to continue. "You know, when I- when I see things that aren't there... I always say the right thing. I'm funny. I know how to do good." He took her hand and placed a kiss to the back of it. "But with you it's real."

Guiding him out and off her, she turned on her side. "Because that's who you are, Mr. Fleck. Don’t forget that. I won’t." She nuzzled his nose. "How else could you have broken through my shield enough to have this ridiculous pillow talk?" He chuckled as she tugged on a curl. "I lost that part of myself for a long time," she sighed. "I'd hate to lose it again."

"I won't let that happen." He pulled her closer, caressing the edge of her garter belt. "Especially if you keep wearing these," he said lowly.

Leaning forward, she pressed her breasts flush to him. "Let's be ridiculous until we're old and gray."

"Mhm." Tears prickled but he blinked them away, managing a wide smile. It was one of her hints that she wanted to be with him forever. He prayed she would accept his proposal next week. "Only if you promise to laugh at my jokes."

Y/N traced his jawline and kissed his dark brows, her gaze shining as she gave her response. "Arthur, I'll laugh with you for the rest of my life."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve @howdylilflower @sweet-nothings04 @stephieraptorr @rommies @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1 @octopus-plasma @tsukiakarinobara, @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile @another-day-in-chuckletown

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck smut #arthur fleck x female reader #arthur fleck x ofc #joker 2019 #watchwhathappens

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flowersandskeletons526 · 4 years

Text

“Broken Noses and Bad Ideas” - Modern AU Glitradora, Part 1

Quarantine is kicking my ass but writing in nice. Enjoy!

----

Glimmer lit a cigarette as she stood over two fallen punks in the alley, blood still trickling from her nose. One of the leather clad idiots groaned but stayed down. Glimmer waited a second to make sure neither were getting up to come after her. When they stayed still, she blew a puff of smoke towards the sky and stumbled out onto the sidewalk.

Wispy clouds turned orange above her as the sun slipped beneath the skyline, streetlights winking to life and neon signs illuminating the city. The smell of rain hung in the cool air. The lights made colorful, muddled reflections in the puddles scattered across the pavement. Glimmer tuned out the car engines and police sirens, the thudding of footsteps all through downtown, and focused only on the wet concrete beneath her boots. A chilly breeze swept her unkempt hair away from her face. She popped the collar of her jacket to keep the wind off her neck.

She made her way towards the outer rim of the city, to a tiny shop tucked between buildings. A pink and gold sign that read “Brightmoon Magics” hung above the front windows. Glimmer slipped into the cramped store, locking the door behind her and trudging to the back room. She opened the door to a narrow staircase.

“Hey, Glimmer!” Adora chirped.

Glimmer yelped and fell back against the door. She groaned, dragging a hand down her face as Adora rose from her seat on the stairs. “Adora, what are you doing here?” she asked.

“I came in earlier to tidy up while the shop was closed and I needed to talk to you, so I just hung out here until you got back,” Adora explained. Her Letterman jacket was tossed over her shoulder, a few stray locks of hair framing her face and the rest pulled into its usual ponytail.

“How long have you been waiting?”

“Not long. I had a lot to do.” Adora paused, frowning as she cupped Glimmer’s cheek. Glimmer winced. “Is that blood? Glimmer, what happened?”

Glimmer shrugged and swept past Adora up the stairs. “I got into a fight. It’s nothing.”

Adora followed. “With who?”

“I don’t know. I went over to Mermista’s and she had another rager going. Some girl bumped into me, blamed me for spilling her drink, her buddy got loud, all of that. Mermista said she didn’t know who they were.”

“And they beat you up?”

“No! God, Adora, calm down. You know I never lose a fight.” Heading to the bathroom, Glimmer ran cold water over a rag and held it to her face. “Besides, they barely hit me.”

“Glimmer.”

“What?”

“I know you’re lying.”

Glimmer turned, leaning back against the sink as Adora crossed her arms in the doorway. “Adora.” She poked the blonde in the chest and pushed her back. “I’m fine.”

Adora huffed and trailed after Glimmer as she tossed her jacket onto the table. “Since when do you go to Mermista’s parties?”

“I don’t know, for a while, I guess. I thought you liked Mermista.”

“Well, I do, I just don’t like all the yelling and drinking.”

“You’re a jock. Isn’t that your brand?”

“I’m an athlete, not a frat boy.”

“Thank God.”

Adora smiled and sat on the weathered couch. Glimmer flopped over the arm, stretching out and laying her head in Adora’s lap. Adora threaded her fingers through Glimmer’s pink and purple hair, exposing the black roots, and Glimmer smiled up at her.

“You’ve got to redo your roots soon,” she remarked.

“I can let it grow out a little more,” Glimmer said.

“And then you’ll complain about the black showing through.”

“Yeah whatever.”

Adora chuckled. Her bright blue eyes sparkled, bright and carefree and happy. Glimmer’s heart twisted with memories of simpler times, and she turned over, facing away from Adora. Adora tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Hey, I think Bow gets off his shift pretty soon,” Adora said. “Want to call him over and order a pizza or something? We could have a best friend squad movie night like we used to!”

Glimmer shrugged and closed her eyes as her brow furrowed. “I guess.”

“Or we could do something else? We could go bowling, head to the arcade, go out to eat somewhere. Do you want me to call Bow and see what he wants to do?”

“Adora, you’re doing it again.”

Adora’s hand stilled. “Doing what?”

“You did this right after she died. You try to distract me from it by just ignoring everything and letting it pass by. Please, just… not tonight.”

Taking a deep breath, Adora sighed and smoothed Glimmer’s hair back from her face. “Am I that transparent?”

“Like air.”

“That’s fair.” Adora leaned her head back. “I can’t believe it’s only been a year since Angella died. It feels like we’ve been drudging through a decade already trying to deal with this place since then.”

Glimmer hummed. In reality, she woke up every morning still aching like it was the first day, like she had just come home from class to meet the police on her doorstep. Her stomach coiled into knots as she remembered the night before the accident, how they fought and screamed at each other, how her last words to her mother were words of anger. The memory made her want to puke.

“Glimmer?” Adora asked. Glimmer looked up. “Do you want me to call Bow?”

“Uh, y-yeah. Yeah, a squad movie night sounds good.”

“Sweet!” Adora cheered. Glimmer sat up so she could stand, stretching her muscular arms above her head. “What do you want on your pizza?”

“Pepperoni and extra cheese.”

“Okay, I’ll get one for you and me and a vegan one for Bow.”

“Sounds good.”

Glimmer picked her head up out of her hands and tried to relax for the rest of the night. Adora and Bow distracted her with jokes and old ridiculous movies that they used to watch when they first met. It worked, for the most part, dragging her out of her own head and drawing a few genuine laughs from her. She didn’t tell Bow about the fight, or Adora about her secretly continued smoking habit, or either of them about her pounding headache and the guilt weighing her down like cement shoes. Putting on a smile until they left drained what little energy she had left.

Glimmer gave her friends one last hug as she walked them out. Adora smiled, one hand resting gently on Glimmer’s forearm. “Text us if you need us, okay?” she said.

“Okay,” Glimmer mumbled.

“Do you need us to pick up any extra shifts this week?” Bow asked.

“No, I’ve got everything covered. Thanks, though.”

“Okay, well, we’re here if you need us.”

“I know.”

Bow and Adora wrapped her in their arms and held her tight for a few moments before they left the store. Glimmer locked the door and set the alarm. Returning to the apartment, she tossed the leftover pizza in a barren fridge and made an ultimately forgotten note to go grocery shopping. She sat on the edge of the couch with a sigh.

Her phone buzzed on the table beside her. She groaned, reaching blindly with one hand and holding it up to her ear. “Hello?”

“Shimmer!” Seahawk shouted. “How are you, my friend?”

Glimmer jumped and held the phone away from her face. There was a scuffle in the background, and she heard a crash and Seahawk scream before Mermista’s voice came over the speaker.

“Alright, he’s gone,” she said as Glimmer held the phone to her ear again.

“No I’m not!” came his voice in the background.

“Ugh, go fix your mustache! Sorry, he grabbed my phone.”

“Does he not know my name or is he picking on me again?” Glimmer asked.

“I think he’s picking on you still. Anyway, Perfuma wanted me to call and check on you. She saw a post about those party crashers getting their asses kicked and thought you did something.”

“Can people even crash your parties? I thought they were open invitation.”

“Hey, I am trying to be nice here.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. They followed me and I left them in an alley.”

Mermista laughed, barely more than a huff but the most anyone could get from the queen of blasé. “I told her you’d do worse to them. I mean, Adora would have been breaking down my door if anything actually happened.”

Glimmer grimaced, forcing a laugh. “Yeah, no kidding.”

“Alright, so that aside, I’m taking a few people out this Friday. You know Netossa, right? She’s that grad student I was hanging out with a while ago.”

“Yeah, why?”

“Her wife Spinerella is the manager at the new bar downtown.”

“The Crystal Castle?”

“Yeah, now listen. Perfuma, Seahawk, and I are already going and wanted to see if your super pal trio or whatever you call it wants to come. They’ve got live music and a great bartender. I’ve heard she’s a little crazy, but cool.”

“It’s the best friend squad.”

“Whatever. Are you in or not?”

“I’ll ask.”

“Let me know. Bye.”

“See you.”

The next morning, Glimmer drudged out of bed to open the shop. Both Adora and Bow had class all day at the state college uptown. Adora was a political science major and star of the track team, the golden child of the entire school. Bow studied engineering and competed on the archery team.

Before everything, Glimmer was going to follow them and study politics or law or both. Now she could barely get through the online business classes she forced herself to take.

Glimmer adjusted shelves of crystals and vials of various herbs, dusting off old books and charms. She barely remembered her father, the founder of the store, having only a dusty framed picture in her apartment to remind her of him. Angella, however, she remembered as clear as day.

She was tall and regal, always dressed in flowy pink and sky blue dresses and dripping in moonstone jewelry. She seemed to float through the store between the cramped shelves and tables. Glimmer never quite understood how she managed to miss all the numerous creaky floorboards in the old building. She remembered Angella’s gentle smile when Glimmer came home raving about some new project, or the first time she brought Adora in looking for a job when the blonde first moved to the city. Glimmer had hung Angella’s portrait behind the front counter, but it wasn’t the same. It did nothing to ease the ache.

A bell rang as the door opened. Glimmer didn’t look up. “Hey there,” she called.

“Hey,” said an unfamiliar voice.

Light footsteps circled the store. Glimmer looked up as they paused behind her. “Can I help you with… anything?”

A tall, tanned woman stood by a shelf of vials. A mane of wild brown hair cascaded over her shoulders, held back from her face by a crimson band. A bright red tank top left her freckled arms bare, covered in toned, sharply defined muscles. Two gold rings pierced her bottom lip. She wore one gold hoop in her ear, reminding Glimmer of a pirate. Her long nails were painted black, and pale scars marred her knuckles. Bright eyes turned to Glimmer, one blue and the other a deep amber.

“Burning sage?” she asked.

Glimmer blinked, returning to her body and waving to a table. “In the corner.”

She stepped back behind the counter as the woman picked out a bundle of herbs. Setting it on the weathered counter, the woman leaned forward with her arms on the edge, studying Glimmer as she rang her up. Glimmer glanced at the woman and met her eyes. The woman tilted her head, sizing her up, it seemed. Glimmer trained her eyes on the cash drawer.

“Blessing a new place?” she remarked.

“Just moved in,” the woman replied.

“Welcome to the city.”

“Thanks.” The woman looked around as she took her bag. “Cute little place. I wasn’t expecting to find a place like this here.”

“Do you practice at all?”

The woman shook her head and stood up straight. “Only the sage, and it’s just a bad superstition I picked up.” She smiled, flashing sharp teeth. “Maybe I’ll pop back in to check out the crystals, though. Thanks for the sage.”

Glimmer nodded. Her eyes followed the woman out of the store until she disappeared down the street. A shiver raced up her spine. The intensity of the woman’s stare stuck with her like a frost frozen on her skin. It wasn’t unnerving, necessarily, but those bright, focused eyes tugged at Glimmer’s mind throughout the entire day.

By the time Friday came around, Glimmer’s headache had yet to fade. If anything, it was worse. She sat on the couch, dressed in her leather jacket and torn pink jeans, pressing the heels of her hands against the eyes. She considered cancelling until Bow showed up in his favorite tight black crop top, grinning from ear to ear. Glimmer smiled and tried to avoid any bright lights as they headed out.

“So, Adora’s not coming?” he asked.

“Late night study practice,” Glimmer explained. “She said she’ll be there next time.”

“Sweet.” Bow touched her shoulder. “Are you okay? I know you’ve been tired lately.”

“Yeah, of course!” Glimmer chirped. She linked their arms. “Come on, tonight we’re going to have fun and get wasted like real college kids.”

Bow laughed. “There’s the Glimmer I know!”

Glimmer forced a laugh and held his arm tighter.

The bar was loud and hot and dark despite the neon lights everywhere. Mermista and Seahawk were already on the dance floor, and Perfuma caught up with Glimmer and Bow by the bar.

“I’m so happy you guys made it!” she said as she threw her arms around them. “Come get a drink, the band is going to start in a few minutes.”

Glimmer and Bow followed the tall hippie through the crowded room. “Who’s playing?” Bow asked.

“Some new band, I guess,” Perfuma answered. “I think they’re called the Horde but I don’t know. Mermista does.”

A short woman with impossibly long purple pigtails stood behind the bar. She wore weathered overalls with the straps hanging around her waist, and a pair of red goggles was pushed up on her head. She grinned at them.

“Bow!” the bartender chirped.

“Entrapta!” Bow said. “Since when are you a bartender?”

“I needed the job to finance my projects. Mixology is technically a science, so it works!”

“Awesome. Oh, Entrapta, this is my friend Glimmer. Glimmer, this is Entrapta. She’s in my robotics class.”

“Nice to meet you!” Entrapta said. “What can I get you two?”

“Tequila sunrise,” Bow said.

“Whisky on the rocks, please,” Glimmer said.

The band came on just as they got their drinks. While Bow stayed by the bar to talk with Entrapta, Glimmer found a place against the wall to watch the show. Four people were already onstage, adjusting their instruments. The drummer was a burly man with green hair slicked back from his face and scales tattooed on his neck. The guitar player, a stocky woman with an undercut and dreadlocks pinned back from her face, hung back by the drum set. The bass player was a tall, strong woman with a white undercut and red scars up her arms, talking to someone offstage. Tucked off to the side was a pale, scrawny kid on the keyboard.

Someone stepped onto the stage, and the crowd erupted into cheers. Glimmer’s eyes widened as the strange woman from the shop stood before the front microphone. She opened her arms to the applause, grinning with those sharp teeth and dressed in metal and leather.

“Hello Etheria!” she shouted. “How is everyone doing tonight?” The crowd cheered, and the woman’s grin widened. “Alright. Let’s get this shit started!”

The drummer counted them off. The music was heavy but bright, with harsh drums and grungy guitar. They pushed a fast tempo as the front woman grabbed the microphone. Glimmer’s eyes were glued to the woman as she sang. Her voice was low and raspy, and she sang with an explosive fire that set Glimmer’s heart pounding. She hardly listened to the lyrics, just the sound of the woman’s voice as she belted out the notes.

Glimmer barely noticed when Bow slung an arm around her shoulders. “Aren’t they amazing?” he asked over the music.

“Yeah, they’re wicked,” Glimmer said.

The last song finished, and the woman paused for applause, inquisitive eyes scanning the crowd. “You guys have been great tonight,” she said over the cheers. Her eyes met Glimmer’s across the sea of people, and she grinned. “Come back again, we’re here all week.”

That odd chill settled over Glimmer again as the band left the stage. She nudged Bow. “Hey, I’m going to head home. I’ve got a bit of a headache.”

“Okay. Let me just say goodbye to Entrapta,” Bow said.

“No, Bow, stay. You’re having fun. I need a walk anyway.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you walking home alone.”

“It’s not ten minutes. I’ll be fine. I’ll text you when I get home.”

“Okay. Be safe.”

“I will.”

Glimmer sighed as she stepped out into the cool night air. Lighting a cigarette, she rubbed her eyes as she ghosted through the empty streets. The woman was stuck in her head. The sight of her singing was seared on the inside of Glimmer’s eyelids, with her wild hair tossed back from her face and the stage lights a bold red behind her.

Several pairs of footsteps clicked on the sidewalk. Glimmer turned. The people from Mermista’s party earlier in the week blocked her path, along with two more thugs to bolster their numbers.

“Hey, you!” one shouted.

Glimmer cursed. She spun on her heel to run, but they grabbed the back of her collar and flung her back. She managed to punch one in the jaw before they slammed her against a brick storefront. She opened her mouth to scream. The leader sucker punched her. Dazed and bleeding, she let her head hang as the punk laughed.

“Payback, bitch,” she spat.

The woman wore heavy jeweled rings. They left little cuts all over Glimmer’s face, breaking the skin through her clothes as the thugs rained blows down on her. She struggled to break free from their grip, but they held her tight against the wall. Blood poured down her face and soaked into her shirt. Her vision began to tunnel.

Muffled shouting echoed from down the street. The blows paused. Someone screamed in pain, and Glimmer was suddenly dropped to the ground. She heard a scuffle and more screams. Two of the thugs collapsed in front of her while the others bolted down the street. Blood poured from wounds in their back or side, pooling beneath them as they struggled to get away. The unknown attacker stepped over the leader of the gang and kicked her in the face, leaving her there to bleed.

Bloodstained boots approached Glimmer as her vision faded. The last things she saw before she lost consciousness were hands dripping with red and a pair of bright, focused eyes.

#glimmer #catra #adora #bow #bow she ra #perfuma #mermista #seahawk #scorpia #lonnie she ra #kyle she ra #rogelio she ra #glitradora #modern au #college au #she ra reboot #She Ra #spop #oh god this is gonna be a long one

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monstersandmaw · 5 years

Text

Male tiefling x male reader (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Here, for your delight and delectation, is Killygren the tiefling, another character from Starfall Springs! See this dashing rogue’s character art and bio info here in case you missed it.

His story has been up on Patreon for a little while, and now it’s time to put it up on here. There’s another Starfall Springs story that’s been up on there too, but you’ll have to wait for that one, featuring an orc.

Halfway through one of the hottest summers on record, you bought a bus ticket and rode it to the end of the line.

Unconventional, unpredictable, and possibly unwise though the decision may have been, you simply snapped and needed a break.

The city was stifling, the traffic overwhelming, and you needed green fields, perhaps some cool, breezy woodland, or the soft caress of an ocean breeze. Starfall Springs, you knew from an advertisement you’d seen on the Underground, had all three. And a huge number of non-human residents as well, which, you had to admit, made you curious.

Your travelling companion on the bus was a very elderly harpy lady who saw that you were travelling alone and proceeded to talk your ear off about the local area as you drew near to the town. In fact you didn’t mind because she was actually quite interesting and very sweet.

“That’s Jaime’s farm,” she said, nodding out of the dusty window at an old farmhouse in the distance, surrounded by open pasture. There was a round-pen for training horses, and a number of horses were standing in the shade of some huge beech trees beside a field of sheep and goats and another with a small herd of russet red cows. “He’s a sweetheart,” she said, but you had begun to tune the rest of it out by then. The lilting movements of the bus, and the warmth in the air, made you feel slightly sleepy, and it was hard to focus on her voice.

Eventually, you helped her off the bus and inhaled deeply. Already the air was different here; fresher, sharper despite the haze of pollen in the air. She thanked you for being “Such a polite young man,” and made her way off along the banks of the fast-flowing river which carved through the centre of the old collection of buildings.

Alone once again, you decided to head off towards the wide, paved market square in front of you. Stall holders yelled and called jovially, selling everything from fresh fish and meat to summer produce, cakes, handmade goods, knives, and even little witchy charms. You caught sight of a palomino centaur selling cider and apple juice, apple jelly, apple compote, and even dried apple crisps, and beside her was an orc wearing an apron which bore the logo of a local dairy. His stall had the most amazing array of different cheeses, and you paused long enough to be offered a free sample.

“Visitor?” he asked jovially.

You nodded. “Yeah, just thought I’d make an escape from the city for the day. Maybe even for the weekend…”

“Well, if you need a place to stay, Killy’s inn - the Inglenook over there - is great,” he said, pointing towards an old timber-framed building on the far side of the market square.

“Thanks,” you grinned.

The orc smiled back at you, and you marvelled at how open and friendly everyone seemed here, unlike the city where the majority of inhabitants were human, and they seemed singularly morose and unfriendly.

You wandered through the market for a while, your rucksack bashing uncomfortably against your back, until you came to the far side of the open plaza. Down the length of the main road out of the small town of Starfall Springs, you glimpsed the rolling countryside beyond. Gods, but it was idyllic.

The hills in the furthest distance were raked with lines of grapevines, the terracotta roofs of the vineyard buildings glowing in the heat of the summer sunshine, and a few miles away there looked to be a vast fruit orchard. Heat haze marred any real details, so you turned away and made your way back into the town, winding your way down cool, narrow, ancient streets where any number of little shops were tucked away, from antique stores to craft shops, some with pottery and ceramics made locally, to small greengrocers.

You emerged at the other end of town near the duck pond and you paused a moment in the cool shade of the poplar trees and gazed into the murky depths. A bubbling near the far edge drew your attention, and you stared, astonished, as a horse’s head surfaced from the murky water. The horse heaved itself out of the water at the opposite edge of the pond, duckweed and little water flowers clinging to its greenish-black coat and studding its flowing black mane. It shook itself and you continued to stare openly as it trotted off towards the temple which stood not far away from this end of town, in the middle of an open meadow.

“What the…?” you breathed, realising it must be some kind of water spirit, probably a kelpie. That just wasn’t the kind of thing you saw everyday in the city though; there were very few places left which were pure and unpolluted enough for creatures like that to survive. As if to drive home the point, a tiny, glowing fairy zipped past your face, laughing and trailing a wake of sparkling dust behind them that made you sneeze and take a step back. Wherever the dust hit, the plants turned a violent pink for a few seconds before fading and returning to their usual hues.

As enchanting as the whole place was, eventually your stomach started to rumble, and you looked about for somewhere to eat. Perhaps you might even get a cheeky lunchtime pint while you were at it. It was a weekend after all.

Back in the central marketplace, you saw the old, traditional pub sign of the Inglenook swinging slightly as a breeze sighed around the square. The orc’s recommendation from earlier floated back into your mind, and you decided that you’d pop in and see what it looked like at least. You didn’t have to commit yourself to staying there if you didn’t want to.

The inside was tastefully decorated, with both traditional and modern features, though the bar at the far end was a very old fashioned, high pub bar, with a huge number of beers and ales on tap, and a vast array of spirits displayed on the wall behind.

Tables dotted the bar area, and the place was packed. You sighed, thinking it’d take ages for you to be served, and were on the verge of turning round and finding a quiet cafe somewhere else when the shattering of a glass made you halt.

You glanced around, drawn by the noise, and saw a beautiful tiefling standing beside the bar, as if he’d been about to come around the end of it and go to a table with a drink. At his dark blue, cloven hooves lay the scattered remnants of a glass tankard, foam and beer spreading in a wide pool around him. And, improbably, his eyes were locked on you.

Well, one eye was locked on you. The other was covered by an elegant sash of cloth. His long hair was a very dark blue-black, tied back in a low ponytail, and his skin - flawless save for a pale scar that bisected his mouth from upper lip to chin - was a dusty, cornflower blue. There was no white sclera to the visible eye, and the iris was an intense, fiery gold, with a slit, catlike pupil, while his left eye was covered by a sash of Tyrian purple silk with gold thread here and there, as if to accentuate the colour of his right eye.

After a second or two of staring dumbly at you as if you were some long-lost friend, the tall, slender tiefling shook his horned head, and seemed to come to his senses. A faun appeared from behind the bar with a cloth and a dustpan and brush and told him to step back while they swept up the mess.

You turned to go, not wanting to linger, despite feeling there was something going on that you’d missed. A few patrons were looking from the tiefling to you and back again, but most had either ignored the incident or returned to their lunchtime chatter.

You’d barely made it to the door before you felt a soft tap on your bicep and you glanced around to see that the tiefling had come over to you. This close up, you took in the beautiful horns that curled first backwards over his thin, tapering ears and then up towards his forehead again. The left horn ended in a gold tip and you saw tiny gold hoops flashing at his earlobes too. He was a bit taller than you, and you swallowed nervously. He was stunningly handsome, and apart from the fact that you’d never been with a non-human before, he was exactly your type.

He smiled, showing sharp, white canines and a warm smile with little dimples in his chiselled cheeks. “Hi,” he said in a warm baritone. “I’m sorry about all that just now,” he went on, waving a hand and you caught the sparkle of silver on his fingers too. “Listen, to make up for being such an ass, how about I let you have some lunch and a drink on the house?” He had an airy, lyrical, lilting accent that reminded you, for absolutely no reason at all, of summer evenings and mayflies dancing over still water.

“Really, you don’t have to do that,” you said, perplexed. “I mean…”

He smiled again and stretched out his hand in a more formal greeting. His were those beautiful kind of hands with everything in the right proportion, the dusky blue skin flecked with intriguing scars here and there, and the sight of it suddenly, strangely, made you ache to feel his touch. Things had become a bit lonely in the city, and you raised your own hand and shook his.

The skin of his palm was smooth and callused, but warm, and he held you firmly for a moment and then grinned, “My name’s Killy. Well, Killygren, no one except my mother calls me that, and I’d thank you not to use it…” he chuckled. “It’s hot out there today - let’s get you a drink at the very least…”

“I don’t understand,” you murmured.

He laughed again, a free, musical sound, and winked. “I was so struck by the sight of you, I dropped that one and made a fool of myself. We don’t get a lot of humans passing through Starfall Springs you know, and I know all of the regulars.” He jutted his sharp chin at a distant corner where an orc and a young woman were deep in conversation, their hands linked. “She was the last one to arrive. Inherited a run-down old farm not too far from town.”

“The way you speak makes it seem like the humans who do come tend to stay…”

He winked again and turned back towards the bar. He had a tail, you noted, and it hung elegantly behind him like a panther’s as he walked, hips swaying slightly, hooves clonking lightly on the wooden floorboards of the old pub. It was only then that you remembered the name that the orc had said, and realised that this must be his pub.

Emboldened, you followed him to the bar and set your rucksack down at the foot of one of the worn old bar-stools, and clambered up onto it.

“Will you let me guess your favourite?” he grinned from behind the bar.

You frowned slightly, but then allowed a slow smile to creep across your lips. “Alright.”

The faun, who had finished clearing up the shattered glass, looked up and giggled. He had a nest of golden curls and the brightest blue eyes you’d ever seen, his cheekbones smattered with a myriad freckles. “Don’t encourage him,” he said, shaking his head and making his wavy hair toss this way and that. “He’s incorrigible, and he rarely gets it wrong… Must be that tiefling magic…”

Killy did not look away from your face for a while, and you thought you saw a faintly glowing light through the fabric of the sash covering his eye, but it was gone in a heartbeat, and you chalked it up to mild heat-stroke or dehydration or something.

As if he’d read your mind, Killy said, “Well, first things first, a pint of water for the gentleman, but after that…” he made a show of stroking his chin with his long fingers.

“Like you don’t already know,” the faun snickered. “Just serve it to him and stop flirting.”

Your cheeks heated slightly, but the reaction was welcome enough, as was the attention.

Killy clutched his heart and shook his head. “I’m hurt, Dizzy. I’m hurt.”

The faun, presumably named ‘Dizzy’, thwapped him round the backside with a damp tea towel and retreated to take another customer’s order.

When Killy turned his attention back to you a few moments later, with, yes, what just so happened to be your favourite drink in his hand, he was still laughing softly. “I'm sorry about him,” he said, sliding your glass across the bar. “So, how’d I do?”

“The hype is well-founded, it seems.”

He fist-pumped playfully and turned back to the faun, sticking his tongue out at him - it was dark blue, you were surprised to see - and then turning back to you. “So, what brings you to Starfall Springs?”

“You can’t work that out as well?” you asked, somewhat acerbically, sipping the drink and trying not to show just how much you liked it.

He made a slightly odd expression, somewhere between strained and embarrassed, and said, “I could, I’m sure, but I’d rather hear it from you.”

You snorted, but soon found yourself telling the tiefling everything. You felt stuck in your job, your social and sex life was stagnating, you’d not had a decent boyfriend in years, and that morning you’d felt like a change of scene would be a good thing. “So I bought a bus ticket, and here I am.”

“And here you are,” he murmured softly. Killy listened to the whole thing. He’d sunk quietly onto a stool on his side of the bar, leaned his elbows on the counter top, and had listened; really listened. You’d not had anyone do this for you since… well… not even your brief stint at the therapist had been this cathartic. You found your hand resting on the ancient, beer-stained wood of the bar, tracing idle circles with your fingertip, and you noticed how close his fingers were to yours.

“Tell me something?” you asked bluntly after your third or fourth drink.

“Anything for you, handsome,” he grinned back. Coming from anyone else, that line would have been nauseating, but the way he said it, with that flippant, light-heartedness just made it seem somehow astonishingly sincere.

“How’d you know this was my favourite?” you said. “And how’d you get so good at listening?”

“I know things,” he said with melodrama in his one visible eye.

“No,” you countered, “No, that’s not…”

He chuckled and gripped your hand. The touch was so sudden, so unexpected that you let out a little moan that was way more sexual than you’d intended.

Killy only smiled and reached both hands up to undo the sash around his face. His long, blue-black hair was tied back off his stupidly handsome face in a low ponytail, and as he dislodged it to untie the covering, you felt the urge to touch it and run your hands through it, maybe even grip it and tug it. Your fingers twitched, but you remained still as he revealed the other half of his face.

“I don’t show just anyone this,” he said conspiratorially. “This eye was a special gift from someone who shall remain nameless at the moment, but it lets me see all sorts of things.”

You snorted, but then you looked at him anew.

He just laughed and you stared openly at his now-revealed left eye. A perfect, black pentagram hung in the middle of a glowing, ice blue iris, ringed with two black outer circles. It was unusual to say the least.

You leaned closer, fascinated. “That’s… kind of…”

“Gross?” he said. “Unnerving?”

“I was just gonna go with ‘cool’…” you finished rather lamely. “Why do you keep it covered?”

He shrugged and wrapped it up again. “I don’t always want to be poking into people’s business, you know? That way it helps reduce the ‘unexpected visions’ factor. Though when you walked in, I got an eyeful - quite literally - of you and me.”

“Wait… like…” you gestured vaguely and he laughed.

Killy leaned across the bar and whispered right in your ear, his breath tingling, “I mean, I can give you specifics.”

“Go on then,” you said, feeling oddly bold.

Without preamble, he murmured, “I saw me with my mouth around your cock…”

“Holy shit…”

He shrugged and drew back. “I’ve never had that with anyone, by the way. Must be something special about you.”

“You sure you don’t say that to all the boys?” you sneered.

Something softened in his face and he leaned back. “It’s not set in stone, you know? You can still say no. But something must be keeping you here. You’ve been here all afternoon. It’s getting late, and the last bus back to the city leaves in half an hour.”

“Shit.”

“You can still catch it if you leave now.”

The moment hung heavily between you, but one look at the way his sharp Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed got you thinking about him swallowing your release, and you felt heat pool between your legs. “What the hell,” you said. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“That’s the spirit,” he said with open bitterness in his voice, turning away from the bar. “You’ll have to wait til I’m done working though.”

“Fuck, that’s not what I meant,” you hastened to add. “Look, you know my whole life’s story now. You know this was a spur of the moment trip - something I’d never normally have done. It feels… I don’t know… right?”

The corner of Killy’s mouth, near the vertical scar, twitched, and he smiled. “Drink some water. I’ll be done in an hour.”

You watched him work from a quiet corner of the bar, and you definitely sobered up a fair bit in that time. Not that you’d been necessarily drunk, but something about the atmosphere had gone a long way to helping you release your inhibitions. With the water in your system, you started to note the way Killy behaved a bit more closely. He was attentive with his customers, quiet and patient, and you couldn’t help noticing from your new vantage point that he rested one hock slightly against the other whenever he paused to hear someone speak. His eyes constantly darted around, and he had a nervous habit of playing with his right earring when someone lingered too long or got too close.

His trousers were loose linen, cuffed tight around his elegant, almost cervine ankles, and but from what you could see, his legs were hairless. He was not built like a faun, despite having the hooves.

Eventually he washed his hands and swapped shifts with a huge minotaur who came in and high-fived him as he left. Killy glanced around the bar and then spotted where you had parked yourself, and he smiled.

“You’re still here,” he said when he had drawn level with your table.

Your mouth was still dry from watching the way he had dropped his shoulders in relief and the elegant way in which he had walked over to you, hips swaying softly as though he wore heels. You croaked. “Yeah.”

“Look, just because I saw one future possibility… I really mean it. You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“No strings attached, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“Ok.”

“Just like that?”

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “I’ve had a couple of pints of water and an hour to think it over. Why can’t I have something that’s still meaningful with a complete stranger?”

His lips twitched again. “Right. C’mon.”

He led you upstairs, his hooves clunking softly on the bare wooden tread of the staircase, and into a very humble bedroom at the top of the old pub. A double bed occupied one wall but the sloping ceiling took out practically half of the other side of the room. A little free-standing wardrobe stood against the far end, and a pair of low bookcases stood on either side of the bed, doubling as beside tables with little lamps. It was surprisingly spartan for such an apparently flashy tiefling.

As you dumped your bag in the corner, you looked at him in surprise and he smiled softly, standing so close you could smell the soft scent of jasmine on his long hair. He had a freckle on his cheekbone. Your eyes drifted to the scars on his lip, and you wondered where he’d got them from. Before you could ask, he was kissing you. He began slowly, hesitantly, but something about the way he treated you made you ache for more.

Blood pooled in your groin and you felt your cock stir as his hands took hold of your jaw and he groaned. He had a slight shadow along his own jaw and you relished the rasp of it against your skin. He pressed his body close, his hips rearing against yours, and you grunted softly as you felt the hardening line of his cock against your hips.

Killy backed you against the closed door and as the air left your lungs with another softly articulated grunt, his fingers found their way to your waistband. He glanced at you and saw the acceptance in your face before continuing. He let your jeans fall to the floor and he freed your cock, stroking it slowly, apparently enjoying the feeling of wrapping his hand around it, getting to know the way you felt in his hand.

He stroked you, working you slowly, luxuriantly, while your knees felt like they were going to turn to water. “Killy,” you hissed, and he caught your meaning.

You stepped out of your jeans and abandoned them, allowing him to pull you over towards the bed and push you down onto it. The tent in his own soft trousers was obvious now, and you reached your hand for it, intending to palm him briefly and tease him, but he grabbed your wrist and placed it back on the bed as he tipped you expertly down onto your back.

He took your shirt off and let his palms play over your torso. As much as you may have been underwhelmed by your own body, he seemed to relish the chance to touch it. He lingered on your collarbones and on your nipples, even lowering his lips to them and kissing you over and over while his hands painted slow circles over your lower torso and hips, down towards your thighs.

“Fuck, Killy… please!” you grunted as your cock pulsed again, printing pre-come onto your skin. You felt like your skin was a size too small all over as he trailed a fingertip down the line between thigh and hips, dangerously close to your sensitive balls. “Fuck! Stop teasing me!”

He laughed and took you by surprise by lapping the tip of his dark tongue against the head of your cock, tasting you. His one visible eye rolled closed at the taste of you, and in one swift motion he licked his lips and took you all the way to the back of his throat.

As your tip hit the silky soft flesh of his throat, you gasped and cursed.

He closed his fingers around the base of your cock as he withdrew, keeping his cheeks hollowed, and he began to suck. The heat and slide of his mouth over your hard cock was incredible, and he clearly enjoyed the feeling too.

He was as clever with his hands as he was with his lips and tongue. Killy worked your cock with his mouth, alternating between long, regular strokes and teasing sucks and licks around the head of your cock, just sliding you in and out of his lips before dipping his head and letting you hit the back of his throat again. Time slid by, but all too soon you were shuddering on the edge of release.

“Killy…” you hissed. “I’m…”

White heat built rapidly and you knew you were very close.

He sucked just a little harder, his fingertips tracing just behind your balls, and you came hard into his mouth. He swallowed you down without breaking eye contact with you.

The intensity of your release had taken you somewhat by surprise.

Sure, it had been a while since someone had blown you, but still, the way he’d lavished attention on you had been something else. He stayed there while your cock throbbed and leaked the last drops of your release onto his tongue, only drawing back and licking his lips when you had completely finished.

“Did the vision live up to reality?” you finally rasped as you lay back, slightly dazed.

He smiled. “You don’t want to know what else I just saw…”

“Something tells me I might enjoy it?” you hedged. “Just… gimme a minute…”

Killy lay down on his back, still fully clothed, and smiled, glancing sideways at you. “I’m yours for the night.”

************************************

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forever-more-never-again · 5 years

Text

The White Lion (Chapter Three)

Word Count: 2317

Pairing: Keith X Lance X Blind!Fem!Reader

Warnings: General Voltron fighting and angst

Masterlist

Chapter: One Chapter: Two Chapter: Four

A/n: So this started off as a small idea I had one day. A lot of you showed interest in the snippet I shared earlier. And let me tell you…this fic has grown! It will be multiple chapters cause as of right now I am at 10k Words and still writing! I will have a masterlist for this series so let me know if you want to be added! And enjoy!

“Princess, what she said...You can’t blame yourself.” Shiro stood next to Allura as she stood before the healing pod in the Castle of Lions that [Y/n] was in.

“I know Shiro. But, I did that.” She pointed to the scars on [Y/n]’s eyes, “Even if it wasn’t this me. I do not doubt she will be hesitant to place her trust in me after what she has experienced.”

Shiro listened to the Princess’s soft voice. He placed his human hand on her shoulder, drawing her gaze to him, “Princess,”

She smiled gently, raising a hand and setting it on top of his, “I told you Shiro, Call me Allura.”

Shiro fought a blush, “Allura, All you can do is prove to her that you are not this evil Empress. This is all new territory for all of us. A White Lion...One that apparently is the key to unlocking vast power.” Shiro’s voice edged into awe and wonder.

He looked over at the pod, [Y/n] was no longer in the white robes that she wore before, instead in the hospital catsuit. She looked at peace in the healing slumber.

“Do you think that the Alternate Reality where she came from...that they will manage to cross over as well? To come after the White Lion?” Allura voiced the fears that Shiro had been fighting since they learned [Y/n]’s story.

He winced, “I wouldn’t know Prin- I mean, Allura.”

Their hands dropped back to their sides. Sighs escaping from both of them.

“I guess all we can do is wait, and see what else we can learn from the White Lion’s Paladin.”

“I mean, did you see her Hunk!?” Lance flung himself backwards onto the couch in the lounge.

Hunk stood off to the side, looking at a piece of Galra tech with Pidge, “Uhuh, sure buddy.”

Lance lifted his head to glare at his buddy, “Are you even listening to me?”

Hunk raised his head, blinking his eyes a few times as he registered what Lance was saying. With a sheepish look and a hand rubbing the back of his neck, he confessed, “Honestly Lance, I zoned out after the third time you gushed about her lion.”

Lance groaned, “You’re supposed to listen to me! What type of friend-”

Before he could continue his rant, he was interrupted by Pidge, who didn’t even lift their head from their computer, “Lance, Hunk can’t be your little therapist for every crush you get out here in Space.”

Lance let his head drop back down onto the couch so that he could stare up at the ceiling, “But she’s just...Another Lion and piloted by someone who is blind! By all rights, that shouldn’t be possible, but she said her lion lets her see through her eyes. Do you think our lions can actually talk to us like she says hers does? That would be cool, to hear Blue talk.” Lance mused.

“Better than listening to you talk.” Keith stated, as he leapt over the edge of the couch and settled across from Lance.

Lance turned to glare at the intruder, “And just where have you been since you played the hero?”

Keith looked at Lance with a raised brow, confused, “The hero?” Sighing, Lance sat up and poked a finger at Keith’s confused face, “You know, sweeping in to catch [Y/n] as she was falling.”

Keith shrugged, still confused at what Lance was upset about, “She was falling, I caught her, what’s the big deal?”

Pidge once again interrupted, without looking, the steady clicks of their keyboard filling the empty space, “Because Lance has once again decided Dibs on the hot, strange, alien chick.”

Keith whipped his head to Pidge and then back to Lance, finally understanding.

A smirk rose on his lips as he watched Lance squirm in denial and frustration.

Finally Lance broke, “Yes! Alright! I’m the team’s sharpshooter and Lover Boy Lance, I think I should get first chance at her.”

Keith, still smirking, crossed his arms over his chest, staring at Lance, “You do know she’s not a prize to be won, right? And that Allura and Shiro probably want to question her more. We don’t know if she was telling the truth.”

Lance growled, narrowing his eyes at Keith, “I know that!”

Keith shrugged, turning his gaze away from Lance, “If you say so.”

“Besides, her blindness isn’t a lie. That’s fact.”

Keith thought back to the moment when that white scarf fluttered to the moon’s ground, revealing eyes that were pure white, framed by raised pink scars that criss crossed over them. The dusty pink altean markings..the deep purple galra marks… The windswept hair blowing in the wind.

He hadn’t meant to step towards her on that moon, but he was drawn to her by something he couldn’t explain. And then she was falling into his arms. His heart had beat so fast, he swore it would leap from his chest.

He hadn’t felt that way since Lance stumbled into Shiro’s planet crashed escape pod and had angrily told him that he was saving Shiro.

Keith eyed the blue eyed Cuban boy sitting on the couch, grumbling silently to himself.

A smirk rose back up on Keith’s lips. He watched Lance’s leg, traced it up to his stomach, up to his face, his shaggy brown hair in desperate need of a haircut, and then he was met with startling Ocean Blue.

“What are you staring at, Mullet?” Lance yelled, ready for a fight.

Keith’s smirk fell into a glare, “Nothing. I’m going to train.” He stood up and walked out of the lounge.

Once the doors shut behind him, Keith pressed up against a wall, cradling his head in his hands.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid.” He muttered to himself. Lance didn’t know about Keith’s crush on him. Keith barely understood it himself. And now, now there was this strange woman from an alternate reality who seemed to spark something deep inside Keith.

Steeling himself, Keith pushed off the wall and headed to the training deck, maybe kicking the shit out of some robots would help calm his mind.

“[Y/n]!”

“Help us!”

“You left us for dead!”

“I thought you were family!”

“You killed us!”

“We’re dead because of you!”

“Coward!”

“You ran!”

“Coward!”

My mind screamed at the voices of my dead friends and teammates, “No! I had to leave! Allura couldn’t have Blanche! Snark! You told me to run! Please! I love you guys! Please!”

The image of my leader, Snark, my best friend, the Rebel who freed me, came to the front. He frowned down at me, “[Y/n]. You left me. You let Allura kill me. I died. And you...you ran. You are a coward. You are no Rebel of Noltrov.”

I screamed. Sorrow overwhelming me as I heard those words from the one person I had trusted the most.

“[Y/n]! Wake up!”

A jolt to my system, like a bucket of cold water to my head. Shaking myself. I realized that I was freezing, and behind held up by someone.

“Agh!” I screamed, backpedaling, trying to get away. I had to get away from the Empress, before she killed me.

“Hey! Hey! You’re okay! Allura..please step back.” The last sentence spoken softly to someone else.

I took deep breaths, calming myself. Centering myself. I let my energy spread out, soft rolling black fog and a whirlwind of pink and white. Shiro and the Princess.

“Sorry. Sorry. I didn't mean to freak out on you.” I muttered. The images from the healing pod still fresh in my mind.

“You’re crying.” Allura. Hesitant. Fearful.

I still flinched, even though I knew she wouldn’t deliberately hurt me, “I..yes.” I paused, drawing another deep breath, “I...I’ve never experienced a healing pod...never been in one. It Seems the healing pod couldn’t silence my subconscious. It’s nothing.” I said as I swiped a hand over my face, wiping away traces of my tears.

“Well...Your vitals are much improved. You were so exhausted and running on pure adrenaline yesterday. I’m surprised you didn’t collapse the second you walked out of Blanche.”

Hearing the name of my lion from Shiro made me smile.

My hands made short work of taking inventory of my body, “Uh...where are my robes?”

Calming black fog, a hand on my shoulder, I could sense purple coming from his right, Galra tech, “They should be clean, I’ll take you to a room that you can use. Blanche is stored in a hangar, don’t worry.”

I sighed in relief at hearing that.

As I left, I could still feel the pink and white energy of the Princess. Could feel her eyes on me as I walked out of the room. And it sent tremors down my spine.

“Here you are. And there are comms attached to each room as that we can all reach each other.”

I stood where I was, the black fog in my energy moving away before coming back, “Uh…[Y/n]?”

I tried to pinpoint where his face was before I spoke, my voice soft, “I uh...I’m blind, Shiro. I don’t know where the door is. Your energy only allows me to see so much of the surroundings.”

“Right! Oh! I’m sorry...wait...energy?” Frantic turned to confused as a warm hand grabbed mine and guided me into a room, setting it on a soft bed.

I sat down carefully. And then spoke again, “Yes. It’s...part of my mixed heritage, I think.” I tilted my head, “I’ve always been able to see a sort of…” I waved my hands towards the black fog, “Aura. Around people. Once I was blinded, the auras became like beacons of energy. Each person’s is unique and let’s me know who you are. I can ‘see’ it in the sense that it’s in my mind. My energy picks up on it. Of course,” I mused with a soft chuckle, “Seeing through Blanche’s eyes are as close to seeing I can get. I miss my sight.” I sighed. Mood turning somber.

“What’s,” Soft, hesitant. I felt the bed shift as Shiro sat next to me, “What’s my energy like?”

I smiled, he sounded fearful of what I would say. I reached out and he knew what I wanted, holding my hand in his in a gently grasp. These strange humans. From another reality. I was already comfortable with. It was scary, but comfortable.

“It’s like soft smoke. An inky dark fog that rolls towards me. There is a spark of purple on your right side. Galra tech, right?” I asked.

The hand tightened and then relaxed.

“Yeah. I was...Captured...a few months ago I escaped. I...fought, for their entertainment in an arena as a prisoner. I lost my arm...They gave me this.”

Pain, sharp and deep, pierced my heart. Hearing my father’s people spoken of with hidden resentment and fear.

“The Galra here are much different than my Universe.” I stated softly. It wasn’t a question, but Shiro answered.

“No...I wish they were like yours...But...The Alteans.”

I sighed. I was not ready for this conversation, “Shiro. Please, I know. I just...need time.”

“Of course. Um...if you need anything...the uh...comm is next to the door, just follow the wall to it...and the doors open automatically!” He added.

I giggled, it was sorta cute how he was so frazzled about how to deal with a blind person aboard their ship.

“I’ll be fine, Shiro. I’ve managed this long. I think I can figure it out.”

He breathed deep and stood, “Alright. It was...nice...talking to you, [Y/n].”

I whispered as the door closed behind him, “It was nice talking to you too, Shiro.”

Now left on my own, I reached up to my face and felt the slightly raised scars around my eyes. And let myself cry.

When I had been lucid, after being carried onto the castle of Lions and told they were going to put me in a healing pod, I had stupidly hoped that it would return my eyesight.

Falling to my side, I stuffed my head into a soft pillow and allowed myself to grieve.

‘Little one...are you okay? I sense great sorrow.’

I turned to the side as the words flowed to me.

Replying back in my mind, ‘It's just a lot Blanche. Losing my team. My family. And my Universe in only a matter of Vargas and then finding this team of humans calling themselves Voltron and finding out we can form with them and the Princess being the same person as the Empress…’

I knew I was rambling. Sobs slowly turning to hiccups as tears continued to trace cold paths down my cheeks.

‘Little one...You have been so strong...Trust in the Universe to know what fate has brought you to. These Voltron Lions have told me about their Paladins. You are safe here. Even with the Princess.’

‘Shiro asked me about his energy...once the others find out they will want me to tell them theirs...how do I tell the princess that hers is the exact same as the Empress’s after I told Shiro that no two people are the same?’

‘Realities are mere reflections of one another, distorted slightly when one person takes a left instead of a right. You cannot control it. And it is likely you will find familiar faces in this Universe.’

‘You always sound so sure and wise, Blanche. Thank you for choosing me.’

‘Of course, Little one, we are bonded in ways that even I do not fully understand. I am yours, and you...are mine.’

I sighed, relaxing as Blanche’s voice faded from my mind. As I decided to take a nap, there was a knock on my door.

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#voltron #voltron x reader #keith kogane #keith x lance #keith x reader #lance x keith x reader #lance mcclain #lance x reader #klance #keith (voltron)#voltron lance #voltron legendary defender #tag list #reader insert #dreamworks #please give credit #please let me know #rose writes

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thephantomofthe-internet · 6 years

Text

Homeward Bound: Chapter 3

Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader, Billy Hargrove x Henderson!Reader

Chapter Summary: Family fun time? Not so much...

Word Count: 2,056

Warnings: Swearing

Permanent Tag: @hotstuffhargrove @denimjacketkisses @hargrovesgoldilocks @hipsmcgee

Series Tag: @kurt-nightcrawler @alonewolfblog @baebee35 @supernatural-pants @bucky4cap45

You’d recognize Dustin’s voice anywhere. It was the most definitive thing about him nowadays. But you hadn’t seen him in person in so long that even when you pushed away from Steve to greet him, your whole face faltered into a look of shock.

“Holy shit, look at you! You got all buff!” you cried, rushing over to envelope him into a hug. Dustin laughed and you suddenly felt very at home; his voice hadn’t changed since you left, it was still the same post-puberty tone and slight lisp that stuck around after even after he got his new teeth. He was both familiar and deeply unfamiliar to you, but you didn’t care. You hadn’t realized how much your heart ached to see him until you did.

“Holy shit, you’ve been here less than a day and you’ve already been picked up by the cops.” Dustin replied easily, waving to Steve with a toothy grin “Hey dude! What she do?” he said.

“Hey bud!” Steve waved back, picking up your bags and walking them up to the already open door, dropping them in the foyer.

“Why didn’t you tell me Harrington was a cop?” you whispered harshly in his ear, pulling away with a tight smile.

“Didn’t think it mattered, why? Does it?” Dustin replied, raising a curious eyebrow, his gaze turning soft and giddy.

Dustin had loved when you and Steve were together. Sure, at first he absolutely hated it; when he found out he didn’t speak to you for a week. But once you proved that your relationship wouldn’t affect the plan or his friendship with Steve, he warmed up to the relationship really quickly. But when you broke up, Dustin was your number one concern. He was so invested in it all, he called you guys the greatest couple he knew, that when you broke up he was more distraught than you. He spent the weeks before you left town altogether trying to convince you to take him back.

“It would’ve been nice to know so I didn’t have a heart attack in the blistering heat by the side of the road.” You replied tightly. Steve returned quickly, coming up to Dustin and slapping him gently on the shoulder with a smile.

“I’m gonna head out, man, see ya around.” He said, nodding towards his car.

“Aw come on dude, let’s chill for awhile. Y/N hasn’t been back in years, let’s show her the new shit at the arcade.” Dustin whined.

“It can wait dude, your sister just got back, she’s probably tired. Besides, I gotta go back to the station, duty calls you know?” he replied with a shrug. You nodded, smiling softly. You really couldn’t give a shit about the arcade nor could you really handle another drive with Steve, especially if it led to upwards of an hour with the boy.

“Come on, Dusty, we’ll go another day-I’ve got two weeks to see all the new things here. Let’s go find mom, yeah?” you said. Dustin sighed, but he nodded and turned back towards the house. You waved politely to Steve, who did the same and you headed inside without a second thought.

The house was cool and dark, just like you’d left it years ago. Wood paneling still covered the walls and along the staircase, photos lined the walls. You noted that the one you sent her of you in front of the Hollywood sign was hung proudly next to Dustin’s prom photo, signs of some invisible sense of growth in your mother’s eyes. Whatever she saw in those photos was beyond you, but the love and care in framing each memory was obvious and sweet. You kicked off your shoes without a second thought and grabbed your bags off the floor.

“Ma? I’m home!” you called upstairs with a smile. You heard the excited gasp from across the house and the padding of soft, heavy feet against the wood floors. You were enveloped in a hug before you could even react, making you drop your bags on the floor. The familiar smell of your mother nearly made you cry; powdery lavender perfume and laundry soap and something you couldn’t describe as anything other than your mother. It was intoxicating as it was aggressively familiar and comforting.

“Baby, welcome back I’ve missed you so much…” your mother said, her voice choked with tears and breathy.

“I missed you too, mommy…” you whispered, pressed a kiss onto the top of her head as sobs began to wrack her body, her shoulder shaking under your hands. Dustin took it upon himself to take your suitcase upstairs and drop it off in your old room.

With a heavy sniffle, she broke away from you, flashing a watery smile. “I’m gonna stop crying now, I swear, I just missed you, so did Richard. I’m glad you’re back.” She said, wiping her tears quickly and huffing out a heavy breath. You nodded, swallowing the hard lump in your throat.

“I know, I know, I promise I’ll try to come out more, okay? Just please stop crying, you’re making Dustin uncomfortable. I’m gonna unpack, okay?” you said, turning up the stairs.

“I’ll help, I wanna hear all about Los Angeles!” she cried, grabbing the grocery tote and marvelling at its weight “Oh goodness, Y/N, what’re you carrying around now, bricks? This is worse than your backpack in high school…”

“It’s my manuscript, mom, I’m editing my novel.” You said with a sigh, trudging up the stairs. Your mother nodded softly, muttering something about wasting your time on silly stories. You rolled your eyes, pushing the door open to your old room and pulling your bag onto your old bed.

The room hadn’t changed, much to your both comfort and dismay. The pastel purple paint on the walls was still chipped, the old posters of Madonna and Queen hanging limply on the walls with pushpins, the corners ripped and pages bloated from the humid heat of summer’s past. The old white and purple floral bedspread was still covering the bed; bleach stains from attempts at removing period blood and the one bright pink highlighter stain from a late night study session gone wrong. You noted the small stacking aerobics step in the corner and the piles of workout tapes on top of the ancient TV that your mother only let you have in your room when you were sick; the stand seemed to be a permanent fixture now. Everything in the room felt stale and out of place until you realized that you’d grown out of this space; this was your ugly cocoon and now you had a new home far away from here.

You dropped your suitcase on your bed and unzipped it, pulling out the nicest dress you owned, a pale yellow sundress with small white daisies running through the material, and hung it on your door. You dropped the cheap flats and the still half full bag on the floor.

“Where do you want this?” your mother asked awkwardly, heaving the bag higher into the air.

“On my desk please.” You said, sitting down on the bed, noting the still squeaky box spring and frame. Your mother dropped the bag haphazardly next to your old typewriter before sitting next to you on the bed.

“So…” she said with a shit eating grin “You seeing anyone special in Los Angeles?”

You sighed, suppressing an eye roll. “One, I live in San Diego, not L.A. And as for relationships, I am not in one at the moment.” You said diplomatically, leaning in to speak to her with a smile.

“Well…you know Steve Harrington’s still single…” your mother replied, dragging out the words with a sing song tone. Your smile fell into a hard line; you always forgot that your mother liked Steve about as much as Dustin did.

“Mom…” you sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. “I have zero interest in Steve.”

“Oh come now! You can’t still be mad at him for things he did in the past. He’s changed now! He has a good job, he’s this close to being promoted to chief of police-” She said, holding up her fingers less than an inch apart from one another, a measurement for the closeness of his promotion.

“Mom!” you cut her off “I’m not mad at him anymore, I’m just not interested in dating him anymore, okay?” you said. She huffed, but nodded, standing up from the bed.

“Alright, alright I’ll let it go, but you gotta put on your happy pants around him, knowing Dustin he’ll be around all the time. He’s a big part of Dusty’s life now.” She replied, her voice turning stern and motherly.

You nodded “I have and will be nothing but civil with him. I mean he drove me here after all. I can handle him.” You replied.

Your mother looked at you quizzically “What?” she asked.

“Rental car broke down, long story.” You replied easily, shrugging it off.

“Alright, well dinner’s at seven. Dustin will either be going out or be bringing Steve here. I’ll let you know either way, alright?” she said. You nodded, smiling until the door shut and then letting it drop away as you fell back on the mattress, letting out a huge sigh.

You had lied when you said you weren’t mad at Steve anymore. You were just as mad as you were when it happened. It burned the pit of your stomach and made you want to strangle someone, usually him. It hurt your heart when people still thought you two were this perfect match. Because you weren’t. You were so far from perfect it wasn’t even funny.

Jonathan and Nancy were the perfect couple, finding solace and happiness despite the pain of what they’d seen. They were private investigators; Jonathan had an alternative rock ‘zine he published bi-monthly and Nancy had award winning Zinnias. They had two wonderful children who were growing up safe and calm. They went to couple’s therapy twice a month to stay on the same mental health page. They grew and weaved together like ivy. They were perfect.

Joyce and Hopper were the perfect couple, coming together despite immense pain. Joyce was long retired, getting a restraining order against her ex-husband, and living off the millions she won in the lawsuit against Hawkins Labs. Hopper loved her sons more than words could say and Will adored him. He still ran the Hawkins Police Station like a general, but he kept mainly to his desk, staying out of the field. Joyce loved little Jane with all her heart and made sure she went to the best school for kids in her situation, where she flourished. They treated each other with the love and patience the world never gave them, keeping each other’s anxiety and fears at bay as they stumbled through a world that had changed around them. They held each other close and made each other better. They were perfect.

You and Steve? God, you were so far from perfect it hurt. You were to sad, deeply flawed and broken people, which just didn’t work. Back then, you were too naïve, too giving. You hurt yourself with the amount of your heart you simply gave away. And Steve took and took until he drained you into nothing. You broke each other into bits and took the shattered pieces as keepsakes. You weren’t good together, you were toxic and broken and sad. You were not perfect.

And even now, you still weren’t perfect. You didn’t give as much sure, but now you demanded. You demanded better and more and faster than before. You demanded that people acted better and lived up to the standards you set them to. You wanted to be treated as you were certain you deserved to be treated. You wanted to be wanted and adored like you did when you were young but now you refused to give an inch for people. You shut them out, afraid to be broken again. You wouldn’t let men like Steve, known takers, back in when they hurt you. You’d rebuilt-put up higher walls, better defences, more traps. Steve might have healed, he might have forgiven himself, but you hadn’t. And you doubted you ever would.

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kpopwishes · 7 years

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|| Gem City ||

Group: BTS

Summary: You live in an unfair caste system where your gem and spirit animal define you. Your special gem you get when you’re born determines your fate in this world. There are three classes Copper, Silver, and Gold. The animal you were born with determines your job. The copper class has the poorest gems and useless spirit animals. The silver class (or middle class) holds the common gems and common animals. The gold class is royalty and they have everything. The gold class has schools, stores, and a part of a city made for themselves only. The gold class holds the most valuable and rare gems and the rarest mythical beasts for spirit animals. The copper and Silver classes are fighting for equality and are starting to riot. As a response to the riots, the gold class decides to open a co-ed school for Coppers, Silvers and the great Golds. You are a copper and you were also drafted to take part in this co-ed school that has 70% Gold, 20% Silver, and 10% Copper.

You flutter your eyes open at the traffic going on outside. Groaning into your pillow, you flip the dusty blanket off of your small frame. After you plop your feet on the cold tiled floor, you insert a piece of bread in the toaster for Ae-Cha. Ae-Cha is your Zenko Kitsune familiar. As the toast is cooking, you decided to brush your teeth and take a quick shower. Turning on the timer on your phone, you take a three-minute freezing shower and using the blow dryer while brushing your teeth for two minutes. Ae-Chae starts to scratch your leg, telling you it was about time for her to eat. After blowing out your hair, you make it just in time for the toast to pop out of the toaster. You gently hand the toast to Ae-Chae and she gladly takes it with her small baby snout. Rushing to your drawer, you pull out your work clothes and quickly put them on. “Ae-Cha, time?” You exclaimed. Ae-Cha responded with a whiny voice, “It’s 6:45 am, work starts at 7:00 so hurry up, idiot.” Upon hearing that, you grab your purse and Ae-Cha in a haste and start dashing to the door. When you open the door, the smell of cigarette smoke and gasoline fill your nose. You cringe at the smell and rush down your apartment building, trying to catch a cab. Once you flag a cab down and you put your hand on the door, someone taps you on the shoulder. “Miss, I’m taking this cab.” He says calmly to you. You shake your head trying to catch your breath, “I really need this cab! I have a job at a restaurant all the way downtown and I can’t be late.” You respond back to him, leaving some traces of spit on his face by accident. His falcon familiar growls at you until his owner shuts him up my putting his hand on his head. The man calmly takes out his Silver ID and shows it to the cab driver, gesturing you to do the same. Lowering your head in shame, you pull out your copper ID from you rugged leather purse and show it to the cab driver. “I’m sorry I had to do this Honey, it’s just the way the world works.” He gives you a smile and a shrug and slowly gets into the cab. You huff loudly as you see the cab driving away, and seeing the boy’s hand sticks out of the window, waving you goodbye. Since your ride was gone, you stayed there a couple of minutes trying to signal other cabs. Giving up you let out a sigh and pick up Ae-Cha. Someone stopped you in your tracks as you were just going to run to your job. Turning around, whipping yourself with your hair in the process, you find a tall handsome man with purple hair standing in front of you. You gape in awe at the gem on his collarbone, it was a tanzanite gem. He noticed you staring and covers his gem as his cheeks flush pink. “It’s very rude to stare at someone’s gem.” You let out a slur of apologies and he clears his throat.

“Do you want to ride in this cab with m-” He was cut off by this beautiful lady with jet black hair and cat like eyes. “Namjoon why are you talking to this copper?” She yells with a squeaky obnoxious voice.

“Mother, she doesn;t have a ride and I saw her struggling to get a cab so I offered to-” He tried to explain himself.

“That’s quite enough Namjoon. There is no way I’m going to share a cab with a nasty and worthless copper.” She lifts her nose in the air. You bow your head at her as she walks into the cab, the boy giving you a pitiful look and a small smile. Looking at the time, you widen your eyes and start to dash to your job.

After arriving late at your job, Silver Platter, you get scolded harshly by your boss. Ae-Chae has learned to control her anger in situations like these. After your scolding, you make your way to the changing room and you throw on your uniform in a hurry. As soon as you enter the restaurant, a family of Silvers takes a seat. Scanning your eyes over the restaurant, you see some coppers waiting in line. This was the hardest part of your job, telling coppers they aren’t welcome here. Your boss thought it would sound nicer if you would do it since you are a copper yourself, but in reality, it just makes you seem like an asshole.

You drag your feet over to the coppers, waiting patiently in line. Standing in front of them, you plaster on a fake smile and say, “Excuse me, this restaurant is for silvers and above only. If you are waiting for a silver friend, I’m going to have to ask you to call him out here.” They calmly look at you and nod their heads and gives you a pitiful smile while walking out of the building. Your heart breaks when you see the little girl sadly looking back at you.

Soon after that incident, your co-worker taps you on the shoulder and says, “Hey, could you take that table over there? I’m busy.” You look at her to see what she was ‘busy’ with and it turned out she was texting her boyfriend to come pick her up. Sighing in annoyance, you walk over to the table, where a man with silky jet black hair looks focused on the menu.

“Hello welcome to Silver Platter, have you decided what you want to eat yet.” His attention turns from the menu to you. As soon as he sees Ae-cha, he shoots you a glare and says, “Could I have a silver waiter?”

Looking down at the floor you nod your head and walk away. Walking into the break room, you overhear a conversation, “Sir, Min Yoongi is here and he looks very annoyed.” the person he was talking to sucks his teeth and said, “It must be that copper girl. She should have read his posture and stayed away from him. But hey, what can you expect from a girl who can’t even put her familiar away.” You hear them chuckle and footsteps coming closer. You knock on the door softly and the footsteps and chuckling stopped.

As the door opens, you walk in and say, “Min Yoongi wants a silver to serve him.” You say bluntly and walk away. Your shift was almost over so you get changed and walk through the copper entrance that basically leads to an alleyway. You shiver at the cold breeze and puff of hot air comes out of your mouth. Walking quickly down the alleyway, you collide with a tall man. You muffle out a quick apology and start to continue walking, but the man grabs you by your collar and pulls you to his chest.

“What is a cute little copper doing out here this late?” He whispers in your ear, the smell of cigarette smoke hits you making you scrunch your nose. Before you could answer his question, he already has you pinned against the alley wall. You let out a strangled yelp as he covers your mouth with his nasty hands.

You kick the man in the manhood and he crumbles to the ground, giving you time to run and shout for help. As you get out of the alleyway, a couple of silvers roam the streets and your yelps mean nothing to them. You then spot a familiar face, Min Yoongi. Before you can think, you find yourself running to him. Grabbing onto his shirt, you point behind you, not being able to form words yet. His eyes widen in disbelief as you touched him. His eyes quickly grow from surprise to pure hatred. Noticing his mood change, you quickly let go and step away from him. You end up stepping too far and into the nasty guys’ arms. Gasping, you look at Yoongi as you try to fight the guy off of you.

“Please help m-” He just watched you as you were dragged away back into the alleyway. You were screaming bloody murder, but no one could hear you. The guy began to run his fingertips over your collar bone and the other hand cupped your breast. His fingers wiped the tears off of your face and he pressed his bulge against your stomach. You gave one last scream which earned a hard slap to the face, throwing you to the ground. You prepare for another hit, but instead, you hear the guy groan. Looking up you saw someone beating the nasty guy to a pulp.

After he finishes him, he comes and walks to you. It was that guy from earlier, Min Yoongi. He looks away from your gaze and holds his hand out for you. You continue to stare at him in awe and when he sees you not taking his offer, he grabs you by the arm to pull you up. He walks you out of the dark smelly alleyway. You look at his broad back and feel comforted by his presence. All of a sudden that moment ends and he lets go of your arm and turns his back to you to get in his car.

Without looking back at you, he said, “Go home quickly and don’t get into any more trouble.” He drives off quickly, leaving you in the same spot.

“He could of at least drove me home.” You say as you huff in annoyance.

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kittensjonsa · 7 years

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Pull Me Closer

For @jonxsansafanfiction Valentine's Day: 6 Feb - Hearts. This was a hard theme for me so I tried my best. I love animals so I guess the hearts was a little tribute to them. Oh and the story is based on the hot dress Sophie Turner was wearing at the SAG awards so I thought OK let's combine the two. Lol. If only Kit was there. But that dress hot damn wow. Anyway thanks for reading. And keep the fics coming! ************* Jon peered out through the peephole and made sure the coast was clear before he slipped out of the hotel room. Running a hand through his curls to make sure not a strand was out of place and that his now crumpled shirt was tucked in properly. She was still on him, the scent of her pervaded every fibre of his being and even on his clothes. Laundry could wait a week or two. See you tonight love, he thought as he glanced back at the messed up duvet that hardly covered a shapely leg which stuck out from underneath it. Jon felt his loins stir as he recalled the last few hours from the night before in his mind. And more nights to come, he thought grinning to himself and reluctantly opened the door. ..... TWELVE HOURS EARLIER... The annual Wild @ Heart charity ball was an event Sansa and Arya were always looking forward to in attending. All of the North's high society and who's who were invited and the Starks were almost always on their guest list. Ned and Catelyn Stark's contributions and efforts in funding wildlife research and rehabilitating the endangered grey wolves back to their original habitats in the North, were one of the Stark's family's proudest accomplishments. From building a research centre to picking the best experts in the field to funding the various programmes, Ned and Cat were a force to be reckoned with. And they had imparted their compassion and passion to their children as well. Robb was determined to continue their legacy and placed his heart and soul into doing what his parents would have done for the foundation. So much so that the organisers had promised Robb Stark, now the head of the prominent Stark household, that they would be honouring the Stark family with the Passionate Hearts award that evening. It was an award that represented what Wild@Hearts Animal Sanctuary and Wildlife Research was truly about and it was the highest honour the organisation could give to anyone for their continuing support and dedication to caring and rescuing all wild creatures big and small. Sansa was delighted when Robb rallied the whole family to ready themselves for the gala. It was Sansa's third time in attendance but the preparation leading towards the evening always seem like the first time. From choosing the right dress and jewellery, getting the right make up and hair done was something Sansa could get used to. Sansa had her eye on an exquisite red gown she saw draped on a mannequin in the Louis Vuitton boutique while out having brunch with Margaery a month ago. Sansa knew that dress was the one. Even Arya agreed it was indeed meant for Sansa and she was keen to turn heads, maybe a popular fashion magazine to look her way . "What time is the limo picking us up?" Sansa yelled to Arya who was in the bathroom, checking her hair for the hundredth time. Arya stepped out and shrugged, her curled up bob looking the same as it did a few moments ago. Sansa sat still as the make up artist put the finishing touches to her face. Sansa glanced from the corner of her eye at the red gown hanging on the coat rack. Robb had been generous with their wardrobe this time, who finally saw how much his sisters revelled in social events such as this. "I don't know, Robb will text when it's here," Arya quipped, pursing her dark plum lips. Sansa gave a little smirk when Arya took her advice and tried something different this time and picked a simple Charlie Brear dusty pink 1920s style gown that showed off her athletic physique. What are sisters for, Sansa thought happily. After the accident that took Father and Mother and little Rickon away five years ago, the Stark siblings had grown closer than they had been before. Gone were the bratty squabbles and snide remarks. They only had each other now. Sansa got up to wear her dress when a knock came on the door. "We have another half hour, I hope to God you girls are ready," Robb's voice rang in from the other side. Sansa zipped up her dress and strapped on her shoes. Arya was already ready and texting on her phone. Looks like it was going to be family night out tonight, Sansa thought as she took one final look at the mirror. Bright red dress matched with a bright red lip, Sansa was confident she was going to get some attention tonight. Perhaps best dressed by Harper's Bazaar. She could dream. "All right. You ready? Let's do this." Sansa and Arya stood in front of the full length mirror of Sansa's room and looked at themselves. How much they had grown. It seemed like only yesterday they were wearing pigtails and shoes with untied laces and now, they were all dressed up glamourously for a ball. Arya smiled back at Sansa's reflection and both of them stepped out, geared up for perhaps the best night of the year. Sansa couldn't help but squeal slightly as she stepped in the grand ballroom of the Waldorf. The huge chandelier hanged elegantly high above the room, its crystals reflecting the warm light and bathing everything in a rich golden glow. Everyone looked beautiful, Sansa noticed. She could get used to this. As the Stark siblings were ushered to their tables, Sansa felt a light tug on her elbow. "You caught my eye, Sansa," a low raspy voice whispered from behind her. Sansa almost stopped breathing. Jon. Sansa turned and was greeted by a very dapper and broodingly handsome Jon Targaryen. Sansa's mouth nearly touched the floor. The velvet navy suit with the navy bow tie looked as if it belonged on him. The almost black curly hair that neatly framed his handsome face gave Sansa butterflies. "Jon.. Oh my God, so good to see you! My, my look at you, you cleaned up well." Sansa reached over to give Jon a hug. It had been years since she last saw him. Ever since the accident. Sansa lingered in his arms when she caught a whiff of Jon's wonderful scent. How she missed him. They had been childhood friends and practically grew up together. She remembered the many times Robb and Arya used to tease the both of them as if they were a couple. Sansa didn't understand why back then, but as she grew older and realised how close Jon and her were, they might as well have been. Till he moved away with his family and now, all grown up and groomed to be a Senator. Like his grandfather, Robb had always described Jon. "Not as good as you. My, that dress, you could stop a train in that." "Well, good thing I'm not then since I plan to drink all the champagne," Sansa giggled shyly, her cheeks pink from Jon's stare. "Not too much though, at least until after a dance with me," Jon smiled as he held out his hand to her. The night went wonderfully as expected, Robb managed to bring a tear out of everyone in the room with his heartfelt speech and Arya finally getting a chance to chat with the suave Gendry Baratheon. Even Bran was having a good time. But all she could focus on was Jon. Who had been constantly gazing at her with his dark eyes from the next table the moment she sat down. They had exchanged shy smiles and looks across the tables and Sansa could even feel his eyes on her when she left for the bathroom. She had to admit it felt good. How did she ever missed out on Jon? Too close for comfort, perhaps. But still, the thought of Jon with her was a tempting prospect. And one she had always thought for some time. The image in her mind never really left. Sansa felt a nice warm buzz from the four glasses of Vueve Cliqout she had downed and leaned on her chair as she watched everyone around her. She was sober still but felt relaxed. "Robb did a wonderful job with the speech. I'm sure your mom and dad would've been proud." Sansa heard Jon and turned to see him sitting beside her. Her table was empty as Arya was seated at Gendry's table and Bran and Robb were making rounds shaking hands with everybody who congratulated them. "He did and I'm sure they would be too." Sansa sighed and wished her mother and father could see how far they've come as a family. She missed them terribly. Especially little Rickon. He would love coming to places like these. Sansa took a deep breath when she felt a sob coming on. No, it's a happy night for all of us tonight, let's just enjoy it, Sansa thought. "You know, there's a little garden out back that I've always wanted to check out at night, thought maybe I could do with some company. If you don't mind, would you like to come join me for a walk, Sansa?" Sansa came back to herself as she heard Jon's invitation. She too had wondered how the rose garden of the Waldorf looked like at night. She looked around and it deemed upon her that perhaps a quick break from all the celebration would be nice. Sansa took Jon's offered hand and followed him out of the ball room. The summer night was a balmy one and the air was warm and filled with the scent of roses. Sansa loved it, it looked different at night, the roses bore a darker red, almost purple in the moonlight. "I have to say, I've always wanted to bring a date here." Jon chuckled as he admired the garden. "Oh, so were you successful?" Jon laughed at Sansa's cheeky remark. He missed that about her. "Well, you're here with me now, aren't you? So I say yes." "Free champagne and dinner. Well, you got a good deal." They both laughed at Sansa's comment. They've always shared a similar sense of humour. "I couldn't take my eyes off you the moment I saw you walk in Sansa. And I started to remember all the times we had together when we were kids. Do you still remember? " Sansa smiled. Of course she did. " Yes I do Jon. We had so much fun together. Those were good times, of course I remember." "Have you thought of me ever since? Because I often think of you, Sansa. And I was hoping to see you tonight." Sansa blushed. She wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or Jon that was making her warm and tingly inside. "And I was hoping I could talk to you about something that I've waited so long to tell you." Sansa head snapped towards Jon who was now inching closer to her. Sansa wasn't quite sure what was happening. "Sansa, I-I don't know how to tell you this but I'm just going to say it.. I love you. I've always been in love with you. Ever when we were kids, I knew I loved you. I understand if you don't feel the same, but I just wanted you to know. Before I.. Before it's too late to say it," Jon softly professed, his whispering breath on her giving her goosebumps as he spoke the words. Jon was now holding her arms and looking at her earnestly. "Oh." Sansa was stunned by Jon's admission. She wasn't dreaming, she had always wanted Jon to say that to her, ever since she realised she had developed feelings for him too but kept quiet, just like he did. Missing him was terrible when he had to move far away. The emails and calls didn't stop though they got much lesser and less frequent. Apparently, they were both afraid of speaking the truth when it was the only thing that mattered. " You could have told me sooner, Jon. I missed you terribly. I thought you didn't want me around anymore." "No, no... Oh my sweet Sansa, never. I wanted to stay but family duty got in the way. And I'm sorry it did. I've always wanted you to be with me. I wanted to tell you but I didn't want to lose you if I did. Because maybe you didn't feel the same way. " Sansa felt tears coming on. How long she had waited for those words to greet her ears. It was a song. " But you were wrong Jon. I did. I've always did." "Oh." Jon looked down and tried to compose himself. This was getting harder than how he had planned it to be. "Jon, I've always loved you. And you know what, I still do. I just wished you acted on it, instead of letting it be. I wondered for so long, Jon." It was Jon's turn now to tear up. How could he not know? He cherished her friendship and presence so much that he didn't dare to ruin it. It was a mistake to leave it and it plagued him ever since. "Oh Sansa, I was an idiot. I'm sorry. How can I make it up to you, for all the lost time?" Sansa's eyes searched his and wondered what she would do if this opportunity didn't present itself again. They were reunited again and there must be some cosmic reason for such things. Sansa wasn't a big believer in most things but the feelings bubbling up in her, told her there was something truly magical about what she and Jon had shared. And perhaps, they both were not going to let it pass and lose it again. "Well, pull me closer, Jon and we'll find out."

#jonsa #jonsa fic #jon x sansa #jonsansaff #modern au #award season #the red dress #omg

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sibillascribbles08 · 7 years

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Somewhere Else

Lmao okay here’s part two of this junk because I’m weak and I had an idea.

But honestly I’m really proud of this? Like some of the descriptions turned out rly well and I got emotional like four times.

Side note: What happened to Overwatch in spirit!AU is a bit different from what I theorize happened in canon but it’s my AU and I’ll do what I want.

It took almost a month for Gabriel to figure out how to do that dream jump. It was partially because of how hectic things were, the UN moving them around for PR business. Gabriel swore if he had to get on another plane anytime soon he was going to puke. The other part was just the fact that Marigold was a little shit and kept trying to make him beg for it.

“You’re the ones who wanted us to do this. Just show me how. Dios mío, Marí.”

“Fine,” He could hear the smirk in her voice. “I suppose I’ve teased you long enough.

She flew out onto the water, trailing her wing in circles on its surface. The ripples spun around, faster and faster as the glass morphed into a whirlpool. Gabriel felt dizzy looking at it.

“You aren’t telling me I have to jump in there.”

“It is not like you can drown.” She hovered over it.

“That’s not reassuring.”

“Honestly, I know you are not afraid of water.”

“No, but I have been trapped under a wave before. It’s not pleasant.”

“Just jump.” Her calm voice muted out the rushing water. “You will be fine.”

Sometimes he hated it, how it seemed like the hill should slowly descend into the water but instead it just vanished. He could sometimes tell when he stared at it that it was endlessly deep. Some days he considered swimming in it but was simply to afraid of what he’d find.

A few times he swore he could see a pair of eyes watching him from below.

Finally he took a deep breath before he made a running leap into the water. It was fast, so fast. One moment he could feel it rushing past him, tossing him around before it simply stopped.

Grass.

He could feel grass under his fingers, under his cheek. He pushed himself up, trying to see where he was but it was still nothing but grass. He had to stand to see past it, all of it reaching past his waist. He froze for a moment when he saw how far it went, forever. The blades swung about in the breeze, like waves on the water. The horizon was dark, dusk perhaps. He followed the gradient of colors up to see a full moon in the sky, bigger than he’d ever seen.

It wasn’t quite what he expected. A field, certainly, but he thought it’d be some kind of farm with how Jack described his home. He turned around, wondering if there was even anything else here. His gaze met a mountain range, snow covering the tops and the stars over them flashing like snowflakes. They seemed huge, impossibly far and yet so close at the same time. He followed the hills around until he saw the barn, surrounded by a fence. The building seemed well intact, but even from here he could see a couple of missing roof pieces and wooden planks out of place.

Where was Jack?

It was strange, standing there, looking at how vast it all was. It’s not that his mind wasn’t much the same, but the clutter of buildings made it seem smaller. He had his island or his boat keeping it contained to something manageable, but this? Gabriel felt like if he wandered in the wrong direction he’d never find his way back.

The longer he stood there the harder it was to breath. Even with how open it was he felt some kind of pressure on his shoulders. And it was quiet, it was so damn quiet. Even with the breeze there were no birds, no honking cars, it felt so...

Empty.

The pressure was reaching his throat now and he ran towards the barn. Jack had to be there, right? Where else would he be. The grass brushed against his legs as he moved, a rhythmic sound that would have been soothing if not for his oncoming panic. Where was it even coming from?

“Jack?” His voice cracked when he called out, leaping clean over the fence. “Jackie?”

His boyfriend’s familiar face popped up from the huge window on the second floor. He looked surprised before he grinned and waved.

“Gabe, hey. You actually made it. Just wait right there.”

The clattering in the barn kept him grounded, the sound of boots against wood as he assumed Jack returned to ground level. He could hear some kind of latch clicking on the huge barn door before Jack pushed it open. His grin was still there as he ran out, tackling Gabriel into a hug.

“Well? What do you think? I know it’s not much but-” That grin finally fell, his eyes going wide. “Gabe? What’s wrong?”

Gabriel was about to ask what he was talking about until he was suddenly aware of the dampness on his face. He was crying? How long had that been happening? When he tried to wipe them away he realized how much there actually was.

“I think the pup is just a bit overwhelmed.”

He spun around, not recognizing the deep voice. At first all he could see was white fur. He had to tilt his head back to see the face of the wolf, Jack’s wolf.

“Holy shit,” He almost shouted and stumbled backwards into his boyfriend. “Holy shit, Jackie, why didn’t you tell me he was this huge?”

“I thought I did?”

Whitefang laughed, a wheezy sound from his throat as he showed his teeth. “I may be young but not that young.”

“What do you mean overwhelmed?” Jack changed the subject, gripping Gabriel’s shoulders.

“This place is nothing more than a visual representation of you mind.” The wolf leaned down to be more eye level. “I suppose what you feel when you see it and what he feels are rather different. Sometimes it’s jarring. He’ll be fine.”

Jack turned Gabriel around, concern still lining his features. “What do you feel?”

“Shit, I don’t know.” He wiped away tears again. “I guess it’s just so different. Mine is a lot more crowded, sort of, you know? This,” He waved at the fields. “This just feels so...”

“Open?”

“Empty.”

Jack’s vacant stare left him feeling more anxious by the second. Then his boyfriend gave him a soft smile and tugged him toward the barn. “Come on, I think this will fix that.”

The barn seemed warmer, somehow, even if it wasn’t actually cold outside. He almost expected it to be dusty but that didn’t make any sense. Instead, the walls were covered in photos and trinkets. A few shelves in the back were lined with books. Boxes and chests were pressed up against the walls, filled with other things he assumed. It wasn’t much different from the boat in his mind.

“There’s even more upstairs.” Jack kept tugging. “Come on you have to see this.”

The ladder up to the loft was tiny but held firm as both of them climbed up. The floor was rather clear, particles of dust drifting in the stream of light coming from the window. There was actually hay there, pushed out to the sides like some kind of nest. There wasn’t as much stuff, but Gabriel took note of the stack of comic books and one stuffed bear with a pilot’s helmet.

“Come here.” Jack plopped down onto the hay and patted it. “You really have to see this.”

Gabriel questioned what there was to see when he sat down, leaning against the frame of the window. The air was nice and the view would be too if there was anything to look at besides grass.

Jack closed one eye, holding out his hand with his thumb up. Gabriel couldn’t possibly figure out what he was doing, following his line of sight to the giant moon in the sky.

Then suddenly it moved, practically flew up and over their heads taking the night sky with it. The black and purple gave way to pale blues and a shade of pink. Gabriel’s jaw went slack when he saw that touch of orange peaking out of the horizon, lighting everything up. The grass seemed to shine, the shadows of the waves clearer than ever before.

“You said you wanted to see the sunrise. It’s not exact, but it’s pretty close.”

Gabriel had seen sunrises before, but something about this looked different, felt different. Like time had started moving again, slowly, and he was actually ready to face the world ahead of him.

“Doesn’t feel quite as empty, right?”

He looked over at Jack and his amazement became overwhelming. That dot of orange made his blue eyes glitter, made the strands of his hair light up. The shadows outlined his face, showing the dips and curves and Gabriel wanted nothing more than to feel them under his finger tips.

So he did.

Jack leaned into the touch, eyes falling shut. Gabriel didn’t hesitate to pull him closer, kissing the line of his jaw, wondering if he could taste the sun’s rays on his skin. The scent of morning dew hit his nose as the breeze brushed past them. For a moment he imagined they were somewhere else, waking up at dawn with a gentle rain outside. The open window letting in the cool air. Nowhere they needed to be, all the time in the world to enjoy the quiet moments.

“Gabe?”

The hand against his face made him realize he was crying again.

“You sure you’re okay?” Jack was trying not to laugh as he brushed the tears away.

“Yeah, I don’t know what’s going on.”

“What were you thinking about?”

Gabriel pressed their foreheads together. The light from the rising sun was so bright but it didn’t hurt at all. “Thinking about us, somewhere else. No more worrying about missions or PR or pretending we’re only comrades and not... I always hoped we could get there when this was over.”

Suddenly that pressure returned again. Gabriel couldn’t place at all where it was coming from but he tried to chase it away with a deep breath.

“We’ll get there Gabe.” Jack placed a gentle kiss on his cheek.

“When?”

“I don’t know, but we’ll get there.” He stood without letting go, tugging Gabriel up with him. “Come on, there’s plenty more to show you.”

The pair made their way back down the ladder. Whitefang was curled up in the corner now, enjoying a nap. Gabriel resisted the urge to flop on top of the wolf, not at all sure how the creature would react.

Jack started taking him through photo after photo, showing him family members, events, Gabriel was almost amazed by how much there was. A part of him envied Jack for having that many stories about his family, but he imagined Jack felt the same. He often talked about how much he wished he could have gone on as many adventures as Gabriel did. It seemed like he didn’t travel very far from his home.

“Aw look,” Gabriel was grinned as he shifted through one box of pictures. “There’s Mr. Brace Face.”

Jack spun around, eyes wide. He made a scramble for the picture but Gabriel darted out of his reach.

“Look at you. What was this, freshman year? You’re so damn tiny. And are those freckles? What happened to those?”

“Grew out of them.”

“Shame, we should try and get them back. Put you on the beach for a few days.”

“Whenever the UN actually gives us a vacation.”

Gabriel snorted, finally handing the photo over. “You’re telling me. Even when this PR stuff is done it won’t be over. Not with you appointed as Strike Commander.”

Suddenly everything froze.

Both literally and figuratively.

The wind stopped, the air stopped. Jack went rigid where he stood, eyes wide as the photo fell out of his fingers. A light crack was the only sound Gabriel could hear and when he turned to search it out he saw all the snow outside. When the hell had that gotten there? Ice crawled in from the doorway, snapping and groaning as it covered the wood of the barn.

“Jack?” Gabriel said, but his boyfriend didn’t respond. “Jack? What’s going on? Hey!”

He reached towards him but the motion was cut off by a sudden blast of cold wind. He flinched, feeling ice and snow hit his skin. The swirl of it all made the barn fade out into nothing but white. He tried reaching out once more but Jack was gone.

He was gone. The barn was gone. The only thing around him was ice and snow. He felt panic setting in for a moment before he shook his head and shouted.

“Whitefang?”

The wolf was there in a second, yellow eyes glowing in the fog.

“What the hell happened? Where’s Jack?”

“Nightmare,” The wolf crouched down. “He fell into a nightmare. I need to get you out of here.”

“Whoa whoa, no way. We have to snap him out of it.”

“Child of the sun, if you get lost in here you may get trapped.”

“I can’t just wake up and leave him like this.”

The wolf’s gaze was so intimidating, cold and serious. Finally he snapped his head to the side. “Climb on.”

“Huh?”

“Climb on my back and hold on tight. We must find him.”

Gabriel didn’t hesitate to do as he was told. The wolf’s fur was cold to the touch, tiny threads of ice under his fingers. He ignored the sensation and gripped the fur on his neck, praying it would be enough.

Whitefang straightened up, sniffing the air for a few beats before he took off. The motion almost sent Gabriel flying. Ice scraped across his cheeks with the harsh wind. He struggled to keep his eyes open, wondering how he could find Jack in this mess.

The wolf must have found something, letting out a bark and a growl as he turned. His pace slowed down as he lowered his head, nosing through the snow. He dug his paws in, tossing the snow behind him before gripping something below it.

With a few sharp tugs he pulled Jack to the surface by the sleeve of his shirt.

“Jack?” Gabriel called out as he slid off the spirit’s back. Jack’s eyes were shut, his skin turning an awful shade of blue.

He didn’t hesitate to reach out.

“Gabriel.”

The use of his name startled him. He turned back to look at the wolf, those glowing yellow eyes fixed on him.

“Listen to me. If you touch him now you must not let go. Do you understand?”

“Why not?”

“Not only could it harm you but he would vanish again. Regardless of what you see or hear you must not let go.”

“If it’s that risky why are you letting me do this?”

“Because, you are the only one who could solve this.”

“Solve what?”

The wolf said nothing. He only nodded his gaze toward Jack.

Gabriel knelt down, cold snow pressed under his knees. He tried to ignite his palms, but it failed. Must not work here.

Didn’t matter. He grabbed Jack’s shoulders and pulled him closer.

“Jackie? Hey. Come on, tell me you can hear me.”

Suddenly the space around him glitched. There was no other way to describe it. Parts of the ground changed color. The howling wind distorted and froze, before changing into another sound.

“Congratulations, my friend.”

“Good work Jack.”

“You’ll do a wonderful job.”

Gabriel recognized the voices, but more and more of them swirled around. Space kept distorting, colors shifting before it flashed.

He tightened his grip.

Don’t let go.

A wall, he was staring at a wall. No, looking up it was a desk. Faces shrouded in shadows stared down at him.

“This is a great opportunity.” They spoke in unison.

That same pressure from earlier reappeared. Bit by bit it pressed down on his chest and shoulders.

Don’t let go.

“I can’t,” He could hear Jack’s voice but he couldn’t see him. “Wouldn’t someone else be better suited?”

Wait, was this about the promotion? Why was this a nightmare?

“Reyes has been assigned his own task. He insisted we ask you.”

That was a lie. He didn’t know about this at all until Jack brought it up. Did those bastards lie to him? To make him take the job?

The pressure got worse by the second. Gabriel was having trouble breathing but he kept hanging on.

Don’t let go.

“I’m not a leader.” Jack said. The wall of shadowed faces faded out. “Hey! No! I’m not-”

Everything was dark. A low growl cut through the silence and Gabriel could feel fear rising up his spine. He tried to call out but his chest hurt. His muscles could barely move under the gravity around him.

“You’re no leader.” A voice taunted. “You’re a dog. You follow. You obey. You’re incapable on your own.”

Gabriel wished he could tell them to shut the hell up. He wished, but his lungs weren’t even working now. Any more of this and he swore his legs would break.

“Everything special about you came from someone else.”

It felt like the voice was talking to him now.

“You can’t carry that weight.”

“You’ll just let them down.”

His chest burned from the lack of air. He wondered if his vision was going spotty but there was still nothing but black.

Then he saw something, two red dots fading in. A line of sharp white teeth followed, shaped into a snarl.

Don’t let go.

He wouldn’t. He didn’t dare. Not now. Not ever.

The image in front of him was going hazy. He swore he felt his ribs cracking.

“Gabriel.” Whitefang’s voice was distant, muffled. “Gabriel!”

The creature in front of him lunged.

The second after his eyes flew open he gasped for air. He sat up so fast that his vision turned into nothing but spots. The pressure vanished but his muscles still echoed the pain. He kept on breathing, begging the dizziness to pass.

No. Jack.

Gabriel swore as he turned to his partner. Jack was still asleep, eyebrows pressed together and showing his fangs.

Gabriel knew one wrong move could result in those sinking into his arm.

Didn’t matter. He gently touched Jack’s face, feeling him flinch.

“Wake up, mi luna. It’s a dream. I’m right here.”

Soothing words had little effect. A whimper escaped Jack’s throat.

“Jack.” He called louder. This time the fire in his palms worked and he ran his thumb over Jack’s cheek.

Finally Jack opened his eyes, startled. Gabriel gave him a moment to glance around, not moving his hands.

“You’re safe, mi luna.”

“Gabe?” Jack sputtered. “The hell happened?”

“Nightmare dragged you in.”

Jack’s breathing slowed down but only so much. He ran a hand over his face, flinching when he touched fangs.

“Were you dreaming about your promotion?”

Jack went cold under his fingers. “How did you know?”

“I saw it.”

“Shit, shit, I’m sorry Gabe.”

“Jack.”

“I didn’t mean for you to get wrapped into that.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jack blinked and finally looked at him. “What?”

“That pressure Jack. I thought it was just me, that being in your head was messing with me, but it was you.” He paused, running over the rest of the events that occurred. “Is that what I was feeling when I got there?”

“Gabe.”

“Was your wolf covering for you?”

Jack cringed and looked away.

He resumed the soothing motions of his thumb. “Jackie please, talk to me. What’s going on?”

It was a long, painful silence. Jack’s eyes stayed fixed on the hotel nightstand. With everything so quiet, Gabriel realized it was raining outside.

“They should have chosen someone else to be strike commander.” Jack’s eyes looked so lost.

“Huh? Come on Jack, you know that’s not true.”

A cold, icy glare was the response to that. Jack shot up, forcing Gabriel to let go.

“Isn’t it? I can’t begin to think of a good reason for them to choose me. You know it’s probably PR or something. You would do far better. Ana would.”

“Hey,” Gabriel grabbed his shoulders. “Jack, you earned this.”

“That’s a lie.”

“No it’s not.”

“Yes it is,” The fangs were back. “I’ve been riding your coat tail since day one. All the plans, strategies, final decisions, they were all yours. You’re the one who put an end to this. Why wouldn’t they choose you?”

“Because I didn’t do it alone. I couldn’t have done it alone. You won’t have to either.”

“That’s a lie.”

Gabriel pressed his anger back. “The hell? Ana’s here. Torb’s here. Reinhardt’s here.”

“But you won’t be.”

He froze. The sparks under his skin sputtered out. “What?”

“Blackwatch HQ is set to be in another country, Gabe.” Jack rolled his shoulders but stopped when he realized that Gabriel wasn’t going to let go. “You’ll be there. Somewhere else.”

“We have phones you know.”

His sarcastic remark was met with a glare. “But you won’t be here. You won’t be watching my back.”

Gabriel though about that lonely and empty sensation from earlier. So this is where it was coming from.

“Besides, Blackwatch? Why would they put you there of all places.”

“Huh?”

“You’re a healer, Gabe.” Jack reached up and took both of his hands. “You’re meant to be saving lives.”

“And you’re not?”

He didn’t like the silence that followed that question.

“You’re not just some attack dog, Jack.”

His partner’s gaze shot up, wide and fearful.

“You’re not. And if anyone says otherwise bring them to me.”

“I’m not a leader, Gabe.”

“That’s a lie.” He used Jack’s words.

“No it’s not. I can’t make those big decisions. I don’t know how they expect me to make them for everyone else.”

Pressure. Yet again, Jack was trying to carry it all on his shoulders, as if he had to.

Gabriel took a deep breath, pulling his hands back before shoving Jack onto the bed. Before his partner could get up he pinned him down, hands on his cheeks.

“Jack, listen to me, okay?”

He seemed taken aback by something when he nodded.

“You earned this. I know you might not think so because you’re looking at everything from the wrong angle, but you did. Plans? Tactics? Strategies? It’s all good to have, but that’s shit you can learn, shit you’ve been learning. You know what I can’t teach? I can’t teach a man how to calm down a group of frightened kids with one joke. I can’t teach a man to be so selfless he charges out on a slim chance he could save someone. Shit, Jack, I learned that from you.”

“That was reckless and stupid.” Jack tried to look away, but Gabriel shook his head.

“Yes, yes it was, but it doesn’t matter when it manages to save that many lives. ‘Stick to the plan’ is great in theory, but bad in practice. Plans go to shit left and right. Nothing wrong with breaking the rules and making new ones in order to save someone.”

“But Gabe–”

“But what? I’m not done. Your instincts are sharper than you realize. Wolf or not you always made sure people on the team were safe. Not once was I ever stressed about back-up when you were around. You always had my back, and Ana’s, and Reinhardt’s despite how much he’d go on and on about shielding us.”

“Come on, anyone would do that for their teammates.”

“Yeah, but you’d do it for anyone Jack. You’re the one who first said we should cease firing on the omnics after the god program was dead. You’re the one who pointed out they were non-hostiles. Sure, I may have stopped the omnic crisis, but you’re the one who turned the whole thing on its head.”

Jack was blushing now, that shade of pink running from his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

“I put you as second in command because I knew what you were capable of Jackie. I saw what you could do in SEP. I knew you’d be more than capable. You keep saying you can’t do this without me but I couldn’t have done it without you either. Maybe I had the plans, but you’re the one who put fire into everyone’s souls. I’ve never been good at speeches, but you? I could leave you alone with a group of jet lagged soldiers and suddenly they’d be rioting to get out there and get to work. You inspire people Jack. That’s why I figured they chose you. That’s why I knew they chose right because that’s what the world needs now. They don’t just need a tactician, they need inspiration.”

Jack’s eyes shown with tears before he blinked them away. That blush had crawled down his neck all the way to his shoulders and god damn Gabriel loved it.

“I don’t know if I can do this.” His voice cracked.

“You can.”

“I’m scared.”

“That’s okay.” Gabriel pressed their foreheads together and pulled him close enough that he could feel Jack’s eyelashes brush over his skin. “But are you going to face that head on? Or run away.”

Jack chuckled, a hand running over the back of Gabriel’s neck. “If I’m honest, I thought about it once. I thought about just you and me, getting out of here, finding a place of our own. Letting someone else take over. Then I realized how selfish that sounded.”

“Mi luna, you’re only human. It’s about time you stopped trying to make yourself so much bigger than you really are. That kind of pressure’s going to kill you.”

“I know,” His smile widened. “You’ve told me a hundred times.”

“Then listen,” Gabriel bumped their heads together before they both started laughing. He enjoyed the sound, enjoyed it mixing in with the soft rain outside, but something was missing.

“What time is it?” He asked as he sat up.

Jack seemed to pout from the lack of contact but looked over at the clock. “Twelve after two.”

“Guess we should sleep more.” Gabriel stood up and wandered over to the hotel window. He thought about throwing the drapes open but knew that the media would have a field day if they caught them both in here. Instead he nudged it to the side as he messed with the window latch. The window only opened so far and he let out a frustrated growl as he considered just breaking it.

Still, it was enough, he could smell the rain by now as the cool air blew in. He rested his head against it for a moment, feeling the cold glass as he shut his eyes. He imagined they were somewhere else.

“Gabe?”

Jack was sitting up now, frowning. His eyes were doing that glowing thing again. It might be creepy if Gabriel wasn’t so used to it by now.

He couldn’t help his smile, crossing the room in a heartbeat. The moment he could reach Jack he pulled him into a kiss, feeling that late night stubble scratch against his skin. He smiled, unable to stop his giggling which made it much harder to give Jack a proper kiss. Soon his partner was laughing as well, rubbing their noses together instead as the pair of them collapsed back onto the bed.

“Te amo, Jackie. Mi luna. Mi amor.”

“Love you too, Gabi.” He chimed out the nickname. “Sunshine. Light of my life.”

“You’re so freaking gay.”

“Excuse me,” Jack’s laughter became louder. “But I’m the bisexual. You’re the gay one.”

“After what you just said? Are you sure?”

“That’s rich coming from the guy who literally wrote an entire song about my eyes.”

“You make blue look good, okay?”

“Gay.”

Gabriel grabbed his pillow and lightly smacked Jack in the face. His partner didn’t hesitate to retaliate with a much harder hit. The fight was on, Gabe already tossing the sheets over Jack’s face to block his vision. Gabriel smacked him again, but didn’t see the hit coming in on his left. He grinned when he tackled Jack, trying to pin him down, but both of them hit the nightstand instead. The lamp on it wobbled for a moment before Gabriel’s arm shot out to catch it.

For a moment everything froze. Gabriel’s other hand held Jack up and away from falling onto the floor. His partner finally pulled the blanket off his face, studying what had just happened.

When their gazes met the laughter returned. Jack wrapped his arms around Gabriel’s neck, pulling himself back onto the bed.

“I hate thinking that we won’t be able to do this anymore.” His partner mumbled and tightened his grip.

“I know,” Gabriel had considered it too, but he refused to think it’d be the last chance they had. They’d get another one, someday, maybe something more permanent. “Do you really want to know what I was thinking about, watching that sunrise?”

“What?”

“This,” He pressed his face into Jack’s shoulder. “Us, somewhere else, no PR or anything. Sometime in the early morning, but it’s raining out. Window’s open, smells like dew and rainwater. Maybe I’m humming a song while you read or maybe we’re dozing off again, I don’t know. Doesn’t really matter what we do. We’ve got nowhere to be.”

“Gabe.”

“Hm?”

He felt something sharp brush against his neck. “I kind of... don’t want to sleep now.”

“Whoa,” His whole face went hot. “Slow down there. Gotta get some towels first. I am not explaining to the hotel staff why there’s god damn blood all over their pillows.”

“Better be quick,” Jack very lightly bit down on his skin. “You don’t get to say something that poetic and run off.”

“Fine, but you have to get off me first.”

Jack just hummed before he bit down a bit harder, running his tongue over it. Gabriel couldn’t stop the noise that escaped his throat and frowned when he felt Jack laughing against his skin.

“Jackass.”

“Asshole.”

#overwatch #reaper76 #Spirit!AU #scribbly fics #this is like the gayest thing I've ever written #and that's saying a lot

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