#drew this few days ago while waiting for the ink to dry | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

running-with-kn1ves · 1 year

Note

Can you make something for a yandere masochist? Smut please

A/N: Working on all the reqs in my inbox, I just don't have much time to write! No pressure but donations always help if yall want your requests written faster!

CW: Noncon/Dubcon, yandere themes, kidnapping, threats, Sub! Masochistic yandere, aggressive-ish reader, NSFW

Synopsis: You find yourself kidnapped by your shy boyfriend who claims he's going to "take care of you."

Word Count: 3000 -- Tags ^^: @moonlight-melanin

If someone had told you that your meek nerd of a boyfriend would be the one to ever kidnap you, you probably would have laughed in their face. Your boyfriend who trips over every sidewalk crack? Your boyfriend who needs your help opening a water bottle? Your boyfriend, who begs for you to wrap your hand around his neck and worships the ground you walk on, no matter how hard you protest?

No way in hell.

Except, the utter blasphemy that was such an idea, was true. It was only a few nights ago that you found yourself bound by your hands and feet to a familiar bed. Your boyfriend, Rex, vaguely explained that he was "protecting you", and "keeping you away from bad people!”

You came to the conclusion that the harm that he was supposedly protecting you from, was most likely your overly friendly coworkers and demanding job. Who knew a 9 to 5 could be so dangerous? Clearly your boyfriend. However, his ridiculous behavior didn’t falter no matter how many times you tried to convince him, no matter how many threats or bribes you threw his way.

Sometimes he’d be nearly swayed, but something in his mind always snapped back, telling you that its alright if you despise him, if you follow out with your threats; as long, as he got to keep you safe.

For how obedient and eager to please he was, you never realized how stubborn he could be. But unfortunately for what he had in stubbornness, he lacked in wit and authority. He always fell into your hands when it came to you offering physical affection as a secretive ploy to try and escape; not to mention, he wasn’t very good at keeping his hostages tied up.

By the third night of your capture, you managed to slip your moist hands out of the loose, steel handcuffs. Digging an old pen into the large hole of the chain cuff wrapped around your ankle, you wiggled it around to find that sweet spot that would release you. You were grateful for being able to reach the bedside drawer, finding a multitude of tools within it that helped you including the pen that was once yours, and some lotion that made your palms slick enough to slip out of the handcuffs. While you were grateful for their presence nearby, you didn’t want to know why they were close to the bed in the first place.

You continued to roughly wiggle the pen, not hearing any clicks or cracks within the lock that would signify your release. The chain around your ankle wouldn't budge at all. At some point along the way with all your jamming of it into the lock’s hole, the pen got stuck.

“No no no,” You whispered, trying to tug the pen out. You pulled as hard as you could, to no avail as ink began to stain your fingers.

Well, your kidnapper would certainly notice that.

You looked around, feeling incredibly anxious now that you were only halfway free, aware that it'd be unlikely that you got to keep this little escape trial to yourself. Though, the freedom of your hands made you feel more powerful than you had in days.

But the quick and excited footsteps outside of the bedroom door made your stomach sink. They drew closer, only stopping to fill the silence with a rapid knock to the door. Beads of sweat rolled down your neck as your dry mouth swallowed; with shaking fingers, you covered up your hands and feet under the bed comforter.

‘Just keep them under the blanket, and he won’t notice…’

The door opened shortly after the knock, not waiting for you to respond. In came your Rex, your boyfriend-slash-kidnapper. He clammed up with a tenseness as you scowled. You brought back your signature glare that you looked at him with during the days of your capture; he seemed to shrink into himself as you didn't break eye contact.

"Did… you like dinner? He asked, looking at your plate on the bedside table. Eyeing the plate with a frown, Rex shut the door behind him. He walked closer to your place on the bed, inspecting the plate.

"You've hardly eaten anything since…"

"Since you kidnapped me?"

He went silent. Avoiding your judgemental stare.

"You know I'm just trying to keep you safe…" He said meekly, not fond of your cold behavior.

"I don't want to talk, Rex. Just leave." You snarl.

Folding your arms you turn away and focus your attention on the setting sun outside the window, reminding you that once again you'll be here for another night… another day here when you wake up.

Rex sits down on the bed next to you, his mop of curly black hair covering his desperate face. He wouldn't be able to take it if you played the silent treatment with him-- even when you were angry like this, he'd rather suffer your wrath than hear the empty silence of his endless thoughts, keeping your sweet lips shut so tightly.

"Please," he gripped the blankets atop your legs, trying to find a place to touch you. "I'm just doing what a boyfriend should do, don’t you get that? Why can't you understand me?"

You continued to stay silent, hearing Rex gulp as he realized you were serious in keeping your mouth shut.

He began to grow antsy… there was a feeling of isolation in how he couldn't see all of your face as you kept your gaze to the window, how he couldn't even hold your hand or see your body beneath the mass of blanket.

"Come on, don’t be like that…”

Rex rolled his tongue over his teeth, gripping harder onto the sheets. His hand shakes as it reaches for yours, desperately hoping you wouldn’t tug away.

Once he feels your arm go limp, he wastes no time in bringing it up to his cheek, hoping to feel some sort of warmth from you. Rex presses his cheek into your fingers, finding a sliver of relief in how warm and tender you feel against him. He’s hardly had the luxury of such affection since you were huddled up in his apartment.

You don’t dare to look at the man, debating whether interrupting him or continuing to let him nuzzle would alert him faster on the fact that your handcuffs were gone.

You didn’t have much time to think when you suddenly felt him go still, a newfound grip on your hand. He squeezed with thick fingers, the lovelust gone from his touch.

You turn to look at Rex, finding that you could not see his eyes beneath his hair and shadowed glasses. He shifted from crushing your fingers to choking your wrist, panic setting into your body.

Rex looked up, far more quiet than you were expecting. You began to twist your arm, trying to pull it away as he bore into you. You knew the guy was odd when you first started dating, and was clearly deranged after this kidnapping fiasco-- but you never saw it clearer until now. His eyes seemed to sink into his skin as his face drained of all color. He looked almost sick, like someone hungry to hurt without any remorse. Rex’s blunt nails dug into your skin as you started to tug away roughly; his hunched body was like a feral animal ready to strike.

Seeing as he already found out about your escape attempt, you decided it wasn’t worth wasting this chance. Maybe you could knock him down a few before he managed to get you chained up again, giving you more time before he did who knows what.

“These arms are awfully bare.” His monotonous voice uttered.

Rex pressed on the bruises on your wrist of where the handcuffs dug into, his eyes glazing over as you grunted in pain. Still, you fought. You brought your other arm to try and pull off his fingers, only for Rex to shift on the bed and force himself upon you. His sharp knees dug into the sides of your thighs, pulling your other arm off of him as he laid them both beside your head, against the pillows. For being quite frail and shy, he had far more strength in his desperation than you expected. You could see that he was giving his all, only tearing up momentarily when your fingers scratch him or your elbow rams into his nose.

Within the tussle Rex managed to find the handcuffs, of which you only hid underneath the blankets beside you. Every time you tried to heighten your knees to push him off, Rex pressed deeper, bruising your skin and making you bite your lip in frustration and pain. His loose clothes and your mess of blankets made it hard to find a grip in pushing him off.

Rex pulled the cuffs up, shakily and forcefully wrapping them upon your wrists. Pulling them over the bedpost, he watched as you struggled to get out of them. But he didn’t look down at you with a smirk or a sadistic grin-- Instead, it appeared to be relief.

Your boyfriend lowered himself to your chest as he went limp, his previous expression void of emotion except for stunned shock, shifted to a tired, nervous frown.

“I-I don’t do this because I want to, you know.” You burn holes into him with your glare, straining to pull the cuff chain over the bedpost as Rex sat on your torso. “You don’t give me a choice!”

His loose shirt showed the front of his collarbones and the elongated muscles in his neck, the male gulping as he looked guiltily down at your chest. You were sweating from the fear and strain against the tightened metal binds.

“Fuck off.” You grunt, continuing to tug and pull away from your tethers.

Rex seemed to get antsy at watching you try to struggle and claw at him. His hips twitched as he moved to sit on your legs, trying to keep you from kicking him off.

“But…If you keep pulling like that, your bruises will only get worse.”

“I don’t give a shit.” You snapped, hardly letting him finish. Spitting towards him you continued to fight; that only seemed to spur Rex on.

He wiggled against your hips, looking down away from you in embarrassment. the male beginning to hold your knees down, his legs wrapped around your left thigh.

“I’m just trying to do what’s best for us…” He huffed, laying his head down on your chest, and holding onto you.

“Rex!” You shout angrily at his innaction, trying to knee him as you pushed away from the headboard.

“I know, I know!” You could feel the hardness inbetween his legs press against your thigh. “You can hate me if you want, can hurt me if it makes you feel better,” He meekly bit his lip with a little grunt, hesitating for a moment before he pushed his hips against your thigh. “But I can’t let you leave.”

Seeing as your struggle didn’t impede his movements, Rex slowly rocked himself against you to apply pressure. He relished in how your knee came up to grace his crotch in a stinging pleasure. You may have done it in an attempt to push him off, but all it managed to do was further Rex’s desire for your brashness, and you.

“I’m yours…” He huffed, pushing his face into the warmth of your chest. His crotch aligned with your hip, adding a new sensation as he humped like a touch-starved, horny animal. “Im yours, I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours I’m--ngh--”

Rex bit the collar of your shirt to stop from crying out, his moan muffled into your body as he rocked at a rhythm. In a mix of huffs he lifted his head to search for your eyes and lips. He reached up to collide his lips with yours, pressing his knee between your legs, spreading them just gently. His hands traveled down your chest slowly, hesitantly. He was always waiting for your next move, always soaking in every touch and taste of you that he could.

You pushed against his lips, turning and ripping your mouth away.

“I know you want to leave, but maybe I can change your mind,” He looked at you with lovestruck eyes, a growing pleasure within them. “Maybe make you feel good. I’m atleast good at that, right?” He shyly palmed at your crotch, determined and eager to make you cry out in the same desire he was swelling in.

He just wanted your eyes to be on him.

Rex continued to grind himself deeper into your upper thigh, wrapping his legs around your side. He released a little pant while traveling cold fingers down your chest, pulling up your shirt to expose your stomach. Reaching between your legs, he licked his lips in anticipation, cupping your sex with his hand ever so gently.

Shutting his lips he tried to suppress his evident moans, pushing his lips against yours as he begged for an ounce of affection. You in turn, bit his bottom lip in retaliation, pressing up against to get a good clench on his mouth. You hoped it’d be enough to get him off of you, but instead Rex pressed harder, grunting in pained pleasure as he welcomed the ache. The taste of blood was left in your mouth, Rex still leaving sloppy kisses along your nipping lips, drooling as he pushed his slick tongue in your mouth, rubbing it against yours. His glasses seemed to shift downward, making him look even more of a mess.

Even as you pulled at his hair from your restraint position, Rex let out a surprised yelping groan, humping harder into your leg at the newfound pain.

“Please, I promise to be good…” He begs between wet, one-sided kisses. “ I’ll do whatever you w…want…!” Rex hieghtened his voice with a desperate groan, showing he was close to his climax.

His frenzied pleas showed the familiar side of the boyfriend you remembered before he kidnapped you: quiet, clingy, and too infatuated for his own good.

You could feel a wet spot of leaked pre-cum on your thigh, Rex’s hand delving under your now unbuttoned pants.

He was quick to palm your crotch from beneath your underwear, gripping and massaging as he chased his own high, fixated on your scrunched up expression.

His slightly open mouth drooled against your shirt as he looked up at you, desperate for you to reciprocate some kind of affection or attention.

Rex’s expression showed he was completely enamored in the moment, with glazed over eyes and a eagerness in his thrusts as his mind solely focused on the pleasure between his weak thighs and getting something-- anything, from you.

“You’re disgusting.” You say bitterly, grabbing Rex’s hair in another attempt to get him off of you and ruin his high. However, that did neither.

Rex looked even more turned on, letting out painful moans at feeling you tug multiple times.

“Yes.. hah, please-- use me, do what you want--” You bit down on his shoulder as he pressed the rest of his weight down on you, leaning up to the feeling of your fingers tug. “I love you, ‘love you so much..”

You demand him to look at you with a tug of his black curls, a small line of blood staining your lips from the hard bite you gave.

Rex obeyed with pleasure-drunken fervor, drawing the end of his high as he witnessed his blood in your mouth.

A part of him would always be inside you.

Rex buried his head into your neck as he orgasmed, thrusting hard up against your leg like a rabbit during mating season. Letting out a continuation of unabashed moans, his teeth bit your T-shirt as cum spilled from his release.

In the moment, Rex had sped up his movements in pleasuring you, digging beneath your underwear to feel the heat of your sex against his hand, leaving you quite dazed yourself, You managed to hid your reaction quite well as Rex was too focused to notice, but now that seemed to shift as he began to relax.

Rex’s pulsing touch on your crotch slowled as his breathing regulated. Though it became more difficult for you to keep your mouth shut and your face straight as he repeatedly put his thumb against the right set of nerves.

Your boyfriend’s breath steadied as he watched you release a hitched sigh from your mouth, enjoying the way you looked at him with a dazed glare. Covered in sweat and cum, he was beginning to come down from the high he ached to feel once again.

“Oh…I’m sorry,” He panted, face flushed and glasses falling to the tip of his nose. “ Was s’pposed to be convincing you, but I got ahead of myself…”

Rex swallowed, adjusting his glasses with the tips of his finger. The male began to quickly fondle beneath your jeans once again, ignoring how you still pushed against the headboard and cried out in frustration. He was slow at first, trying to regain the rhythm; it didn’t take long for him to find that tempo that made your knees weak.

You felt a numbed pleasure stir between your thighs against your will, trying to toss and turn to make it go away.

But Rex held you still, planting his weight down on your chest and stroking your heat with skill. He had touched himself so many times to pictures and thoughts of you, but he never imagined this. Even as you scrunched up your face in frustration and annoyance, he saw your teeth scrape at your lip, your hips twitching and your groans drawing out longer than before.

You desperately clawed at your restraints, avoiding Rex’s hot and heavy stare, of which was so entranced in watching your sweet face change every time a wave of pleasure overcame you. You felt so defeated in the fact that he could tell you were feeling the effects of his touch, how you weren’t completely focused on the idea of escape anymore.

“M’gonna make you feel so good,” Rex grinned, hazed with the afterglow of his pleasureful release and soaking up the look of undesired arousal in your eyes.

“Just promise not to give your pleasure, your pain, to anyone else…”

5K notes · View notes

starlessea · 3 years

Text

Eye For Detail (Daryl Dixon/Reader)

Sequel to Sketchbook Confessions

Summary: You try to sketch Daryl in return. Except, you draw his smile a little crooked, and the eyes are wonky... And Daryl completely loves it.

Words: 2490

Warnings: Language.

The courtyard was still and quiet, free from the dinner-time rowdiness going on behind prison walls. Well, it was almost quiet; Daryl's scribbling over paper sounded out faintly beside you, as you watched him work. At first, he'd been opposed to the idea of company, but after a while it has become almost like a weekly tradition - in which you'd both bask in the comfortable silence together. You'd even started to bring your own notepad, in your attempts to learn how to sketch from the man.

At first, your drawings were anything but good. Sometimes, even you couldn't tell whether you'd drawn a landscape or a strange, abstract fruit bowl. Yet, Daryl was a good teacher. Where he lacked patience normally, it seemed like he had ample to spare with you. He'd shown you how to use the different charcoals, and had even come back with more art supplies after his latest run.

It was coming up to dusk, and the sky was a brilliant mix of blue and grey hues. There were clouds gathering overhead, too, and you wondered whether there was a storm brewing behind them. Your notepad remained closed over your lap, since you still hadn't gathered the confidence to open it yet. Daryl hadn't noticed, however - too absorbed in his own work to pick up on the way you tentatively thumbed over the spine of your book.

"I tried to draw a person the other day," you finally admitted, "I don't know how you do it."

Daryl stopped what he was doing, rubbing circular motions over the paper to try and blend out his charcoal lines. He looked over at you, and you laughed gently at the black fingerprints littering his cheeks.

"Who was it?" he mumbled, eyeing you as you gathered your sleeve over your hand.

You shuffled over to the man slightly, and used the material to wipe away the charcoal stains over his skin, feeling him squirm slightly beneath your touch as you did so.

"It was you," you told him, and finally he kept still.

His stare bore into you, and suddenly it felt as though you'd been set on fire. You regretted the words as they came out of your mouth, and edged away from Daryl as soon as you'd finished cleaning him up.

You cleared your throat, trying to think of an excuse you knew he wouldn't believe. You sighed, knowing it was no use.

"Well, it was a poor attempt at Daryl," you confessed, glancing down at your sketchbook sheepishly. "Maybe a Darren at best."

You'd expected him to laugh at your joke, but he didn't. Instead, he seemed intrigued. He closed his own notepad, and you worried about whether the charcoal would smudge.

"Show me." Daryl said softly, his eyes flickering over to your lap.

You bit your lip, wiping off the cover of your sketchbook before opening it.

"Don't laugh," you warned him, shaking your head slightly.

You didn't think that he would, but you suddenly felt self-conscious. You'd drawn the portrait in your cell a few nights ago when you couldn't sleep - with the page illuminated by soft lamp-light. You remembered the feeling of the linen sheets beneath you as you sprawled out over your mattress, trying your best to shade the stubborn parts. You had tried - really you had. Except, you'd discovered that art came more naturally to some than others.

"Your eyes are crooked, and I drew your nose too big." you grimaced, settling your gaze over the portrait as you inspected its faults. "I'm sorry."

In natural lighting, it looked a lot worse than you had remembered. You tried to snap the book closed, but Daryl's palm prevented you from doing so. He was silent, and you watched his eyes slowly trail over the paper, taking in all of the details.

"Fine, you can laugh," you exclaimed, overwhelmed by his lack of response. "Okay, just say something-"

"Can I keep this?" Daryl interrupted, glancing up to meet your eyes.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no sound came out. It took a few seconds to comprehend his words, before you finally shook your head a little too quickly.

"No!" you cried, trying to snatch the book from his grasp. "I can draw you a better one."

Daryl didn't give up his grip, and only shook his head back at you in return.

"Nah, I wan' this one."

Any argument you had bubbling up was quickly quelled when you caught sight of his expression. He seemed deadly serious, and you felt your own fingers loosen over the sketchpad as a result. The man slipped it away from you, and brought the book onto his own lap, continuing to look over it.

"But it's bad," you retorted, weakly.

You knew you had lost at this point. You had learned your stubbornness from Daryl himself, after all. The man never was one to know when to back down.

The courtyard seemed a lot darker than it had only a few minutes ago. The clouds had gathered to be more dense and thick, and blocked out the remaining light left over from the setting sun. It would be hard to keep drawing like this, you thought - yet, Daryl seemed more preoccupied now.

"E'eryone gotta start somewhere" he told you, "an' I don' want ya to throw it out."

You watched as he trailed his charcoal-stained, calloused fingers along the page - careful not to leave any marks over the pristine, white paper. Even your sketchbooks looked worlds apart from one another. Yours was neat, each drawing labelled, and your lines clean; Daryl's was a collection of blackened fingerprints alongside scrawled handwriting, and the occasional crumpled page.

"Shoulda seen my first drawings," Daryl went on, looking out towards the field, and at the forest behind it. "Merle found one when I was a kid an' told me it was a shit donkey."

You cocked your head to the side, listening to him.

"Was meant to be superman," he explained, with an expression far too serious for his words.

You snorted, and the man whipped his head over to scowl at you.

"I'm sorry-" you choked out, not missing the way his lips quivered as they fought back a smile of his own. "I must have swallowed a bug."

Not long after that, the feeling in your gut turned out to be right. The storm clouds had finished gathering, and soon the first droplet of rain landed over your paper - smudging the line you'd just drawn. You glanced over at Daryl, but before he'd even had time to reply, the downpour started. It went from a single raindrop to a raging storm in a matter of seconds, leaving you both scrambling to collect the strewn sheets of paper and charcoal pieces trembling over the ground. With your supplies bundled up in your arms, the two of you ran towards the cellblock - yelling through the sounds of the rain along the way.

Once you had reached Daryl's cell, you were soaked through. The man had dragged you there since it was closer, but it hardly made a difference. Your shirt was stuck to your skin, and you were left clutching soggy handfuls of paper - bleeding ink over Daryl's stone floor. He helped you set down the supplies onto his desk, gathering up whatever was salvageable, and throwing the rest away. Luckily, most of the pastels and charcoals had been kept safe, but a lot of loose sheets had been sacrificed to the greater good in the process.

You laughed, taking in the sight of the man. His hair stuck damply to his forehead, and you watched as stray droplets ran over his cheeks. He quickly glanced around the room and retrieved one of his shirts, before offering it to you. You took it from him and smiled, waiting for Daryl to turn his back on you before starting to change.

"Looks like the weather had other plans," you noted, pulling the dry shirt over your head. "At least it washed away that god awful drawing I did of you."

You untucked your hair from the collar, and smoothed out the material over your body. Behind you, you heard the sound of a zip, and peered over your shoulder to see Daryl taking off his own leather jacket. As he did so, you noticed that he'd been concealing something beneath it, and squinted to try and make out what it was.

"Looks jus' fine to me," the man mumbled, holding up the dry piece of paper for you to see.

You scoffed; he'd stuffed your drawing there to keep it safe. You couldn't prevent the smile spreading over your face as you looked at him in disbelief. He gave you a teasing smirk back, before setting the picture carefully onto his desk with the others.

"Y'know," Daryl said quietly, "s'a lot easier to draw from real life."

You glanced over at your drawing, knowing what he was getting at. You were acutely aware of its flaws, but you just didn't have the experience to know how to fix them yet.

"I know what you look like," you quipped back.

It was the truth. Perhaps you even knew a little too well.

"Mhm," he hummed back, before walking over to where you were standing.

You could tell from the tone of his voice that he didn't entirely believe you. One of the first things he'd taught you was that there could never truly be a good enough replacement for the real thing. Though, you had to disagree. You felt like you knew exactly how Daryl Dixon looked - you just couldn't translate it to paper.

The man stopped directly in front of you, so close that you could see his chest rising and falling. He lifted one hand slowly, tentatively even, so that you didn't get scared by his actions. Then, he hovered his palm gently over your eyelids, flicking them shut so that your world went dark.

"What colour are m'eyes?" he asked.

His hand was cold over your face, from where the rain had soaked his skin. You knew that he was trying to teach you a lesson, but you thought that perhaps you'd use the opportunity to teach him one back.

"Blue," you answered, without hesitation.

You desperately wanted to see the man's expression, but all you could do was imagine it.

"An' what-" Daryl continued, but you cut him off.

"A greyish blue," you went on, not entirely satisfied with your answer. "Like the colour of the sky before a storm."

Daryl removed his hand from over your eyes, but you kept them shut. Your fingertips brushed over the hem of his shirt that you were wearing, and you felt like you could picture the way it looked in your mind just from the texture of the material.

"Your hair is brown. The same shade as that desk near your bed," you told him, pointing in the direction you remembered it to be. "And it falls just above your neck, and is slightly curly at the ends." You laughed, considering your next words. "Especially just after you wash it."

Daryl remained silent, and you tried to picture the type of look he had in his eyes. You thought that perhaps you should stop, that you'd made your point clear - but you were in too deep to turn back now.

"And you have two moles," you said quietly - and wondered whether he had heard your voice tremble, too.

You reached out your hand slowly, trying to find the other man. Your palm made contact with his chest, and you let your fingertips trail up until you reached his neck, and then his face.

"One by your nose," you told him, resting your palm over his cheek, "and the other near your lip."

You tried to find it, but your thumb accidentally brushed over his lip, instead. Your heart jumped in your chest, and your eyes flickered open unintentionally.

"I'm sorry-" you blurted out, but the words tapered off as you noticed Daryl's stare.

The man stood perfectly still in front of you, letting your hand rest over his cold, damp skin. You quickly pulled away, glancing off to the side nervously. Though, the both of you knew that you'd gone too far to make any poor excuses now. You'd passed a boundary, but you couldn't say that you wanted to take a step back, either.

"Tha's one eye for detail ya got," Daryl said, after a few seconds had gone by.

You shook your head. "Only when it comes to you," you admitted.

Daryl looked off to the side, and then back, but you continued before he had the chance to interrupt.

"I know I'm not the best artist, but I wanted to show you how you look through my eyes, too."

Daryl raised his hand again, but this time it wasn't to block out your sight. Instead, he just rested his palm softly over your cheek - and despite how cold it was, you leant into his touch.

"Ya jus' did," he said, and gave you a small smile.

You could still hear the storm outside, as the occasional breeze whistled its way past the cracks of the cell block, or made the tree branches batter up against the windows. Sometimes, the draft even made those loose sheets flutter over the desk, in a kind of muffled, paper applause.

"Maybe I should just swap out pencils for words," you told the man. "They seem to do the job better."

He nodded in agreement, letting his hand drop back down to his side.

"Hey, Daryl?" you asked, but you already had his full attention.

"Mhm."

You decided to put your words into practice straight away, so that you wouldn't forget exactly how you felt in this moment.

"You mean a lot to me," you admitted, "in a way I don't think I'd ever be able to describe."

Daryl's eyes widened slightly, and you wished to have the talent to capture that expression with pencil and charcoal one day.

"But I still wanted to try," you finished, and waited for his response.

Except, Daryl wasn't a man of words - and he reminded you of that as he reached for his sketchbook. His fingers were still damp, and you watched as they left watery prints over the pages as he flicked through them. He finally stopped once he reached the last one, showing you his latest sketch.

It was stained with raindrops that hadn't dried yet, from where the storm had first broken out and Daryl hadn't reacted quick enough. Yet, even though it was a little smudged and wrinkled, you could still make out that it was you - from where you had been sitting right next to him in that courtyard.

The man set the book down so that the page remained open on his desk, and picked up the other loose-sheet drawing that you'd done of him - and placed them together.

"Me too," Daryl said.

And that was all you needed to hear.

Feedback is always welcomed; I love hearing what you all think - so feel free to comment, send in an ask, or just message me if you want to chat!

Also, here is my buy me a coffee! If you enjoy my writing, tips are always appreciated. Thank you for reading!

Send me a message if you want to be added or removed from the taglist!

A/N AHH. I just loved this 2 part story.

Tag List:

@xxboesefrauxx @youhavemyfantasticbeasts @teel-dinosaur @speakinglikeconstellations @bunnymother93 @alularae3 @death-becomes-her @royaleclown @alex-sulli @julesmalek @fuseburner @riverscyberwife @browneyes528 @julesclues @diaryofkali @solinarimoon @ssonia13 @phoenixblack89 @srhxpci @jocyc1997 @bvbwestfall @graniairish @bitchynicole @whitexwingedxdoves @potatochic2003 @suranne-doesstuff @witch-of-letters @sweatywildpanda @daryldixonstorm @btsiguess-kpop @dead-leviathan @reichelhache @thatmemechick @lokiswhqre @marylimlp @jodiereedus22 @shittyoudidntneedtoknow @fantaziescapade @abbyz28

327 notes · View notes

honey-dewey · 3 years

Text

Soulmate Imagines

Another short not drabbles but not full stories either! I was completely inspired by a post made by @absurdthirst and really really wanted to write the boys in these scenarios! So I completely ignored both of my active WIPS and wrote this instead. Oops? Enjoy these long and indulgent soulmate imagines!

Total Word Count: 5,179

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell @star-wars-hell

Din Djarin:

Soul Tattoo AU

“Shit!”

You hummed, turning your head over, vision fuzzy. Din was rushing around the Crest, and you could see red painting his beskar. Was he hurt? You tried to stand, and then it hit you. Oh. You were hurt.

“Din,” you rasped out, blinking as his fuzzy image came into more clarity.

Din looked at you, helmet trained on your face. “Cyar’ika,” he said, taking your cold hands. “How do you feel?”

“Like I got run over by a herd of Banthas,” you said, shifting and wincing. “What happened?”

“Bomb,” Din explained, gesturing to your torso, where you were wearing a thin robe and nothing else. “Hit your side. Patched you up best I could.”

You nodded, swallowing thickly. “Did it scar?”

Din hesitated. “Some of it will. Nothing on your back though.”

Relief flooded you. You had no idea why you were so worried about your soul tattoo, but you were. The beautiful star map to Aq Ventina spanned your entire back, from shoulders to tailbone, the sides creeping over your waist. You’d done research about Aq Ventina years ago, when the curiosity had finally peaked. You’d read up on the history and knew that it no longer existed, decimated by a droid attack decades before you’d even known it existed.

“It’s a beautiful tattoo,” Din said softly, out of nowhere.

“Thank you,” you said, looking at his helmet. “It’s my soul tattoo.”

Din nodded. “I figured.”

And that was the last it was spoken of for almost five months. The next time it was relevant was during a two day long bounty hunt, when Din left to shower and you sat in your shared inn room, cooing at Grogu.

The shower water turned off, and you heard Din drying off. Then he called your name.

“Yeah?”

“Come here.”

Worried, you stood and headed to the bathroom. “Din?”

“Come here.” His voice bordered on urgent, and you immediately shoved the door open.

You were met with Din, completely shirtless yet still wearing the helmet, in the bathroom, no urgent problem in sight. However, instead of being mad, you were focused entirely on the tattoo that spread across Din’s back.

It was identical to yours.

“Din?” Your voice was tiny, so apprehensive.

He sighed, looking at you and taking your hands. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier,” he said. “But Aq Ventina was my home, so you have to understand that it was odd and a bit painful seeing the star map on your back.”

You nodded. “We’re soulmates,” you breathed. “I didn’t even know you had a soul tattoo.”

Din chuckled. “It’s not like I expose much skin,” he reasoned.

That drew a laugh out of you. “Yeah. But still.” Your fingers danced over the exposed edge of the star map that crept over Din’s side. “Soulmates.”

Din nodded, resting his forehead against your head. “Soulmates,” he agreed. “But only if you’ll have me.”

You smiled. “As if I could ever say no.”

Marcus Moreno:

Color Soulmate AU

To say you were stressed was an understatement. A huge project for Heroics was cradled in your arms, all sorts of papers and binders and information you were carrying to the filing room to be sorted. The stack was tall, which was probably why you didn’t see your boss until you ran directly into him.

“Fuck!” You shouted as you fell on your back, folders going everywhere. Marcus Moreno, your boss, was toppled next to you, also swearing.

“I am so sorry!” You said hurriedly, scrambling to gather the papers, eyes focused on your task. “I really should’ve looked where I was going and-“ you looked up, shock killing your words.

Marcus’s eyes were brown. Very very brown.

You gasped, your task entirely forgotten. “Oh.”

Marcus was staring at you with just as much shock as you were staring at him with. “Oh,” he echoed.

Your fragile moment was shattered by the click of heels and another employee coming over to check on you, her voice frantic.

“We’re fine,” Marcus reassured, standing and dusting himself off. Without saying anything else, he walked quickly away.

Once all the files were secure, you headed back to your desk and pulled out a small box of crayons. You’d never seen color, not ever, so this would be interesting. At least it would be if your hands would stop shaking.

One of your coworkers, Matt, came up to you as you used a teal crayon, marveling at the color. “Oh? You met your soulmate?”

You nodded, looking up and noticing the vibrant purple color to Matt’s tie. “Yeah. Bumped into him in the hall. Literally.”

Matt grinned. “Who is it?”

You cringed, the embarrassment setting in. “Mr. Moreno.”

“Mr. Moreno?” Matt practically yelled. “He’s our boss!”

“Yeah, I know!” You retaliated, checking your clock and scrambling up. “Fuck! I gotta go, that huge meeting is in ten.”

Matt smiled. “Good luck!”

Despite Matt’s wishes, you were fairly certain the presentation was a disaster. Marcus was missing, which was odd, and you ended up tripping over your words and getting a huge migraine halfway through the presentation. After sheepishly explaining the scenario, you were told to go home and adjust, you could redo the presentation tomorrow.

Of course, tomorrow was just as bad. Marcus was actually present, wearing a yellow tie that kept distracting you and forcing your words out in a jumble.

After the train wreck of a presentation, you decided this was a situation that called for a large hot chocolate. Getting one and settling in the cafeteria, you sighed, swirling your drink with a spoon. You were a certifiable mess.

The creaking of the chair brought your attention back to planet earth, and you looked up, nearly choking on your spit. “Mr. Moreno!”

“Please, I think we should be on a first name basis,” Marcus said. “So.”

“So.”

Marcus tapped the table. “I’m sorry I ran off yesterday. I just, well, I haven’t seen color since my- Since Clara died.”

You nodded. “I understand if you don’t want this,” you murmured, looking back down at your drink. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Marcus asked. “No! I’m, well, a little excited.”

That shocked you. “Excited?”

“Yeah.” Marcus nodded. “Excited. Missy’s over the moon, of course.”

You grinned. “Thanks. Sorry I’m so nervous. I’ve never seen any of this before.”

“Really?” Marcus said. “Oh I definitely know what we’re doing first.”

“What?”

Marcus smiled, taking your hands. “You’re going to love sunsets.”

Max Phillips:

Black Mark Soulmate AU

“Oh no.”

You stared at your boss with nothing short of mild fear. Max fucking Phillips. There was no goddamn way. You’d known him very briefly in college, but this, this was unexpected.

He smiled at the employees, shaking hands as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

As if his right palm wasn’t the color of fresh stained ink.

He walked up to you, holding out his ink stained hand. You were hesitant to accept. After all, your right hand was equally black. But handshakes were common, very common among soulmate meets. Max Phillips was not your soulmate.

You were able to tell yourself that until the moment your hands touched, the blackness turning into a beautiful swirl of bright colors.

Max’s eyes widened as he looked at you. “Your hand.”

“Yours too,” you said, letting go of Max’s hand and letting him examine the watercolor of reds and purples that spread across his skin.

Max took a nervous breath. “No. Something must be wrong.”

You were shocked. “Max. Is it really that bad?”

“You don’t understand!” Max snapped, scaring you a tiny bit. He leaned closer, so you could see the devilish gleam in his eyes. “I have no soul.”

Your blood chilled as you saw the overly sharp teeth and the hint of red behind the deep brown in Max’s eyes. “Max.”

But he was gone, disappeared from right in front of you. Blinking a few times, you turned to your computer, determined to uncover the truth about your mysterious boss and the still tingling rainbow of colors on your palm.

Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales:

Countdown Soulmate AU

The countdown timer was surprisingly unnerving.

Actually, was it really that surprising? It was counting down to the most important day pretty much ever. Yours had always had years and years, much longer than any of your friends, but you didn’t mind. That was just more time to prepare.

Of course, when you woke up one day to find that the timer that had read seven months suddenly read twelve hours, you freaked the hell out. Taking deep breaths, you calmed yourself and got dressed, texting your best friend and asking him when he wanted you over for movie night. He responded with eight, and promised that you’d love his friends.

With one last deep breath and a glance around your apartment, you left for the day.

And ended up with a popped tire on the side of the road ten minutes before eight.

Screaming your frustration into the night darkened woods and frightening some poor birds, you sighed and called roadside service. An hour, at least, before they could get to you.

Your next call went to Benny, who you apologized to and told him you’d make it up to him.

Your final call was to no one. You simply sat back in your car and waited for roadside service while you tapped away at some mind numbing game you’d downloaded on a whim.

Headlights were visible in the distance not even ten minutes later, which shocked you and then worried you. Who the hell was out on this road this late at night? Were you about to be murdered? Who would find your body? Would Benny still hold true to his promise and wear a lime green tutu to your funeral?

The car stopped when it saw you, and your anxiety skyrocketed. You quickly texted Benny one last time and locked your car.

“Hey!” A few sharp knocks and a face in the window. “Do you need help?”

You were trembling, trying to keep a brave face. “Tire popped.”

“Oh.” The voice sounded genuinely worried. “That sucks. Where are you headed?”

“A friend’s house.”

“Did you call roadside?”

“An hour.”

“Oof. Hungry?”

“What?” You looked over, seeing the dimly lit silhouette of a man holding up what was probably a granola bar. “Yeah actually, I am.”

The man’s cheeks lit up, and you assumed he was smiling. “Well you’re gonna have to open up if you want it.”

You hesitantly cracked the door and watched the man step back. The car lights illuminated him fully, revealing a very attractive man holding a slightly squished granola bar.

Turning in the seat so that your legs were hanging out the car, you took the offered food, smiling as you ate. “Lord this is good! Thank you!”

The man shrugged. “No problem. I’m Frankie.”

You mumbled your name around the granola bar, and then froze as your wrist burned warm and then cold, a clattering alerting you to the fact that your timer had fallen off.

And from the look on Frankie’s face, so had his.

He looked back up at you, seemingly nervous. “So can I get in the car now? I promise I’m not a creep.”

You nodded, still slightly shocked as Frankie got into your car, sitting in the passenger seat. It was silent for a minute before you spoke. “So. Soulmates.”

“Soulmates,” Frankie agreed. “I’m glad I shared that granola bar with you.”

Your phone pinged, and you swore softly, answering Benny’s text and then rereading it. “Do you, by any chance, know a Benny Miller?”

“Yeah,” Frankie said. “I was headed to his place when I saw you.”

“Me too.” You showed him the text, which read ‘Dude! Be careful! My buddy Frankie’s coming along, so if you get attacked, he’ll totally protect you. Also, totally not wearing that tutu because you’re not dying first.’

Frankie smiled. “You’re in on the tutu thing too?”

You laughed. “Oh god! Not you too!”

“Yeah!” Frankie said, laughing along with you. “Benny totally already has it, y’know.”

You sighed. “Damn. That’s wild.”

The hour until roadside service arrived was filled with stories and bonding. After your car was towed, you got in Frankie’s truck and headed to Benny’s, arm in arm.

“Hey, Frankie found the murder victim!” Benny said happily, opening the door. “Oh shit, dudes I was starting to get worried about you.”

Frankie shook his head. “Actually, it couldn’t have played out better.”

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels:

First Words Soulmate AU

You sighed, taking a breath. Today you were meeting your baby brother’s coworkers at a work party. It wasn’t supposed to be so damn nerve wracking, but your stomach was a ball of anxiety. “Danny, are you sure about this?”

Danny, or as he was better known at work, Tequila, nodded. “Hell yeah, it’ll be fun.”

You tugged your bracelet, trying to cover the words winding across your wrist.

What’s a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?

The Statesman Fourth of July party was apparently a big deal. There were sure as hell a lot of people. You stuck by Danny’s side, smiling at his coworkers and eventually sitting with a woman named Ginger. She was nice, and when Danny wandered off to flirt with someone, she stayed with you, giving you names to attach to faces.

“Oh, and that’s Jack,” she said, pointing to someone talking to Champ. “One of the longest lasting agents we have.”

You eyed Jack. He was handsome, especially with that cowboy hat. He must’ve noticed your staring, because he wandered over and sat down at the table.

“So, what’s a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?”

You took a breath, gripping the hem of your shorts and trying to think without looking awkward. A thousand responses rushed through your head, and you finally picked one you hoped wasn’t weird. “I dunno cowboy, why do you ask?”

Jack recoiled as if he’d just had ice water poured on his head. Ginger stood, shocked as Jack ran away. “What just happened?”

You were nearly speechless, tears starting to well up. “I think my soulmate just ran away from me.”

After a good long crying session in which you sobbed openly into Danny’s jacket and he vowed to absolutely murder Jack, Ginger gently explained Jack’s past with his previous soulmate. Which sent you into another round of crying and made Danny even more pissed.

He ended up taking you home early to watch shitty movies and eat tons of ice cream, comforting you as you numbly ate half a pint of Ben and Jerry’s on the couch.

When he left for work the next day, you made him swear not to hurt Jack.

You got a call from Ginger two hours later telling you to come pick Danny up.

Marching into Statesman again, you found Ginger at the entrance, lips pressed tight. She led you to the infirmary, where Danny was proudly sporting a black eye and a split lip. Jack was laying in a bed next to him, pressing ice to his cheek.

“Control your fucking brother!” He yelled as soon as he saw you, sitting up in the bed. “He nearly killed me!”

“Oh shut the fuck up!” You snapped back. “You best be glad I’m not petty, or else I’d have let him kill you.”

Jack was, wisely, silent as you helped Danny up and out of the building. Danny was also silent, but was definitely smug about it.

“Y’know I totally won that fight,” he said as you exited the building.

You sighed. “Sure. Whatever. Let’s go home.”

The next day, you got a call from an unknown number.

“This is Jack,” the voice on the other end said when you picked up. “I’m calling to apologize for beating your brother up.”

“Apparently he won the fight.”

Jack snorted. “Sure he did. Look, I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted.”

A pause. “Cool. See you around.”

“Yeah. See you.”

He hung up first, leaving you with a dead hole in your chest. When you would see that cowboy again, you didn’t know, but when you did, oh boy was he in for it from you.

Ezra:

Pain Sharing Soulmate AU

You were screaming.

Well, screaming may not have been the word to describe the feeling. No, the agony in your right arm was numbing pain, the kind of pain that brought out animalistic noises and made spots dance across your vision. You writhed on the floor, clutching your upper arm and begging someone, anyone, to make the pain stop. A few nurses you worked with tried to dose you with painkillers, but nothing could touch soulmate pain.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, the pain began to fade. You’d had some aches in that arm after a stab that was really painful and you’d assumed some kind of injury that your soulmate had sustained was being treated. But that, that harsh, indescribable pain that had you sweating and panting on the floor with your head spinning, you had no explanation for that.

After that, the nurses set you up in the break room with fluids and a light snack. Your right arm still hurt like hell, but it was manageable now. As time passed, the pain passed, until it was no more than a dull ache once more, with some odd numbness that lingered in your fingertips.

Of course, on the day you decided to try working for a few hours, your soulmate went and got himself fatally injured again.

Gasping and falling sideways, you gritted your teeth through a scream as your gut lit on fire, as if someone had driven a knife into your belly. It was the second time in three days that your soulmate had put you through this. What the hell was he doing?

Yet again, you were put in a room to wait out the pain, probably scaring patients with your sobs and pleads for any merciful god to put you out of your misery. This pain refused to fade, and you completely missed the wail of emergency sirens as a new patient in critical condition arrived.

Eventually, finally, the pain forced you unconscious.

You woke a few days later, breathing deeply as you realized you weren’t in any pain. The faint voice of a doctor met your ears as you slowly regained your senses.

“We’re all shocked they survived. With pain like that, I surely wouldn’t have been as strong as they were. First it was their arm, and then their stomach. We still don’t really know what happened.”

The doctor turned to you, and smiled when he noticed your open eyes. “Finally, you’re awake. We have someone who wants to talk to you.”

You grumbled, trying to string together the past few days. “What?”

The doctor gestured to a man sitting in the other bed in the room. “This is Ezra, our critical patient from a few days ago.”

“I was too busy being stabbed in the stomach to notice any crit patients,” you pointed out.

“Yes, well,” the doctor said with a smile. “He may have some answers for you.”

You sat up, rubbing your aching head and facing the other man in the room.

He looked like hell, face sunken and shining with post injury sweat. You reasoned that you probably didn’t look much better. But the interesting thing about the man was his bandage wrapped right arm. Or more accurately, his lack of an arm that was wrapped in bandages.

“Hi Ezra,” you said slowly, rubbing your temples. “Is this my headache or yours?”

Ezra chuckled. “I think it’s yours,” he said. “I can’t feel any of my own pain right now.”

You sighed. “Doc, can I get some painkillers? I got a headache.”

The doctor nodded, grabbing a few pills, but you shook your head. “The good shit, please.”

Smiling, the doctor picked up a syringe and lifted your left arm, considering your right still felt a bit numb. “Countdown?”

“Nah.”

The doctor gave you the painkillers, and you watched Ezra wince at the pinch from the needle as it hit your skin. Laying back as the painkillers took effect, you sighed, looking at Ezra. “I’d love to stay and chat,” you murmured sleepily. “But this stuff works fast.”

Ezra smiled. “Don’t worry songbird,” he said. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

Javier Peña:

Soulmate’s Name on Wrist AU

“Get up! New client!”

You groaned, adjusting your top and trotting into the hall, standing with the group of women waving and giggling at the new client. He looked up at your group, a light grin on his face.

“He’s cute,” you said to the woman next to you.

She nodded. “He’s a regular at places like this,” she said. “Says his name’s Javier.”

You froze, the small name tattooed on the inside of your wrist practically burning. “Javier? He got a last name?”

“Not that he’ll share.”

In the end, you were Javier’s lucky victim, mostly because when he asked your name and you responded, his watch-covered wrist twitched. So he was your soulmate. Or at least you were his. He showed you bliss, paid you handsomely, and left without a word but with a spark.

Two weeks later, you ran into him again. You’d been in touch with a man at the US embassy about cartel stuff, mostly that the cartels had been reaching out to people like you and you wanted to stay safe, and the man had invited you to come over and give a statement. You were hesitant, of course, but the man looked kind enough, and the other employees knew him well enough that you felt secure.

“This is my partner, agent Peña,” the man said as he gestured you into a room. “But,” he said slowly, eyeing the bare name on your wrist. “I think you knew that already.”

“I did.”

Javier took a breath. “Can we get this done with?” He said, trying to sound annoyed but only succeeding at stressed.

Your statement was quiet and precise, and before you knew it, Javier was walking you out.

“Javier,” you tried.

“Don’t,” Javier growled. “Just go, forget you ever met me.”

“I can’t!” You all but yelled, grabbing his wrist so he couldn’t walk off. “I’ve been wearing your name since the day I was born, you think I can just forget all of that?”

Javier was quiet. “You think I want a soulmate?” He asked quietly, and you froze.

“I’m sorry?”

“No!” Javier growled, shaking his head. “I mean, fuck. This job, if they find out you’re connected to me, they’ll kill you.”

Your blood went cold, but you kept your composure. “Hate to break it to you,” you said, shoving Javier’s sleeve up and exposing your name written on his wrist. “But we’re already connected.”

From that day forward, you were under protection. You quit your job, moved reluctantly to an apartment that was secured by the embassy, and barely left the brand new apartment for anything. The war on drugs dragged on, and every so often, Javier would shuffle across the hall and find solace in your arms, always leaving before dawn.

One night, after a particularly hard day, you and him were tangled together on the couch, name wrists pressed against each other. Your skin burned and prickled at the intimate contact, but Javier was so lost he didn’t even notice.

“Javi?”

“Hm?”

You smoothed through his hair. “Will we ever be safe enough to be soulmates?”

Javier was quiet. “I don’t know.”

You sighed. “One day, I hope we will.”

Another long silence, and then Javier spoke up. “Me too.”

That morning, you woke up in his arms instead of in an empty bed, wondering exactly how life would shake out now that you had fallen in love with your soulmate.

Maxwell Lord:

Dream Sharing Soulmate AU

“I’m going to cry,” you groaned, pressing your head to the table. “He hasn’t slept in days.”

Your coworker, Ellie, sighed. “Hon, you just gotta keep trying. Go home, rest up. Get some sleep.”

You stood. Ellie was right. Just because Max wasn’t sleeping didn’t mean you had to punish yourself. You’d been going rounds with him for months, and it was really starting to weigh on your own sleep schedule. All you needed, all you wanted was to go home and sleep for days to correct your broken internal clock.

Your apartment was cold when you got back, and you quickly fiddled with the thermostat before stripping and falling into bed, cuddling up with the blankets and falling asleep almost immediately.

Just as with every night your soulmate didn’t sleep, you didn’t have a soul dream. Instead, you had your regular dreams, all nonsensical and silly. You woke up at one point to eat before falling back into bed, still exhausted.

This time, your dreams were different. You were in a soul dream, which meant he was finally sleeping.

“Max!”

No response as you ran around the elementary school, but you quickly skidded to a stop, seeing bullies mock a young boy for his lunch. That was your Max as a child, and you immediately rushed to his aide.

“Max.”

The real Max, the one who was asleep right now, looked at you with worry, finally tearing his eyes off the bullies. “You.”

“Me,” you said softly. “You need more sleep.”

Max shrugged. You knew who he was, after all, who didn’t? But the suave businessman you knew on TV was very different from the scared man you knew from your dreams. “Wasn’t tired.”

“For three days?” You asked. “Max, that isn’t healthy.” You felt a tug on your gut, a signal that your dream was starting. “C’mon.” You held a hand out, offering Max a reprieve. “My dreams are kind.”

He accepted, taking your hand as you led him to your dreams. In your subconscious reality, you were a child again, laughing and ice skating with your parents.

“Can you skate?” You asked Max, still holding his hand. He shook his head.

You smiled. “That’s okay, you can learn.” You snapped your fingers and skates appeared on both of your feet. “C’mon!”

Turned out, Max was an abysmal skater, but he was laughing by the time your bodies were ready to wake up.

“I don’t wanna go,” he admitted, and you grinned, squeezing his hands tight. “Can we do this again?”

“Tomorrow night,” you promised. “I’ll find you.”

For almost a month, you rescued Max from embarrassing or painful dreams, taking him to your more comforting dreams. Occasionally, he’d do the opposite for you when you had a nightmare, but you mostly spent the nights in your dreams, watching fireworks or going swimming. His darkest secrets were no longer secret, and he trusted you with everything.

“Y’know,” he said softly as you and him watched a Fourth of July fireworks show from when you were seven. “We could do this in real life.”

“We could,” you murmured, leaning closer to him. “The fourth is, what, next week? Doesn’t DC do a beautiful fireworks show?”

Max nodded. “We could make our first shared memory.”

You smiled. “We could,” you agreed. “We will. I’m not too far from DC, I can totally drive down on the fourth. I’ll pick you up from work, how’s that sound?”

“Sounds perfect,” Max murmured softly. “Dreamlike even.”

You laughed. “Dork.”

“Hey, you fell in love with me!”

“Yeah,” you said, looking at Max’s firework illuminated face. “I did.”

Pero Tovar:

Color Soulmate AU

You pressed the leaf between your fingers, trying to gauge how sick the plant was. The grey color didn’t worry you, because you were fairly certain it was still green. “It just needs more water,” you determined, standing and brushing yourself off. “Try watering these plants daily instead of every other.”

The woman you were helping nodded, and you smiled at her as you walked back to your own garden. Rolling your sleeves up, you got to work tending to your plants.

It was hours before you looked up, alerted by the sound of hooves on the ground. A mysterious man was sitting atop a horse, his hair long and greasy, his face creased from what you imagined was a grueling ride. He jumped off the horse and stumbled in your direction, leaning against the fence. You stood, abandoning the plants in favor of helping the man.

He shook off your help, but stopped the second his hand connected with yours and both your worlds exploded with color.

You stumbled back, the sudden colors shocking you as the man reeled from you, his sun battered face full of shock.

“I’m sorry!” You said quickly, steadying yourself and reaching out to the man. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” the man said firmly, right before he passed out.

Two days later, the man woke up, his partner by his side. The blond man had showed up yesterday, introducing himself as William and the mystery man as Pero Tovar.

Pero looked around, nervous as he saw you in the corner, slowly and methodically mending his shirt. “William, quien es este.”

William shrugged. “I don’t know. Not a nurse, from what I can tell.”

“Diles que se vayan.”

“I’m not leaving,” you said, without looking up. “And please continue to talk about me in a language you assume I don’t understand.”

Pero blinked a few times. “You’re smart.”

“I pick up on languages fast,” you said, setting down the mended shirt. “Who are you, Pero Tovar?”

William looked between you two before finally speaking up. “Should I leave?”

“Please,” you said.

William left, and you crossed your legs. “So, who are you?”

“No one you should know,” Pero growled, getting up and grabbing his shirt. “Just forget you ever met me. You have your colors, go live a happy life.”

You frantically tried to keep him in the village, but he left with William as soon as the local medic deemed him okay.

For the next week, you slowly learned colors, finding your favorites with much trial and error. Some of the village women who had lost their soulmates in battles consoled you as you grieved for a man you barely knew, a man who had given you a universe of change and then left as if it had been nothing.

Almost exactly one week later, the sound of hooves rang out again, and this time, you didn’t look up from your gardening. At least, not until the visitor entered your garden, standing in front of your vegetables.

You looked up at him, taking in a much neater and more groomed Pero. He seemed nervous, shuffling from foot to foot.

Standing, you raised an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”

Pero nodded, handing you his dagger.

You took the weapon. “What’s this?”

“In my culture,” Pero began. “When a man is ready to settle with his soulmate, he must give them his most prized weapon as a way of showing he is ready to stop fighting and raise a family.”

The dagger gleamed in the sunlight, and you smiled. “Well then, I guess I should make dinner for two, shouldn’t I?”

Pero grinned. “Yes, that would be nice. I’m hungry.”

91 notes · View notes

seasonofthewicth · 3 years

Text

A Groovy Kind of Love - Chapter 18

AN: Sorry for the two month wait, but we’re finally back!! I hope this chapter can make up for it!

previous chapter - masterlist - ao3 - my askbox

Aelin had lost interest in the bowl of cereal sitting on the counter in front of her a long while ago. She twirled the silver spoon between her fingers, barely registering the clink of it against the edges of the bowl as her mind slumbered through the chatter between her two roommates.

Aedion had been in the kitchen when she arrived, and Rowan had followed behind her a minute later. Aelin thought it was discrete enough that their timings could have easily been passed off as coincidence, as she had been hoping for the past week.

Concentrating on anything other than him had proven to be an impossible task when Rowan had slid onto the stool at her side, the scent of fresh pine that clung to him wrapping around her and stealing her focus as he murmured a greeting to herself and Aedion who stood across from her groaning at their sink.

She hadn’t been paying attention to Aedion’s muttered complaints, lost in her thoughts of the morning she had spent in bed with Rowan, wrapped up in the hands that now rested on her upper thigh. The heady weight of his hand against her drew flashes of heat along her skin and she dropped any pretence of eating breakfast, the spoon chiming against the bowl as she dropped it.

Her attention was drawn to the scrape of his calloused thumb across the soft skin of the top of her thigh before her eyes pulled back up to Rowan’s.

He offered her a small, sly smirk before dropping his gaze to the low neckline of her nightgown and back up again. A quirk of his lips that told her his mind was right alongside her own, lost in the thoughts of their slow and easy start to the morning.

Rowan had woken her with soft kisses to the back of her neck-the same way he had woken her for the past few mornings-and she had buried her face into his pillow, revelling in the sensation of his lips against her neck and his hands around her waist.

She hadn’t spent the night in her own bedroom for a while, it had been their unspoken agreement to share a bed in the nights following their long-awaited first date and Aelin had no regrets.

Rowan’s bedroom was exactly like him. The dark green sheets and dusky grey wallpaper were offset by splashes of light from rustic brass lamps in the corners of the room, dotted about were stacks of books and trinkets she liked to toss between her fingers as she demanded the backstory for each of them. He didn’t often pull back his blinds, a feature Aelin had never had a taste for until now, but it gave his room a dark and intoxicating feel. It was easy to get lost in the dark space, just the two of them, skin to skin.

His kisses had warmed as she had woken, upping their intensity until he was trailing his tongue up the line of her throat and she was writhing back against him.

Rowan knew how to work her.

He knew the scrape of his teeth underneath her ear would elicit a cry, he knew a tug of her hair would draw out a gasp, so quickly he had learned that pressing his fingers just so would leave her trembling.

Aelin forced her attention back to the bowl in front of herself, dragging her gaze away from Rowan as she grasped the spoon again to lift a mouthful to her lips with a mostly steady hand.

“Do you know where this goes?” Her cousin’s voice now sounded from below the counter, as a tanned hand held a length of pipe above the bench.

“No.” Rowan’s voice was low, sounding bored as his thumb kept up the teasing strokes. “Don’t mess about with it, you’ll make it worse. Call the landlord.”

Aedion sighed as he stood up from below the sink, shooting Rowan an exasperated look. “The landlord is an asshole, last time he came around he couldn’t hold a conversation with me, he was too busy staring at Lysandra’s chest.”

Rowan grunted his disgust and a line of tension ran through his shoulders at the thought. Aelin knew he wouldn’t be likely to call the landlord about an issue any time soon.

“He is an asshole,” Aelin chimed in, ignoring the swipe of Rowan’s hand that left his fingertips resting gently in the space between her thighs. “Can we call someone else? Do we even need to? How hard can it be to fix a pipe?”

Aedion levelled her with a flat look. “Hard.”

At the word Rowan’s hand pressed more firmly against her and Aelin couldn’t help the jolt of her hips, pressing forward into Rowan’s hand, craving the friction, anything to release the pressure building within her.

Rowan only drew his hand back, trailing his fingertips back down the length of her thigh. Aelin fought the sigh in her throat, stamping her teeth down on her bottom lip at the loss.

It hadn’t taken Rowan long at all to learn his way around her body. It was something she both loved and hated, the game they played in his bed of teasing and taunting. She hadn’t experienced it like this before, Arobynn had been a lazy lover, seeking his own pleasure before rolling over and promptly falling asleep.

Rowan had taken her breath away. Pounding into her relentlessly, his fingers gripping her hips hard enough to bruise, his other hand clamped across her mouth, holding in the cries she knew would give the game away to their roommates.

He was tender afterwards, pressing kisses down the length of her spine as she lay sleepy and sated in his bed. He would stroke his broad hands down the curve of her waist as she came down from her high, whispering sweet nothings into her skin.

Aelin loved it.

“Morning,” Lysandra’s voice sounded from behind her, and Aelin managed a welcoming smile as her friend took a seat on the spare stool on her other side, her cousin and Rowan offering their own greetings.

Lysandra dropped a knowing glance to Aelin’s lap, where Rowan’s hand was now barely visible beneath the hem of her baby blue nightgown and Aelin fought the blush that threatened at her friend’s smirk. And the matching one she knew Rowan wore.

It was yet another new side to Rowan she had discovered, the smug side that owned the purely male smiles he wore, dripping in pride at the way she moaned his name, at the way she lay breathless after he had used his fingers and tongue to bring her to her release.

It hadn’t even been half an hour since they had finally left his bedroom in search of food and Aelin was ready to abandon their mission.

“It can’t be that hard,” Rowan said, sounding completely composed as Aelin twisted her hips closer to his hand. He pinched the skin of her inner thigh in response, only hard enough to make her squirm.

“Where did you get that from?” He motioned to the length of pipe clutched in Aedion’s hand. At his shrug Rowan shook his head and continued, “Did you loosen the valve?”

Aedion’s scoff was almost enough to drag Aelin out of her haze. “Do I look like I know what that is? Can you just come and fix it?”

Rowan looked back towards her, eyes shining with regret and a promise for later as he withdrew his hand and stood to approach the sink Aedion had yet to begin mending.

Aelin missed the pressure of his skin against her own but couldn’t say she wasn’t grateful for the clarity in her mind.

“Good morning?” Lysandra asked with an arch of a dark brow.

“I’ve had worse,” Aelin shrugged, tossing her golden hair over a shoulder as she clawed back any shreds of composure she normally possessed.

Lysandra was the only person Aelin had fully confessed the progression in herself and Rowan’s relationship to, needing to speak it aloud to someone in the excitement that had followed their date. Her friend had indulged her, oohing and aahing at all the right moments in her story. Aelin knew her relationship with Rowan was different than it had been before, but she didn’t feel it needed a big announcement to their friends.

Lysandra’s smirk remained as she turned to look over towards where the two blond males stood crouched over the still leaking sink. Aelin allowed herself the luxury of taking in the sight of Rowan in a tight fitting cotton t-shirt, the tanned curves of his biceps, the left covered in striking whorls of ink.

She watched the way his brow pulled into a frown and the way his teeth tugged at his lower lip in concentration as he tinkered with the tap. Her mind flashed with the image of the previous night when he had taken her lower lip between his teeth as he thrusted-

“You’re drooling,” Lysandra stage-whispered in her ear.

Aelin snapped her mouth shut, subtly tapping a finger across the corner of her mouth, more than relieved to find it dry. “I could say the same for you.”

Lysandra cocked her head, “I have no shame in finding my boyfriend attractive.”

Aelin didn’t need to see herself to know her cheeks burned red but she was saved by the sound of Lorcan’s voice from the doorway behind her.

“Don’t fucking make it worse,” He said as he brushed past where she sat with Lysandra to take the length of pipe out of Aedion’s hand, their tiny, midnight black kitten trotting at his heels.

Aelin didn’t miss the grateful sigh that escaped her cousin as he scooped up the kitten and her dark-haired roommate took over the tinkering with their sink.

“You shouldn't have touched it,” Lorcan snapped as he batted Aedion further away from the sink and sunk into a crouch before the counter, her cousin drifting over to stand against the bench next to Lysandra.

“Should be fixed in no time,” Rowan said with a nod to Lorcan as he reclaimed his seat next to her, quickly slipping his hand back onto her thigh. Aelin ignored the smile Lysandra flashed at her, her eyes no doubt tracking the motion.

“Good morning,” Fenrys’ voice broke the easy silence that had fallen over the kitchen. “I hope to the gods one of you thought to make coffee.”

He stood out among the gathering in the kitchen, fully dressed in jeans and a shirt while the rest of the loft wore an array of pyjamas and sweats. Aelin could have believed he was freshly dressed for the day had one side of his golden curls not sat slightly deflated.

It seemed her cousin shared her assessment, “Where have you just got back from? Busy night?”

Fenrys’ smile turned all too sweet as he glanced to where Aelin sat, filling a mug almost to the brim with coffee before taking a long sip. After a sigh, he said, “A gentleman never tells.”

A snort from Rowan at her side. “Shouldn’t stop you.”

“You normally love to brag about that shit,” Lorcan chimed in from his perch under the sink.

“True,” Fenrys admitted with a grin before turning to Aelin. “You really missed a trick with Dorian, you know.”

Aelin grinned. “I’m devastated. Truly.”

Fenrys returned her smile as he slapped his palm against the one Aedion held outstretched at the comment. “I would recommend you give it a go, but I think he might be occupied from now on.”

Aelin opened her mouth, ready to express her happiness at what she knew was blooming between her friends but Lorcan beat her to it.

“I don’t think she needs Havilliard, have none of you noticed her room has been empty for days?”

Rowan’s thumb stilled above her knee.

“What?” Aedion’s eyes flicked to her own as he spoke.

Lorcan rose from the floor, wiping his hands off against his baggy t-shirt, a shit-eating grin threatening at his lips. Aelin stared him down, and she knew Rowan was doing the same.

He cocked his head at her, locks of his dark hair sliding forward over his shoulder. “I have the bedroom closest to their end of the loft, even so I’m surprised none of you have heard the noises coming from Whitethorn’s room.”

He didn’t break eye contact as he revealed her little secret, but Aelin didn’t miss a beat. “If you like listening so much you’re always welcome to join.”

Lorcan shook his head, “I’m good. This loft doesn’t need to get anymore incestuous.”

“What?” Aelin asked, stumped for a moment. “Rowan and I…” She trailed off at the matching grins on each of her roommates’ faces.

“What are we missing?” Lysandra asked, a smile dancing through her words even though she sounded as clueless as Aelin.

Lorcan shifted his attention to her dark-haired friend. “You mean Aedion hasn’t told you how we all met?”

Aelin felt Rowan shaking silently at her side, still gripping her thigh as he reigned in his laughter. The touch had lost its teasing, but she still enjoyed his hands on her, nonetheless.

Lysandra shook her head.

“Let me set the scene,” Lorcan began with a grin before Fenrys stepped forward to interrupt.

“You weren’t there, we had the misfortune of meeting you on Craigslist years later. You’ll get it wrong.”

Lorcan held a hand up in surrender.

Fenrys continued the tale with a smirk, leaning forward against the island in front of Lysandra. “You know your boyfriend met Whitethorn at college.”

A nod from Lysandra.

“Roommates for what?” Her cousin asked, looking at Rowan. “Ten years, nearly?”

“Unfortunately for me,” Rowan muttered but Aelin read the begrudging smile in his voice.

“Now I met Aedion on the football team,” Fenrys told Lysandra, his tone wistful as he reminisced. “He was the year above me, the captain, and sexy as hell.”

Aelin let out a groan as Lorcan raised his brows at her with a nod.

“All blond hair and blue eyes. Good genes Galathynius,” Fenrys continued with a nod to Aelin. “How was I to resist?”

“No,” Lysandra breathed, a shocked smile curling at the corners of her lips.

“Yes,” Fenrys’ eyes were shining with glee as the realisation dawned.

“They sexiled me for almost my entire senior year.” Rowan’s voice rumbled close to her year, filled with reluctant amusement.

“Sorry, man,” Aedion said with a shrug. “Needs must, you know? But then he got far too annoying.”

Fenrys flipped him off over his mug of coffee, his smile still standing strong.

“It was the start of a beautiful friendship.” Fenrys’ eyes were twinkling with mischief and Aelin cackled with delight at Rowan’s sigh.

“And then we met you.” His voice was soft at her side and as she looked to Rowan she knew her own expression was just as fond.

The autumn air of Rifthold had a bit of a bite to it, far cooler than the mild seasons back in Doranelle. In his time in Rifthold he had learned that the seasons were far starker here than back at home.

Summer was clammy and close, spring was fresh and bright, winter; cold and harsh in his lungs, and then autumn. The dimming of the light and the closing in of the nights that were characteristic of a Rifthold autumn were a lifetime away from the year round bright sunshine of Doranelle.

Rowan had had to slip on a t-shirt beneath his usual flannel before leaving for his shift, and even now, deep within the heart of the bar he was glad for it. The cool breeze that drifted in each and every time the door swung open, letting patrons in and out, had him slinging prayers of thanks to his earlier self for the forethought.

The breeze that followed his raven-haired roommate was brisk but Lorcan, as always, was unaffected, clad only in a thin grey t-shirt.

Lorcan slumped into a stool at the bar with a nod, not needing to speak before Rowan had handed over a cool pint. His friend took a long gulp, downing almost half the glass before dropping it back to the bar and releasing a tired sigh.

“I’m going to quit my job.”

Shit.

“Why?” Rowan asked eventually, his tone wary.

Lorcan shrugged, the hand resting along the bar curling up into a loose fist. “A number of reasons.”

Rowan narrowed his eyes. The effort that went into getting Lorcan to open up was comparable to trying to get Fenrys to shut up. “Such as?”

His friend dragged the hand that rested on the bar through his hair, the sable strands drawing back before immediately falling down across his forehead again. A futile, frustrated gesture.

After a moment Lorcan spoke, “I’m not allowed to work under my girlfriend, and this new transfer is boring as fuck.” He took another moment, inhaling a deep breath and frowning. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. It’s not what I expected when I first started, and I don’t think it ever will be.”

Rowan opened his mouth before closing it again, debating his best strategy, and he leaned forward to brace his hands on the bar in front of him.

“Do you want to know what I think, or do you want to drown your sorrows in silence?”

Lorcan shot him a dark glare, but Rowan had been at this long enough to know it wasn’t just an unfounded stereotype of his job. He normally knew at a glance or a greeting whether patrons wanted conversation or not, he could read people pretty well after a few years in this gig, but his friend was far from an open book, and bluntness often worked best with Lorcan.

At his silence Rowan spoke. “I think you should do what makes you happy.”

Lorcan rolled his eyes but Rowan continued. “You know it’s what any of us would tell you.”

“I could have gone to either of the Ashryvers for that shit, seems like Galathynius has been rubbing off on you.”

Rowan ignored the comment, and the hidden innuendo, determined not to let his friend shrug this off.

“And yet here you are.” Rowan mopped up a couple of drops of spilled beer off the bar top before he spoke again. “You’ve been seeing Elide for a while, been in the new department for a while, and it’s been fine. Why change now?”

Lorcan twisted away, taking another long swig of his beer before shrugging his shoulders. Rowan could almost see his reluctance to speak in the tightness of his swallow, the tension running through his arms.

Lorcan sighed, a sharp release of breath through his nose, before turning back to face Rowan.

“You see how Aedion is, he actually gives a shit about what he does. I couldn’t care less about filing reports on petty theft and missing bikes. It made me think.”

Rowan shook his head, fighting a somewhat inappropriate smile. “First of all, Aedion is fucking weird, he thinks marketing is some life-altering necessity that makes the world turn around. Remember when he went crazy trying to sell sponges to men?”

He paused to share a grin with Lorcan. “Secondly, I’m not convinced many people actually care that much about their jobs. I don’t.”

Lorcan finally twisted fully around to face him, his brows drawn in, and Rowan swallowed.

“Bartending was supposed to be a temporary means to an end, I don’t think I’ve found my true calling, but it’s fine. I’m not sure everyone finds that niche that they love.”

His friend’s lips twisted to one side. “But shouldn’t we?”

Rowan waited, sensing his normally stoic friend had more he wanted to say, sensing there was more he needed to say.

“Aedion and Aelin they… They both come back to the loft everyday smiling and jabbering on about whatever they’ve achieved that day. It’s annoying as shit but-” He took another sharp breath, releasing it with an almost grunt. “Shouldn’t we feel like that?”

He didn’t often hear Lorcan at such a loss, he normally stuck to sarcastic quips and snappish barbs and Rowan himself took a deep breath as he considered his response.

Lorcan wasn’t wrong, but he wasn’t sure he was right. His job was fine and that was enough. He enjoyed the day to day, made enough money to pay his rent and he got to see his friends while he was on shift. Was anything more necessary?

He took the coward’s way out. “What does Elide say?”

Lorcan saw through him but seemed to let it slide. “Same as you, that if it will make me happy I should do it.”

Rowan nodded. Elide, in the small number of times he had met her, had always carried an air of wisdom around her, a settled confidence in what she did and what she thought. A good match for his friend who could be somewhat challenging at times.

“What will you do instead?”

Quitting his job was fine, but there had to be something else. Was there any point quitting his job only to land back in another mindless routine? Unless there was something else lined up.

“A friend of mine has a private security firm,” Lorcan shrugged his broad shoulders before finishing off his beer. “He’s asked me about joining before, whether I’d give up the force, and my answer has always been no.”

Until now, Rowan filled in the gaps.

“It pays pretty well too,” Lorcan’s voice had taken back an element of his usual dry humour. “Which I’ll need now that the bet about you and Aelin has been called off.”

Rowan flipped his friend off with a scowl, muttering an insult under his breath.

“I was supposed to win five-hundred bucks,” Lorcan revealed, a dark smile brewing across his face now that the conversation was back to more familiar territory.

“Pity.” Rowan snarked as he turned away to serve another customer, stewing on the things Lorcan had said.

Even though he had grown to love the bar since starting a few years ago, surely there should have been some progression as he neared thirty. The role that had seemed to be a perfect fit at twenty-two, the flexibility it offered… it was a good choice at the time. Fresh out of university with no clear plan, the job had landed in his lap. He’d never had to challenge himself.

Not like Malakai, who cared about his business and had poured so much of himself into curating something with an elegant charm out of the dingy dive bar it had been when he had bought it.

The wooden panels of the bar were sleek and smooth after years of glasses and elbows and palms passing over them, the leather of the booths was softened and faded after years of use but it didn’t look shabby. It was a place of comfort and ease, but with a quiet kind of pride about it.

But was it enough?

He returned to Lorcan, sliding another pint across the bar that his friend accepted with a nod.

Rowan knew who he wanted to talk to about the thoughts running through his mind, he and Aelin had barely been dating for a week and he knew he wanted to share these thoughts with her. He wanted her advice and knew he would value any insight she could offer.

Rowan knew she’d listen with an attentive ear, logically sifting through the jumbled thoughts in his brain and shaping them into something decipherable. Aelin was more than her beauty or her sense of humour, she was wickedly sharp and perceptive and smart.

Lorcan raised a dark brow at the intensity of the sigh Rowan let out.

“Anything you’d like to share with the class?”

“No,” Rowan’s answer was short. There was nothing he wanted to share with Lorcan.

His friend shrugged, unfazed at Rowan’s dismissal and he took another swig of his beer before speaking again. “Feels like a time for change, and not just me.”

Rowan cocked his head, it seemed as though Lorcan was in a talkative mood tonight.

“There’s you and Galathynius,” Rowan fought the thrill that ran through him at the mention of him and Aelin as a unit, as a pair, as Lorcan continued. “And I think Aedion’s going to ask Lysandra to move in with him.”

This was news to Rowan. “In the loft, or somewhere else?”

Lorcan shook his head. “I don’t know, but it wouldn’t be much different if she moved in with us.”

Lorcan paused, seeming to mull over the possibilities as Rowan was doing. He and Aedion had lived together for so long Rowan supposed he took it for granted to always have his best friend in such close proximity.

It made sense for it to one day reach an endpoint, Rowan just hadn’t expected it to feel so soon.

He glanced back to Lorcan, his friend’s decision still lingering in his mind.

Rowan needed to make sure he wouldn’t be left behind.

Coming home to Rowan was a thought that always made Aelin smile.

There was always a nervous flutter in her stomach as the elevator made it’s ascent towards the loft, the twisting and turning reaching a crescendo as the elevator doors opened, facing the hallway and the doorway that had led her to Rowan only a few months ago.

Now however, she took the steps to her home, smiling at the knowledge that Rowan would be behind the door waiting for her to return.

The elevator doors opened with a chime and Aelin stepped out into the hallway, hitching her bag higher on her shoulder as she made her way home. The hallway wasn’t long and the doors were thin enough that any sounds within the number of lofts on their floor were audible in the open space, usually muffled enough to offer moderate privacy unless the sounds from within the lofts were particularly loud.

The raised voices from within loft 4D were loud enough to carry, but as Aelin slowed her steps towards the door no words were clearly defined. She lingered in the hallway, not wanting to intrude on whatever was going on behind the closed door.

Abruptly, the argument stopped, and Aelin took a step further towards her own front door. She hadn’t yet made it down the length of the hall, her keys still tangled between her fingers, when the door swung open in front of her.

Rowan’s face was carefully calm, but she could see the storm brewing in his eyes, and she could feel the frustration rolling off him in waves. The moment his eyes beheld her the tension leaked out of his body in a flood and a small smile worked its way onto his lips. His gaze softened as his eyes did a gentle sweep of her from head to toe.

Aelin offered him a small smile in greeting. “Everything okay in there?” A nod to the door behind him.

Rowan seemed to shake himself, rolling his shoulders back as he reached her and wrapped his hands around her waist. Aelin relaxed into the touch, loving the feeling of his arms around her and tucking her face into his chest. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head and she smiled as she pulled back to look up at him.

She lifted a palm to cup his cheek as she repeated, “You okay?”

“Of course,” He ducked to press his lips to hers for a second, far too brief for Aelin’s liking. She slid the hand on his cheek to cup the back of his neck, holding him to her for a second longer.

Aelin felt Rowan’s smile against her lips as he kissed her once more, his lips parting softly against her own.

“I have to get to work,” He said, pulling back again and sounding far from pleased at the idea, his hands tightening at her waist. “Can we talk when I get back?”

“Sure,” She said slowly, concerned at his request so soon after overhearing an apparent argument between him and one of their other roommates. “Anything I should be worried about?”

Something flickered across Rowan’s face, almost too fast for her to catch, but he pressed his lips to hers one final time before drawing away.

“No,” He said quickly, stepping past her to head to the elevator. “It’s all good, we’ll talk later. But I’ll see you in my bed when I get back?”

Aelin fought the lick of heat that bloomed within her at his words as her lips pulled up into a sultry smile. “I’ll see you there.”

Rowan shot her one last longing glance as he stepped into the lift and Aelin focused herself as she stepped into the loft.

It was quiet now, no sign of the earlier argument that must have taken place close to the now-shut door.

“Hello,” She called into the space, chucking her keys into a bowl on the cabinet by the door and hooking her bag over the coat rack.

“In here, Ae.”

Aedion’s voice sounded from around the corner and she stepped into the living room to see him sprawled across their couch. His defeated expression told her he had been the one she had overheard talking with Rowan and the wary look he gave her as he took her in all but confirmed it.

“You heard that, huh?”

“Yep,” She said, throwing herself into the seat by his side and tucking her feet up beneath herself, resting her head against his arm. “Anything you want to talk about?”

He might not want to talk to her about it, knowing what she was to Rowan, but he was still her cousin and she cared for him. She wanted to make sure he knew he could talk to her.

Aedion blew out a sigh, lifting his eyes to their ceiling. Aelin waited, knowing Aedion wasn’t the type to keep his feelings bottled up.

“Do you know?” He asked at last, his voice carefully measured and Aelin felt her heart stutter.

“Know what?” She said slowly, her heart restarting faster than it had been before.

Aedion winced as she sat up to look at him more directly, sensing she hadn’t a clue what he was talking about.

“Know what, Aedion?” She repeated, swallowing the uneasy feeling at whatever was to follow.

“That he’s got a job in Doranelle.”

tags:

@jesstargaryenqueen

@maybekindasortaace

@slytheringalathynius

@http-itsrebecca

@morganofthewildfire

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato

@fictional-horan

@tottenhamboys20

@dressedindustandshadows

@sleeping-and-books

@perseusannabeth

@ireallyshouldsleeprn

@superspiritfestival

@aelinfeyreeleven945tbln

@spyofthenightcourt

@jlinez

@queen-of-glass

@booknerdproblems

@sjmships

@elriel4life

@bamchickawowow

@woollycat22

@claralady

@illyrianwitchling

@SHINYA-HIIRAGI

@fangirlprincess09

@darlinminds

@bookittothelibrary1

@thenerdandfandoms

@danibutterr

@inthecityair

@autophobiaxx

@imaginedhaven

please as always let me know if there are any issues with tags

#AGKOL #aelin ashryver galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin #rowaelin fic #lorcan salvaterre #aedion ashryver #lysandra #throne of glass #throne of glass fic #feels so good to be back omg #a groovy kind of love

97 notes · View notes

btsmosphere · 4 years

Text

Blessing and a Curse | PJM

~summary: You are the unlukiest person you know. Park Jimin seems to be the exception to the rule. But when strange dreams start haunting you, Jimin begins to piece together the events that have followed you your whole life...

~word count: 12.7k (anyone know if this is too long for a oneshot haha)

~college!au, magic!au, fluff, angst

~Warnings: nightmares, house fire, knife injury and blood, mentioned homophobia/biphobia, swearing

~a/n: happy (almost) halloween! welcome to my new oneshot, I really hope you enjoy it! -if you’re worried about the warnings, all except the nightmares happen near the end and are probably skippable, but if you might be triggered then please be on the safe side and save this for later 💜this story isn’t primarily about those things, it’s about jimin and yn being cute hehe

In the darkness of the room, only one face is visible. A woman with age-worn skin is looking at you.

She is talking.

She is: you can see it in the way her mouth moves, but she is articulating without sound.

Your ears are plugged with water, you can hear it in the way it rumbles. Maybe that same water is what is drowning out everything else, blurring the edges of this scene. Yes, the room is dark, but surely something is in the shadows.

Why would she be here alone?

There is a fire: of that you are sure. Nothing else would light the lady’s face in a scarlet glow, deepening her wrinkles until they seem carved of wood. Only her continued movement shatters this illusion.

In the glimmering light, her eyebrows sink in the middle, fixing you with a stare.

She is approaching.

Her eyes are all you can see, a flame visible within them and they rush to you. The heat of fire is no longer merely imagined. No, you feel it crawling over you as you watch her mouth move without sound.

It can’t be water around you, because you can’t move. Fire can’t survive in water. But here it is, pinning you down, smothering you.

Maybe you are dying.

She is talking.

The woman with age-worn skin is looking at you. Only one face is visible in the darkness of the room.

The room was still dark. Something was different, you thought vaguely as you blinked.

And then suddenly, everything was different.

No face is visible.

You can hear: you cough, and the sound of it reaching your ears startles you. No water, then.

More evidence of this is the fact you can see, even in the dark, the glow that fights its way around your curtain from the street lamp outside illuminating your bedroom. You can move.

You certainly aren’t dying.

That’s a relief.

Morning comes, the streetlamp has turned off and you pay no mind to the dream hovering just out of your memory’s reach. Plenty like that have come before, and plenty will follow.

Anyway, it’s just a dream.

Now, you are more preoccupied with checking and double checking your bag. Your laptop, notebooks and folders are in there. First aid kit, check. Pencil case, check. Five memory sticks, check.

On your way to campus, you dodged a ladder leaning against a house and walked right into the path of a van splashing muddy water up your jeans. Sighing, you pulled out some tissues to dry it off as best you could, backing into a wall to get out of the splash zone again.

Of course, you backed into a pile of dog poo.

Scowling, you scraped the bottom of your shoe furiously against the pavement and hurried on.

Today was one of the rare occasions when Yoongi had arrived before you. On any normal Monday morning, he would slink in after about half an hour into class, but there he sat in the entrance hall, looking blearily round at you and licking his lips as he set his coffee down.

However, your attention was drawn away by the boy sitting with him.

Park Jimin.

As you slid into the third seat at the table, you widened your eyes at Yoongi, hoping to convey your panic.

“Hey, I was just going to grab a coffee, would you like one?” Jimin smiled at you, standing.

You swallowed, quickly turning back to him.

“Oh-um, er, no, I- it’s okay. Thank you.”

“Okay,” he smiled sweetly again and walked across to the little bar across the space.

“God, just let him buy you a coffee,” Yoongi groaned, “or do you really expect anything to happen if you never say yes?”

“They always give me shit coffee here,” you sighed, glancing back at Jimin waiting in the queue.

“You say that about everywhere,” Yoongi said. He let his head fall into his hand so it covered half his face.

“That’s because it’s true!” you protested, but he had heard it before. “What are you doing here anyway? You look half asleep.”

“Jimin dragged me,” he mumbled into his palm.

“Woe is you,” you laughed, slumping back on your seat and swinging your feet. You had given up tipping your chair long ago.

When Jimin came back, it was only to scoop up his bag before heading off to his class. That was the most you ever seemed to talk to him, as much as you would like to get to know him more. Being flatmates with your closest friend in your department saw him at plenty of the same parties, but you were too scared to approach him.

Something would go wrong.

With you, it always did. Yoongi said you were just a pessimist, which held a lot of weight coming from him.

Class went smoothly. A pen had leaked in your pencil case, and promptly ran out of ink when you tried to use it, but other than that, you came out unscathed.

It wasn’t until that afternoon that the wind picked up.

After a long day of classes, you parted ways with Yoongi to go to the library, while he left for basketball practise. Tugging your scarf tighter around you, you fought against the weather on the short walk between buildings.

On reaching your refuge, you tiptoed through the rows of books to the study area. Luckily, one last spot was left by the window, where you could see the grey clouds rolling by, the odd leaf whisking past and the branches tugged by the wind.

Smile spreading over your face, you marched towards it, setting your things down. But the moment you sat, the chair’s back leg buckled, a snap resounding through the silent space and drawing glares from the other students.

Mentally cursing, you pulled yourself up and settled for the most hidden table you could find. Sure, you could handle the dust and the flickering light in this corner.

To be fair, you did get a good amount of studying done, satisfied by the time you pulled on your scarf again and set off home.

The few trees dotted around campus creaked in the gale when you passed them. Head down against the wind, you pressed on, not looking up until you heard a familiar voice. What they were saying wasn’t quite audible, but you would recognise it anywhere. Maybe your little crush was getting a little out of hand.

Looking around, you saw Jimin with a couple of friends coming out of the gym across the courtyard.

Okay, he hadn’t seen you yet. Maybe he wasn’t coming this way?

No such luck.

Their voices drew closer, so you picked up the pace, digging your face deeper into the wool around your neck. Park Jimin was behind you, no big deal. Just don’t embarrass yourself.

But the moment you took a deep breath, a scraping sound came from above you. Frowning, you looked up distractedly. There it came again, a gravelly noise somewhere overhead. This time, though, it didn’t stop, only growing louder, and there-!

A shape, sliding off the roof, right over your head. In the blink of an eye, you scrambled to move, but your feet were caught and you tripped, inelegantly face-planting the ground as a smashing sound deafened you.

A stinging pain flared in your calf.

“Oh my god! Y/N?”

From your front-seat view of the floor, you groaned, taking a moment to close your eyes. This couldn’t be happening. Inhaling, you finally pushed yourself up to sit just as Jimin rushed up to you, his two friends close behind. Forcing a grimace, you tried to ignore your burning face as he knelt down, discarding his bag.

There, right beside your leg, lay a cracked roof tile.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, bending your leg to get a closer look. The source of the pain showed itself; your jeans were torn, a deep graze on your skin underneath where the tile must have caught you.

Beside you, Jimin’s hands hovered, twitching as he debated what to do. He watched as you twisted your ankle experimentally and winced.

“You should go to the doctor,” he told you. He was right, too. At least there was one on campus that you could hopefully reach on an injured leg-

“I’ll take you, come on,” he pushed his bag into his friend’s arms and threw yours over his own shoulder. Before you could utter a word, his shoulder was under your arm, helping you stand.

“Thank you,” you spluttered, “I-I think it should be fine though-“

Right on cue, you stood on you bad foot, which instantly gave way as you choked back a cry.

“It’s just twisted!” you exclaimed, though your full weight was pretty much weighing down on Jimin.

“Best to get it checked,” one of his friends chimed in, clapping you on the shoulder as he set off walking in the direction of the health centre.

Sighing, you gave in and allowed Jimin to help as you hobbled next to him.

“That’s Hoseok,” he said, smiling again, “and that’s Tae.”

Holding up a hand, Tae bobbed his head at you with a grin.

“Hi,” you panted.

It was likely that your attempt to return a smile failed, with the bugging pain in your ankle. Either way, Tae had turned back around now, walking beside Hoseok just ahead of you two. Before long, you had resorted to hopping. It wasn’t efficient.

“Would it be better…” Jimin said, “I mean, I could- I think I should carry you.”

Managing a weak smile, you slowed beside him. Maybe you didn’t have to go far, but it felt like a marathon at the moment.

Eyes creasing in his own smile, Jimin gently let go of your arm and stepped in front of you, crouching to let you put your arms around his neck. Surely he would be able to feel your heart hammering at your ribs, pressed up against his back like this?

If he did, he didn’t let on.

Sliding his arms behind your knees, he scooped you up and you were off at a much more reasonable speed this time.

“Tae!” he yelled.

When the black-haired boy turned around, Jimin tossed him your bag.

By some miracle, you heart had chilled out by the time you entered the doctor’s reception. Maybe a short trip on someone’s back had healing effects in itself.

You were handed an ice pack and some paperwork and told to wait. Taehyung and Hoseok said they would leave you to it, but Jimin assured you he could stay. And who were you to turn him down? This wasn’t coffee.

The silence was companiable as you sat side by side, Jimin sitting forward, elbows on his thighs while you put your feet up on a chair he had dragged over. He didn’t speak until you had nearly finished writing.

“Maybe you could sue the college,” he joked, gently nudging you with his elbow.

Laughing, you signed off the last box quickly before setting the form down and giving him your full attention.

“Thanks for staying, you didn’t have to,” you squeezed out a smile.

“Don’t worry,” he assured, “I’m just glad you’re not more hurt. It was crazy, what happened.”

“Believe it or not, that’s not the first time that’s happened to me,” you admitted. A small laugh brushed by your lips.

At your words, Jimin turned to you fully, bringing his chin off his hands. For a moment he only stared with his eyebrows raised, smile faltering, unsure if you were kidding.

“You’re being serious?”

You grimaced.

“A roof tile fell on you? More than once?”

“What are the chances, right?” you sighed, “But yeah. I’m definitely the most accident-prone person I know.”

“At least you managed to get out of the way… I thought it was going to hit your head or something,” Jimin looked genuinely terrified. You were sure your heart melted as he said this with his big eyes and such sincerity.

“If by getting out of the way you mean falling on my face,” you smiled softly.

Thankfully, he saw the funny side and laughed along with you, shaking his head and sitting back. You were glad the worry had left his face.

Only one other person sat in the waiting room, a mother holding a small baby, who now turned around to glare at the pair of you, although were only laughing quietly. Either way, you both closed your mouths, noticing her child was asleep.

A screaming baby was not something you wanted to add to this situation.

“So… what do you study?” you muttered after the woman turned back around in her chair.

“Protective magic,” Jimin dazzled you again with his smile, “it’s my second year now.”

“Same,” you replied, “well, as in, I’m in second year too, but I’m not gifted. I’m doing literature.”

“With Yoongi, right?”

“Oh, yeah, of course you knew that,” you laughed, but you were cringing inside. Time to change topic. “But, umm, what’s your favourite part of your course?”

Magic was definitely fascinating to you, even though you weren’t gifted with powers and therefore were unable to study it. Less than half the population had magic, so it was just your luck to be in the boring majority.

“I’m enjoying studying curses,” Jimin was saying, “last year was mainly the basics, warding and stuff like that, so it’s nice to do something more interesting.”

“It sounds really cool,” you agreed, “I’m so jealous, I didn’t get any of my first-choice modules.”

Just as Jimin opened his mouth to respond, a doctor called your name.

“Ah,” Jimin stood, raising his hand to alert the doctor you were there as you struggled to your feet. “Do you want me to come in with you?”

“If that’s okay?”

Gladly accepting his arm for the second time that day, you let Jimin help you over to the doctor and followed her down the hallway to her office. As she checked you over, Jimin sat patiently behind you. Your frequent glances at him were definitely less surreptitious than you intended, but he didn’t seem to mind, smiling reassuringly when you caught his eye.

In the end, she bandaged up the graze and ordered you to avoid using your ankle as much as you could for a couple of days. You had just avoided spraining it, so it would be fine.

“How are you getting home?” she asked you, not looking at you as she typed up her notes.

“Oh, uh-“ you stuttered. You hadn’t thought of that. Walking all the way home would be too far when you could barely make the walk from the waiting room.

“-I’m driving her,” Jimin spoke.

Snapping your mouth shut, you stared round at him.

“Excellent,” the doctor smiled before you could say anything. She spun back to you in her chair, “that should be all. Remember to rest it, I’m sure your friend will help you out.”

Quietly smiling and thanking her, you hobbled out beside Jimin. Outside the door, he lifted you onto his back again for the short walk to the parking lot.

By car, your house was barely ten minutes away, but you chatted some more to Jimin. As he reached your street and you pointed out where he could stop, you were startled by how fast it seemed. You found yourself not wanting him to leave.

Who knew that completely embarrassing yourself in front of your crush could end up to be a good thing?

To your delight, he insisted on piggy-backing you up the stairs as well, somehow not even breaking a sweat, and waited with you at the door as you slid the key in.

“KOOK!” you yelled as you pushed the door open, but to your surprise, he had already left his room and was walking down the hall towards you.

On seeing Jimin next to you, arm around your waist, he stopped abruptly and his eyes widened. But then his eyes travelled down to your leg, bandage poking from the bottom of your jeans, and he relaxed.

“This is Jimin,” you offered, hopping over the threshold as Kook approached again, quick to slide his arm around your other side.

“Hi,” he nodded at Jimin, “thanks.”

Jimin, who let you go as it became clear Kook could take it from here, handed over your bag as well.

“Good to meet you,” he beamed, “see you, Y/N.”

From your position propped up against your roommate, you waved at him. Too soon he was gone, door falling shut behind him.

“is that the Jimin?” Jungkook stage-whispered.

“Yes…” you sighed, hiding your face in his shoulder and ignoring his excited eyes.

“Come on,” you felt the rumble of his laughter through you as he pushed you off him and pulled you down the corridor, “Jin-hyung! Y/N hurt herself again!”

“Kook…” you grumbled in vain.

The moment he dropped you ungracefully onto the sofa, Jin hurried in, already clutching a first aid bag. Seeing his concerned face, you couldn’t help but laugh.

“It’s okay, I already went to the doctor.”

“Aish,” he moaned, “how do you manage to get hurt so much?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” you whined, “really.”

You met his eyes as he ditched the medical kit by the sofa. Sighing, he gave you a smile which you returned. You knew he worried too much.

“She was probably distracted,” Jungkook piped up from behind the kitchen counter which divided your space. The warning look you shot him wasn’t enough to quiet him though, you could see the mischievous grin on his face.

“Jeon Jungkook-” you hissed.

“-making doe-eyes at Jim- ow!”

“Y/N!” Jin cried, snatching you and Jungkook’s attention, “give me that.”

Marching across the space, he scooped up the book you had launched at the younger boy and tucked it under his arm. Then a smile slid onto his face, letting the two of you relax. He wasn’t really mad.

“So Jimin?” he grinned.

Shoving a cushion over your face, you groaned, Jin’s laughter loud in your ears.

Yoongi offered to drive you into college before you had even told him you were injured. Jimin must have told him what happened when he got home.

What you didn’t expect was to see your saviour again this early in the morning. You looked a mess in all honesty, hair messy and most lazy clothes shoved on to accommodate your bandaged leg. Sleep hadn’t been on your side last night, and the dream had come again, but until now you didn’t care.

Now, as Jimin gave up shotgun for you with a radiant smile, you regretted your lie in.

“Are you definitely okay to walk?” he eyed you worriedly as you limped over to them.

After the inevitable teasing last night, Jin and Jungkook had cooked for you and let you pick a film so you could keep you leg up with ice. As a result it did feel much better, and you told him as much.

“I’m glad,” Jimin smiled.

You were too busy smiling back to catch Yoongi rolling his eyes.

The room was dark… the old woman was looking at you…

As the fire danced and flickered below her, she spoke to you, but you were still deaf to her words.

Come to think of it, she looked like she was shouting.

Had you upset her?

A hand entered your vision, the woman’s hand, gnarled with age and dappled with firelight.

She was reaching out…

No.

She was pointing at you.

“Y/N! Hey!”

Your whole body jolted as a foot hit your leg. It took a moment for the pain to even register as you blinked, head falling off the hand it rested on.

As you looked up, opening your mouth to complain, your eyes met with Yoongi’s. He had a strange expression on his face.

Frowning, you looked around. The lecture was still going on.

“Sorry,” you whispered, ��didn’t sleep well.”

Turning away from Yoongi, you found a group of boys behind you quickly tearing their eyes away. Their snickering whispers followed you even when you turned your back on them. But though you hunched over your work, fully intent on achieving tunnel-vision to your notebook, Yoongi didn’t share your intention.

“Hey,” he murmured, digging his knee into your leg until you acknowledged him. You were greeted with the same piercing stare from before. “You okay?”

Shoulders slumping, you sighed.

“Yeah…”

“You don’t look so good.”

“Thanks Yoongi,” you rolled your eyes at his bluntness, “just tired-“

“You were dreaming,” he informed you.

You blinked.

“Sorry?”

“You were kind of… twitching,” he grimaced, “that’s why they were laughing at you. Was it a nightmare?”

Blankly staring back at him, you tried to recall your dream. Once you were awake, it always left your mind like sand through a sieve, but when you thought about it…

“It’s just a dream I keep having,” you shook your head, “it’s why I couldn’t get much sleep last night.”

His eyebrows creased, but the sudden commotion that rumbled into life around you told you class was over. And you had missed most of it. Just your luck.

Sluggishly, you packed your things away. Just as you slung your bag over one shoulder, your phone buzzed in your pocket. Slipping it out as you pushed your chair in with your thigh, you saw two messages from Yoongi.

Pictures of his lecture notes.

Fondly smiling, you looked to your friend as he shut his book and slid his own things into his bag.

As usual, Yoongi walked with you after classes were done. Except today, when you parted ways, he made you promise to meet him in time to drive home. Usually you would spend longer in the library, but you could easily check out something to work on at home.

Yoongi’s earlier lecture notes mentioned some extra reading, so you decided to go and find the books to make up for being unconscious during the class itself.

Heading towards the classics section once you were inside, you heard Jimin before you saw him.

A loud thump made you wince, evidently the sound of a fallen book. Unable to help your curiosity, you leaned around the corner to the aisle it came from.

There, Jimin’s blond hair was just visible over a mound of books balanced in his arms, some tucked under his elbows, and a couple more trapped between his hip and the bookshelves.

“Jimin?”

You were already striding towards him, hurriedly grabbing for the books in the most precarious position.

“Thank you,” a muffled voice reached your ears as Jimin was finally able to step away from the shelf without fear of dropping any more.

“Um… what are you doing?” you asked incredulously as you hastily shoved the books onto a shelf, soon reaching out to start dismantling the pile in his arms.

“I had spare credits,” he spoke as you removed the books that blocked out his face, “so I’ve ended up taking Mythology of Magic. I thought I should do some reading…”

Laughing, you turned over the book in your hand. Woozle the Warlock and other stories.

“And you didn’t want to be any more selective?”

As you tugged the books from under his arm, Jimin looked down at his shuffling feet.

“I’ve never had to read fiction for my course, so I don’t really know where to start.”

“Well, I took that module last year,” you smiled, “trust me, there are a few books Professor Bang really relies on, but other than that there aren’t too many you should know.”

“Really?”

Jimin’s eyes were so hopeful. His smile had returned, and you were happy you could give him a positive answer.

“Would you like me to help you?” you ventured.

His enthusiastic nod made your heart leap.

“Right, well-“ you turned to the shelves to scan for the books you needed, absently pushing a couple more books onto a random shelf. Jimin followed suit, now having his hands free enough to make use of them.

“Jimin?”

The book you had just laid eyes on was lost as you jumped around, finding one of the librarians at the end of the shelves.

“Joon! Y/N’s gonna help me with Mythology!” Jimin greeted the man enthusiastically, but his eagerness was not returned.

“What’s going on?” the man called Joon asked.

Guiltily glancing at the shelves Jimin had pillaged, it became clear they were nowhere near orderly anymore.

“Jimin, this is going to take me ages, you know I have a date tonight!” Joon was busy complaining.

“Sorry Joon,” Jimin sighed, “do you want me to sort it?”

“Please. I’ll come and check you’re doing it right in a while,” Joon agreed, “Y/N will just have to help you later.”

“Sorry,” you piped up, looking at Jimin, “Yoongi’s giving me a lift home.”

“Then you can come to ours!” Joon startled you by clapping his hands together. He looked thrilled, but you were still confused.

“Ah, sorry Y/N,” Jimin said, “this is Namjoon. He lives with me and Yoongi.”

“Oh! Nice to meet you,” you said.

“You too,” Namjoon smiled, “I best get back to work.”

Before he left, he sent a dimpled smirk over to Jimin.

“Do you want some help?” you asked Jimin, the two of you staring at the mess of books, a couple still lying on the floor.

“No, please go and sit down,” he told you, “the doctor told you to rest.”

He was right, so you gave in.

Later on, you glanced at the clock. You didn’t want to be late for Yoongi when he was being so nice to you. Fifteen minutes were left, luckily, so you turned back to your work.

Next time you checked, fifteen minutes were left.

Wait.

That was the same as last time!

Now you thought about it, it might have said the same time when you checked it before that too.

Oh no.

Scrambling for your phone, you saw you were already more than five minutes late. As quick as humanly possible, you rammed everything into your bag and fled. You still had to check out Jimin’s books, so you dashed across to the machines to take them out.

Toe tapping on the ground, you waited behind the guy already using the last monitor, praying Yoongi wouldn’t be mad. You decided to send him a quick text.

You: On my way, sorry :)

Yoongi: Be quick

Just then, the man in front of you turned around, setting off briskly away from the station with coffee in hand. There was only one problem. You were in the way.

He crashed into you before you had even looked up, and warm liquid was already seeping through your top.

In your shock, your phone fell from your hand, straight into the puddle of coffee on the floor. Both of you just stood there for a second, mouths agape.

“Oh my gosh, sorry!” you garbled, at the same moment as he pushed past you, muttering something about standing in the way. Perfect.

Looking down at the bundle of books in your arms, it was clear they were ruined. Coffee was dripping off them, the edges of the pages already brown. Taking a breath, you bent down to retrieve your phone, not bothering to check it just yet. You had to get to Yoongi first.

In the end, you checked the books out anyway, knowing you might be able to tell your tragic tale to your new acquaintance Namjoon, thinking perhaps he could get you out of a fine.

Stepping outside, you were soon greeted with Jimin coming around the corner.

“Y/N! Yoongi sent me to go and fetch you- what happened?” he had stopped in his tracks. You didn’t have to be a genius to know your top was ruined, coffee clinging uncomfortably to your skin from the saturated fabric.

“Some guy spilled coffee on me,” you explained, carrying on towards the parking lot, “and my phone, and the books…”

Looking to the side to check he was following, you jumped. Jimin’s head had disappeared into his sweater as he pulled it over his head, shirt riding up as he did so. When he emerged you snapped your head away.

You tried to reject the hoodie as he held it out to you, knowing you would soak it through with coffee as well, but he insisted. It was black after all, it wouldn’t show up, and people were staring at you. Since you usually left campus later, it was busier than you were accustomed to.

Eventually taking the proffered jumper, you basked in its softness, thanking him with a smile.

Since you went home to study with Jimin, Jungkook and Jin had been insufferable, knowing about your crush. You told them they were lucky you loved them already, or you would kick them out.

Not if they kicked you out first, they said.

You laughed and told them you could just move in with Jimin. Needless to say, that made it worse.

In all fairness, you spent a lot of time with Jimin now. You regretted being too scared to ever talk to him before, since you actually got on really well. Helping him study had been fun, and you had been over more times since then, for studying but also for dinner and movie nights that Namjoon and Yoongi loved to crash.

You discovered all of them wanted to go to the Halloween festival, just like you.

October was halfway done, and that meant the excitement was well and truly underway. Every year on the weekend of Halloween, there was a festival just outside the city with music, haunted houses, campfires and ghost stories. And, of course, plenty of beer. Everyone wanted to go.

That week, you sat down with your own flatmates to put your names in for the festival. Due to its popularity among students, the festival always picked its attendees at random.

Since things were going well with Jimin, you had shed your pessimistic mindset a little. Maybe things didn’t always go wrong when you were around.

But then you didn’t get tickets.

And of course, Jungkook and Jin did.

You were more disappointed than you were when the same thing happened last year. For once, you had actually had your hopes up.

At least they were as sad about it as you. And it meant they went out on a dedicated shopping trip to get you a load of candy; it made both parties feel a bit better about you being left alone at the weekend.

When you had last spoken to Jimin about the festival, you found out he had gone last year. The next time you saw him after the bad news came at the weekend, you walked into uni to find him alone at the table you usually shared with Yoongi.

“Hey,” he smiled, “Yoongi’s just getting coffee.”

“Ah,” you nodded knowingly. You were quite happy to have Jimin to yourself for the moment.

It was only when Yoongi came back with two coffees that you sensed something was up. He never bought coffee for other people. Eyebrows furrowed, you watched as he set one down in front of Jimin.

Eager to take a sip, neither boy noticed you staring at them with something akin to horror until they rose from the rims of their cups.

“What’s going on?” you demanded when you caught Jimin’s eye.

“Sympathy coffee,” Jimin chuckled, “I didn’t get Halloween tickets.”

“Oh no, that sucks,” you sighed, “I didn’t either.”

“Hey, that could be good!�� Jimin placed his drink down, “we could do something on Halloween instead?”

“Okay!” you agreed, “movies or something?”

“Great, let’s do it,” Jimin grinned, “beats sitting inside getting jealous of Joon and Yoongi.”

And so it was agreed, and you found yourself walking over to Jimin’s house on Halloween. Any other Saturday night, the city’s streets would be thrumming with life, groups of students holding each other up as they stumbled out, already drunk.

Today, though, it seemed like the entire student population was on the other side of town except you.

Mind wandering to your friends, you wondered how the festival was. Next year was your final chance to go. You hoped you could. They would probably be trekking through the horror maze, before dark so Jin wouldn’t get too scared. Or maybe Jungkook had got out his guitar for the campfire circle. You wondered what kinds of sugary food they would fill themselves with.

It was a nice evening for whatever was going on, being unusually warm for this time of year. You hadn’t even needed a coat to go out.

Jin’s cooking was sorely missed especially; you were something of a disaster on your own given your clumsiness. You swore you did exactly what the recipe said, but every time without fail, something went wrong.

Reaching Jimin’s, you happily let thoughts of what you were missing slide. Your bad luck had afforded you good fortune this time around, and you were determined to make the most of it.

Inside, you emptied all the snacks you had brought out of your bag and stared at the mountain you had collectively built on the coffee table.

“I guess we had better get started,” you laughed.

“We’re never going to eat all that!” Jimin laughed, flopping down on the sofa.

Sitting as well, you picked up your first chocolate and sent him a smirk.

“Challenge accepted.”

As anyone could have predicted, you failed the challenge. Before the first film had even ended, you slumped against Jimin with a groan, stomach threatening to burst. His melodic laugh filled your ears. You only groaned more, staring at the empty wrappers surrounding you before closing your eyes.

What you didn’t expect was for Jimin to reach his arm around you.

Eyes snapping open again, you saw his hands pulling your blanket up, but his arm didn’t move away. Well, perhaps your optimistic eating habits had landed you something good, after all.

The film ended, but you didn’t move away. Nor did he push you off.

“What next?” he looked down at you.

You found yourself a lot closer to his face than you were prepared for when you looked up at him, head pulling away from its place on his shoulder.

“Horror film?” you suggested with a small smile once you had recovered.

He threw his head back and laughed, but he did pick up the remote and start scrolling through the horror films.

“This should be fun,” he smiled, shaking his head slightly.

It was.

Well, maybe not the ghosts and blood and murderers and jumpscares.

But it sure was fun when Jimin clutched you in both of his arms, or when you pressed closer to him to hide your face away in his chest. When he screamed and grabbed at you, hiding his face away in the top of your head, you swore your heart stopped for a moment.

“We are not watching a horror film next time,” Jimin decreed afterwards, “or ever again!”

“Next Halloween?” you laughed.

He rolled his eyes.

“Maybe.”

Your grin wasn’t because he agreed with you. It was because he thought you would be with each other again next Halloween.

Reluctantly, the two of you untangled yourselves from the blankets. On your way out, you told him to keep the candy, and that you could never look at another one again.

“Sure,” he smirked, “text me when you get home okay.”

“Will do, thanks.”

After a beat, you stepped back through the doorway and gave him a quick hug. Wrapping his arms around you in return, he laughed.

“Don’t have nightmares!”

“No promises!” you laughed, waving at him as you walked away.

By this time it was dark, but your route back was along main roads, so you weren’t worried. However, you had barely reached the end of Jimin’s road before you felt flecks of drizzle dotting your face.

You picked up the pace, but there was still a while to go. You were never going to outrun the rain.

It wasn’t the first time you had been caught out by a storm, but it made it no more enjoyable. Halfway home, the rain was hammering down, stinging your cheeks with the force it fell. The sky above was a solid mass of cloud, regularly disturbed by thunder.

You were most certainly alone on the streets now, everyone having retreated inside. You just had to push on a little longer, and then you could have a hot shower and warm up in your pyjamas with a hot chocolate.

Cursing yourself for not bringing a coat earlier, you hugged yourself as you marched against the rain which was now dripping down your face, hair plastered to your cheeks.

On reaching your apartment, you broke into a run. Stopping outside the door, you fished for your keys in your pocket.

Nothing.

Chest tightening, you quickly pushed your hand into your other pocket. Your phone was still there, but no keys. Quickly, you patted your jeans to no success. Your bag was just as empty. Where were your keys?

Ever since the coffee incident in the library, your phone had never been quite the same, but you nearly cried in relief when you clicked the power button and it flashed on.

Leaning your head over to shield it from the worst of the rain, although you were also dripping onto it, your cold fingers fumbled to your contacts until you reached Jimin. No one else you knew was in the city.

Pressing call, you held the device to your ear, dial tone beeping over the drumming of the rain.

The tone cut off, and you waited to hear Jimin’s voice.

But it didn’t come.

“Hello?” you spoke.

No reply.

On pulling the phone from your ear, you stared at a dark screen. This time, when you pressed the power button, it was unresponsive.

Great.

Begrudgingly turning around, you sighed heavily. You fingers were already draining themselves of feeling, every inch of your jumper soaked.

But then, a couple of streets further, you spotted something glittering by the pavement. Your keyring!

Dashing towards it, you didn’t care when your fingers scraped against the cold metal of a drain, grabbing your keys as soon as you could. But when you held them up, you could only stare.

You were definitely the unluckiest person you knew.

The keyring charm itself was intact, but the same could not be said for the mangled metal that hung off it, which had been snapped. No key remained.

Looking back to the ground where you had collected it, you could only see dark tarmac. No key. And below the drain your keyring had been lying on was a torrent of rushing water from the storm.

You were well and truly fucked, only one option left.

Your third journey that night down the roads to Jimin’s was significantly less enjoyable than before. Even your shoes were soaked now and you were shivering from head to toe. It really wasn’t the way you wanted Jimin to see you, looking like a rat that had crawled up from the gutter, but you had nowhere else to go.

Finally reaching Jimin’s road, you were surprised to see his door fly open when you were still halfway down the street, spilling yellow light into the dark. You frowned even more when you saw him step out, wrapped in a raincoat, practically tripping down his own steps before looking around.

Closer now, you were able to catch his attention as you approached. He only stared at you, his adorable face the very picture of shock, before he ran up to you.

“Y/N oh my god! The moment this storm started I got worried, and when I saw a missed call from you I didn’t know what to do! What happened? Are you alright?”

“C-cold,” you said through chattering teeth.

“Shit, yeah, let’s get you back inside,” he grabbed your hand and pulled you with him. If only you could feel where his hand held yours.

Just across the threshold, you held back, knowing you were already soaking the ground.

“Y/N, you’re freezing, please come in,” Jimin pulled you into the living room, not that you could resist when you felt the warmth of his house greet you.

Realising you hadn’t even removed your shoes, you bent to undo your waterlogged laces, but your fingers were uncooperative.

“Here,” Jimin knelt too. You watched as his fingers deftly released your laces, and you let him slide your shoes off. His face was flushed, slightly damp too from his short trip outside.

“You’re soaked,” he murmured, sitting back and reaching for you jumper.

Together, you peeled the garment off you, heavy with water.

“I’ll get you some clothes,” he said firmly, “you’re staying here.”

Beyond the window, the rain had not let up.

“Okay.”

Making quick work of the rest of your clothes in the bathroom, you left them in a pile on the shower floor. Jimin had luckily left a towel on the radiator. Wrapped up in the warm fluff, you barely wanted to move, but eventually Jimin’s clothes, folded on the floor, tempted you enough.

Emerging fully dressed in the too-big clothes, you found Jimin stumbling down the stairs. Or rather, a moving pile of blankets.

“Any better?” his eyes peeked over the top, making it impossible for you not to laugh.

“Yeah, thanks.”

Following him into the living room, you stepped over the wet patches you had created as Jimin dropped the blankets onto the sofa.

“So what happened?” he clambered into the makeshift nest, patting the blankets beside him for you to follow suit.

“My keys found their way down a storm drain,” you sighed, “but I didn’t notice until I got home. And then my phone gave up.”

You let out a dry laugh. It really was ridiculous how the world seemed to be against you.

“Would hot chocolate make it better?”

Your eyes and mouth grew simultaneously and Jimin laughed loudly, head flopping back and soft hair falling away from his face. Anyone would have thought he had just given you a bag of lottery winnings by the way you looked at him.

“Yes, I take it?” he giggled.

Maybe the world was against you, but Jimin was the one thing that made everything better. Sitting next to him surrounded by blankets and sipping cocoa could only be made better if you weren’t just sitting next to him.

As if to prove his place as your personal saviour, Jimin soon snuggled closer to you.

After a few minutes of his head on your shoulder, your arm around him, you whispered into his hair.

“Maybe tonight was lucky in the end.”

“Hmm?” he twisted to look at you and your heart softened even more when you saw his eyes were barely open. Smiling giddily, you pulled back to look at him.

“I just always thought bad things happened to me. But it’s not so bad ending up here with you.”

A hand scrubbed over his face in an effort to wake up a little more. Embarrassment already began to encroach as you watched his mouth opening and closing. Had you said too much?

And then he shuffled closer, all those thoughts dissipating like dandelion seeds as his hand brushed your cheek. His lips lay in a peaceful smile, and you couldn’t take your eyes away as he silently shuffled closer.

“Yeah?” he breathed.

“Yeah,” you nodded, sound barely leaving your mouth.

Then his lips met yours.

It wasn’t forceful, quite the opposite. The kind of kiss that made you lean in for more, sweet and lingering, erasing any memory of what existed outside of it. Now his soft touch felt so real, so present and so… Jimin.

Hands ghosted across skin, hungry but tentative.

Time got lost around you as you gave in, indulging in each other until you lay on top of him, breathless as you paused. His eyes were smiling. He was always smiling.

Unable to believe Park Jimin kissed you, wanted you too, you stared at him, trying to soak it all in.

Another laugh passed his lips, joy overflowing. His arms tightened around your waist, squeezing you tightly against his chest, and a kiss was pressed to your forehead.

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

You had to look back at his face then, just to check those words had actually passed his lips.

“Yes!”

The room was familiar, even though it was dark. Nothing could be seen but you knew you had been here before.

The woman had not moved. Was she still angry?

For the first time, the fire shows itself as more than just a glimmer lighting the wisened face. No, it is there, bright and dancing.

Taunting.

You can’t look away but it burns your eyes. That is not all it burns.

The woman’s hand reaches out, engulfed in the fire, and suddenly your silence bursts.

The fire is deafening, cracking like a monster walking on bones, roaring in its pain. Maybe the darkness is the smoke. It gets in your eyes, but you still can’t look away, can’t blink, and beyond the red beast, the woman in still there, voice finally loud and strong, surfacing in the brief moments through the blazing fire.

You can’t understand her.

But you understand she is not a friend. You know from the way her hand rises from the fire unscathed. She must be a friend to the fire, but the fire is hurting you.

You can’t move.

You can’t look away.

Smoke is in your lungs, fire clings to your skin.

You can’t scream but you need to, you need to get out of here, but no one knows you’re here, you don’t even know where here is, or how you got here, but it hurts, and she only wants to hurt you more, and-

Someone is shouting but it’s not her this time and it cuts through the fire. Then it stops and you fall back, darkness and blinding fire side by side-

“Y/N!”

Hands on your shoulder. The room is dark. Where is the smoke? Breath judders in and out of your throat. You cough. The hands draw back. The fire is gone too.

A dim light flicks on and Jimin looks at you. Propped on his elbow, he looks down at you where you lie on the pillow, other hand coming up to stroke down your face. You were used to waking up like this, alone, but now he was there and all you wanted was his warmth.

When you dived towards him, he folded you in his arms, holding you close as you breathed in his safety.

“You okay?” he spoke into the stillness.

At first, you nodded into his chest. Then you thought he might want a bit more detail about why you had woken him in the middle of the night, so you lifted your head. Nose-to-nose on the pillow, you explained.

“It’s this dream I keep having,” you whispered, “I always forget about it after, but it keeps coming back. It was… different, today.”

“What happens in the dream?” a delicate crease formed between Jimin eyebrows.

“I’m in a dark room…” your eyes wandered to the air by his ear as you tried to picture it, “there’s this woman there. And she’s always saying something, but I can never hear. And there’s a fire. Today she made the fire grow, and I could hear her for once, but I still didn’t understand what she was saying.”

“Strange…” he murmured.

“I know,” you sighed, shuffling closer to him under the duvet, “but let’s go back to sleep.”

“Not until I kiss you better,” he smirked, voice still husky with sleep as he rolled you over and planted more perfect kisses to your lips.

Quickly circling your arms and legs around him, you eagerly reciprocated. Your bodies fit together so well, both defying sleep as the kisses continued between your smiling mouths until the dream was well and truly gone from your mind.

In the morning, your phone seemed to have resurrected itself from where it was charging at the wall, and it decided to announce this loudly to Jimin’s entire apartment. Both stirring at the same time when the ringtone blasted across the room, you extricated yourselves from each other.

Jimin reached across for his own phone, groaning when he saw that it was already eleven and promptly flopping back onto the bed. You, on the other hand, abandoned the comfort of the warm bed in favour of making whoever was calling shut up.

However, just as you reached your phone, it fell silent anyway.

Opening it and scrolling through the notifications, you found it was Jungkook who had phoned. You had used Jimin’s phone to text them in the end yesterday, and they said they would come back from the festival early to let you in, so you supposed he was back.

Taking it off charge, you opened Jungkook’s messages, of which there were several from last night.

Before you could read them, though, Jimin’s ringtone started up. Looking up, you admired his muscular back as he twisted to pick it up.

“It’s Jin,” he frowned, looking to you.

Sitting back on the bed, you just shrugged.

“Hello?” Jimin greeted.

He was leaning back on one arm, but as he listened to whatever Jin was saying, he sat forwards, face growing serious.

“O-okay, yeah,” he said.

Startling you, he pushed the covers aside and pulled his wardrobe open, one hand still occupied with the phone. When he had pulled out a random pair of jeans and a shirt, he turned to you. He crossed the room rapidly, holding out the phone for you to take.

You stared between his face and the phone, then shook yourself and hurriedly took it.

“Jin?”

“Y/N, we just got back… I think you should probably come here.”

“Okay, we can come soon, what’s going on?”

“Um, well…” for a moment your heart froze as he paused, fearing what might be wrong. Jungkook could be heard faintly in the background.

“Are you still there? Jin?”

“There was a fire.”

Now it was your turn to be silent. You were aware that your boyfriend was undressing right behind you, but all you could do was sit still.

“What?” you choked.

“Listen, don’t worry, it’s going to be okay-“

“How bad?”

Another pause from Jin, and you knew he didn’t want to say.

“Most of the apartment is fine, it’s just your room…” you heard the soft creak of your sofa as he sat heavily, “just come here, okay? We’ll sort something out.”

“Y-yeah. See you soon.”

Shakily, you stood. Jimin was fully dressed, car keys already in hand.

It was exactly like Jin had said, but that still didn’t make it any better.

You knocked on the door, greeted with a lingering hug from Jin. He always gave those kind of hugs, like he was trying to hold you together with his own arms. From the outside, your place looked the same, but you could already see black streaks on the wall as you looked down the corridor, where Jungkook nervously licked and bit his lip alternately.

Yoongi and Namjoon were also there, trying very hard to blend into the wall. They took the first chance they could to join Jimin by the door as you stepped past them all towards your room.

Black seeped around the edges of your door. You felt numb as you pushed against it, swinging it open to reveal an unrecognisable space. Everything was completely ravaged by the fire, curtains hanging from the pole in rags, dark debris covering the floor and furniture stained darker than it was ever meant to be.

Your feet disturbed the dust of what was once yours, carrying you further into the wreckage.

Until a hand landed on your shoulder, you simply stood, paralysed. But then Jimin was next to you and you broke into his arms.

“The firefighters were here this morning when we got back,” Jin said, “they told us a candle set fire to your curtain and it started from there.”

You nodded.

That’s all you had been doing for a while since the lot of you had camped out in the living room back at Jimin’s. You had been huddled against him ever since as your flatmates made calls to the landlord, insurance, repair services and so on.

It wasn’t too severely damaged.

That’s what the general consensus was, and you could go back to living there after a couple of days unless any complications were found as they cleaned up the house. But for you, it was different. It was your stuff that had burned.

Even the photos in the hallway that burned, the only victims of the flames that had escaped your room, were all of you. For the thousandth time, you questioned if someone out there really hated you so much.

At least your friends didn’t.

They hadn’t expected anything of you, letting you stay silent and sorting everything out. Now that all anyone could do was wait, a lazy day was declared and the blankets made a return appearance.

Jimin invited his friends Tae and Hoseok, who were apparently also friends with his flatmates, and Jin went shopping with Namjoon, insisting on cooking later.

You had to admit, being surrounded by Jimin and your friends did lift your spirits. Taehyung and Jungkook had instantly hit it off, goofing around as crap TV played in the background. All the sweets you had failed to eat the night before came in especially useful for such a big group.

Jin’s food was excellent as always, and you had recovered enough by dinner time to notice something different about your friend.

“Did you see my messages last night?” Jungkook whispered, digging his elbow into you. You squealed, but he shushed you, looking around at the others.

It was getting dark, and you had all piled together for a film (not horror).

When the others’ eyes left you, you glared at your youngest friend.

“I didn’t. What is it?”

Beside you, Jimin’s arm tightened around your waist as he leaned forwards, resting his chin on your shoulder to hear Jungkook too.

“Yeah Kook, what is it?” he chuckled.

“Jin-hyung was on date!” Kook’s big eyes sparkled with excitement as you sat forward with a start, evicting Jimin from his spot on your shoulder.

“What?!” you whisper-shouted.

“I know!”

Spluttering for something to say, you grabbed Kook’s hands as you both bounced up and down on the sofa, Jimin hiding laughter behind his hand at the two of you.

“Who was it? How did you find out? Did he like them? Ohmygod!” you rambled.

Jungkook laughed, but supressed it quickly, smile full to bursting as he leaned forwards, barely containing himself.

“Namjoon-hyung,” he whispered.

Now Jimin’s eyes bulged from his head along with you.

“Oh my god.”

Satisfied with your reactions, Jungkook giggled as you and Jimin exchanged looks.

“Hush, you lot. And I would be careful – Jin and I are not the only ones who seem to have got up to something this weekend.”

Three pairs of wide eyes turned towards Namjoon, who was right beside Jungkook. He simply snorted a laugh, dimples making an appearance as he turned back to the film without another word.

You stayed quiet after that.

Jimin had to admit, your pessimism seemed to be justified.

From a roof tile falling on you, people spilling coffee on you, your keys vanishing mysteriously on the very night your apartment caught fire, unlucky would be an understatement. Now he sat in the library, mind drifting back to all the time he had known you.

The first time you had come round to study, he remembered staring in surprise at all your memory sticks. You kept so many on you, as well as saving your work onto enough clouds to make a storm, on top of keeping notes on paper.

Perhaps you weren’t just disorganised as you claimed. In fact, you seemed extremely organised, but you insisted your documents went missing all the time.

He placed down another book on the growing pile beside him, pulling the next one out.

When he had taken you back to your room after the fire, he sadly placed a row of charred pot plants in a bin bag. They were all dead anyway, you had said, I can never keep them alive.

Yoongi had come to the library too, under the guise of studying. If studying consisted of forcing Namjoon to let him into the staff room for unlimited coffee, then he was being very productive.

But when Jimin confessed his fears, Yoongi had also told him about you dreaming in class.

Only a few passing paragraphs had struck him as relevant so far in his quest for research, and the sky was already dimming outside. Only a couple more books sat on his left side, the books he hadn’t read yet. Sighing in defeat, he placed yet another book across to the right and pulled the largest tome yet over to him.

This one didn’t look like it had been touched in years, leather binding groaning as he heaved it open, coughing at the dust that spewed from its pages. But finally, he saw something promising in the contents.

Turning the yellowed pages, he reached his destination, instantly knowing from the illustrations that this was it. A full moon, just like the one outside the library window. A wilted plant. A spider-web of swirling black smoke.

Eyes devouring the words on the page, he eventually sat back. For a moment, he looked at the thin air in front of him, swallowing hard.

Then he sprung into action, pulling out his phone and snapping photos of the book. It shut heavily in another cloud of dust, and then it was away on the shelf and Jimin’s thumb was hovering over your contact as he rushed to his flatmates at the desk.

“I’ve found it!”

Namjoon mumbled something that sounded a lot like finally as Yoongi turned away from him towards Jimin. He was already calling you, wanting to meet up to share his findings.

The ringtone stopped, and he opened his mouth to greet you, only for your voicemail to speak first.

Brow creasing, he pulled his phone away and hung up, pressing call again.

Nothing.

“What is it?” Yoongi asked, but Jimin was looking past him. The moon hung so innocently in the sky, but Jimin’s veins were turning to ice.

“We have to go. Now.”

The week following such an eventful Halloween had been a blur. You were pretty sure tonight was the first time you had been alone since that night.

Jungkook was at home with his family for his brother’s birthday, Jin working late at the restaurant.

Jimin had been working in the library all day with his flatmates too, leaving you at your newly repaired house all by yourself. As per a yearly tradition, Jin had salvaged some pumpkins from his work that were due to be thrown out when pumpkin pie left the menu, but you were the only one around to carve them at the moment.

But you were bored. And there were plenty, too many if you were honest, and you were always terrible, so it wouldn’t hurt to practise before Jimin had to witness your shocking pumpkin art skills.

And this was how you ended up in the middle of a storm of pumpkin innards in your kitchen, wonky face leering from the unfortunate vegetable behind you as you looked around at the mess.

Having already slipped over once on the orange goo, you decided cleaning up took priority over improving your artistry. Setting the knife down, you bent down and scooped up the largest clump, a few seeds falling from your hands as you shuffled over to the bin on your knees.

Pushing your hair behind your ear and leaving a sticky orange clump while you were at it, you leaned across to another patch, right at the base of the counter.

But as you stretched out your fingers, a shape fell down your vision. Before you could even blink, you felt a sharp, stabbing pain in your arm as metal clattered to the tile.

Recoiling, you were met with bright red. The knife that had leapt from the side was the sharpest one in the kitchen, Jin’s pride and joy. Where it had hit your arm, aided by gravity, it had easily sliced into your skin which now spewed blood at an alarming rate as you jumped up, eyes glued to the injury.

Bandages. Clean it. Stop the blood.

Minor first aid had been drilled into your head since you were younger, given all the scrapes and bruises you accumulated. But now, as red spattered onto your kitchen floor, you couldn’t seem to remember the order to do things.

Where were the bandages anyway?

No, clean it. Yes.

Ripping your eyes away, you clutched the edge of the sink as you stuck your arm under running water. It burned like fire into your cut.

Snatching your arm back, you watched the pale red splash up the edges of the sink, now falling onto the counter too. Shit. Clamping your other hand over the injury, you squeezed it and hissed in pain just as the room wobbled around you.

Scratch all this. You needed to lie down.

Eyes set on the sofa, you stepped towards it, but you never made it that far.

In the brightness of the room, only one face is visible. A woman with age-worn skin is looking at you.

She is talking.

Fire blazes all around her, throwing her face into light, nearly erasing the wrinkles that cling to her.

She is louder than the fire, words you do not recognise spilling from her lips. You’ve heard this kind of thing before, though, and you know she is gifted. Her words carry the distinct sound of the language of magic.

Though you do not understand it, you know she is not a friend.

But her words change.

Within the hostile words, there is one you know. A name.

But it isn’t yours. Why are you here if she wants Eunji? Eunji is your grandmother’s name.

Before you can ask, the fire stops burning. Silence returns.

In the darkness of the room, only one face is visible. She is lit by moonlight.

“Why are we in such a hurry anyway?” Yoongi eyed his friend in the passenger seat as he chewed his lip, looking back at his phone for the third time in a minute.

“Something bad might have happened.”

Resurfacing from his blank phone screen, Jimin watched the light turn to green, relieved when Yoongi pulled away much too fast.

When they pulled up outside your building, Jimin had already thrown his seatbelt off, jumping out before Yoongi had even turned the car off. Frowning, he followed his friend as he ran to the door, nearly beating it down with the force of his knocks.

No one answered.

He had thought you could be just napping, missing the phone calls. Letting your phone die was a special talent of yours, anyway.

But no one could sleep through the racket Jimin was making.

Joining Jimin at the door, he looked around. Since you had been locked out, Jin had given in and had a spare key made to ‘save you from yourself’. Picking up a pot plant from the doorstep, Yoongi revealed the key, which Jimin instantly dived for.

“Y/N?” Jimin was running up the hallway.

Yoongi heard him gasp before he had reached the corner himself, but it made him speed up.

It was a good thing Jimin had panicked. Because there you were, out cold on the kitchen floor, blood flowing from your arm and a knife stained red lying nearby.

Yoongi already had his phone to his ear as Jimin crashed to his knees next to you, crying out your name and pulling you onto his knees. No response came. Looking wildly around him, he grabbed for a towel, rolling it up and pressing it into your arm where the blood still seeped out.

He barely heard Yoongi talking behind him as he swallowed down the lump in his throat, free hand cupping your face, running his thumb shakily across your cheekbone.

The paramedics didn’t arrive for too long. Then he blinked and they were everywhere, hands pulling him back away from you. You got lost in the water warping his vision.

But you would be okay.

That was what they said, but he could barely believe it when he walked into your hospital room at last, greeted with your eyes, awake and alive. Your sheepish smile, embarrassed at another mishap.

It felt like air had entered his lungs for the first time since it all left him when he had seen you on the floor some hours ago.

“Thank god,” he choked when his face was finally pressed into your hair, arms holding so tight you weren’t sure you would ever escape. Not that you would complain about that.

His lips found yours desperately, telling you how much he cared, how much he worried. Eyes fluttering shut, you returned the embrace, reveling in the feeling.

A cough startled you apart.

“Get a room,” Jin complained. It didn’t quite have the same effect when his smile wouldn’t leave his face.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, we are in a room,” you retorted.

Nonetheless, Jimin stepped back and let Jin hug you. Yoongi followed not far behind with a carrier of coffee for everyone. Jungkook had already called you, just before they all arrived, promising bucketloads of junk food when he came back.

“I thought I banned you from my good knives,” Jin fixed you with a stare as he sat down.

You avoided his gaze.

“The others weren’t strong enough for the pumpkin,” you muttered, aware of how stupid it sounded.

He just sighed.

“I’m just glad Jimin turned up when he did,” Jin squeezed Jimin’s knee, “how did you know to come anyway?”

“Well…” Jimin shuffled in his seat, “I sort of found something out…”

Looking to the other occupants in the room, you found their gazes just as blank as yours.

“What do you mean?”

Tugging his chair a little closer, Jimin reached out for your hand, enclosing it in his.

“I was doing some research. We all know you’re clumsy, unlucky and bad things happen to you a lot-“

“Thanks Jimin,” you said drily, eyebrows climbing your face.

“No, no! I still l- you know what I mean,” he sighed after you burst out laughing at his panic, “no, but seriously Y/N, I don’t think it’s a coincidence. I study curses, and all the signs are there. Dreams, bad luck, unlikely accidents. I found a book, there was this illustration about a particular curse, it matched the scorch marks from the fire at your place exactly. It’s an old curse, elders used it to wish ill fortune on a family line, and it relies on moon magic. And tonight was a full moon, and this happened, so…”

Staring back at your boyfriend, you were glad for the grounding presence of his hand. You hadn’t understood all of what he said, not knowing anything about magic yourself, but it was clear what he thought.

You were cursed.

“But-but my family aren’t cursed,” you spoke quietly, “you said it was a family curse-”

“A family line curse,” he explained, “it only affects one person, but it’s a curse bestowed on someone else in your family. Sometimes people want to hurt a loved one of the one they curse, not the enemy themselves.”

“That’s horrible,” you whispered.

“I know,” Jimin said, “and that’s why we need to break it. I’m sure I’m right about this, it all fits. I can show you the book I found, if you want.”

Nodding, you looked at your lap.

“How do we break it?”

“That’s a little more tricky…” Jimin admitted, pushing a hand through his hair, “we need to find out who cast it in the first place. That way we can unwork exactly what was done, since it’s a highly personal curse.”

“My grandma,” you muttered.

“Sorry?”

“I think it was my grandma.”

You eyes met Jimin’s. Greeted with his full attention, you took a breath and elaborated.

“I had another dream… or, at least, I think it was a dream. It was while I was passed out. It was the same as before, but, well, it was quite different actually. But the woman, she definitely said my grandma’s name.”

“Then you’re probably right,” Jimin squeezed your hand, “shall we give her a call?”

As the dial tone bleeped in your ear, you looked around at your friends. Although Yoongi had dozed off in his chair, Jin was giving you an encouraging smile. When your eyes met, he gave you a thumbs up. Grinning, you leaned back into Jimin’s arms where he sat on the bed behind you.

“Hello?” your grandpa’s voice finally greeted you.

“Oh, hi, grandpa, it’s me,” you smiled.

“Hello sweetie! How are you?” he asked, “your dad told us you had an accident today.”

“Yes, I’m fine thank you. I was wondering if I could talk to grandma?”

“Ah, sorry love, she’s out at the moment. Bad luck.”

Not funny grandpa. Bad luck was the exact thing you were trying to shake off.

“Okay,” you sighed, “maybe she could phone me when she gets back?”

“Hold on,” your grandpa’s voice grew more distant. In the distance, a door clicked. “I think that’s her now. I’ll get her.”

Suddenly, his yell of ‘EUNJIII!’ made you jump, hurriedly jerking away from your phone.

“Hello dear?” your grandma’s voice crackled across and you deemed it safe to return the device to your ear.

“Hi grandma. I have something I have to ask you.”

“Of course,” you could practically hear her smiling, but you felt yourself growing hot. How were you meant to breach such a subject?

“Um, were you ever, I mean, how-“ a deep breath, “are you cursed?”

Wow. Real tactful, you scolded yourself mentally.

“Oh!” you grandma laughed on the other line, “I see, dear. Any reason you’re asking.”

“Um, just, that, maybe, I might be sort of… cursed, too,” you winced.

“I mean, you are quite unlucky…” she gave an awkward laugh, but offered nothing more.

“Grandma,” you begged, “please tell me.”

She sighed.

“Okay. Yes, I was cursed. I never believed it though, but ever since you came along, I started to see the truth. Your grandpa knows all this too, but I never thought it would be so bad.”

“But we can break it grandma,” you encouraged, “it can be broken if we know why it was cast in the first place.”

“You can really break it?”

“Yes, grandma.”

“I’m so sorry, I never knew anything about all this magic, I just thought… well, I can tell you what happened.

“Y/N, the thing is... I’m bisexual. And when I was your age, I had a girlfriend. When her mother found out, she was very angry. Back then, people weren’t accepting like they are now, and she wouldn’t tolerate us being together. They were from a community of magic and she blamed me for ‘leading her daughter astray’, and tried to curse me, saying I would feel her pain when I had a daughter of my own.”

“Oh,” you breathed. That made sense. Your grandma only had one child, your father. So… “I’m the next daughter in the family.”

“Yes, my dear,” your grandma sighed, “so you see why I never believed her. She was just a hateful old woman, and when your dad was fine, I thought the curse wasn’t real. I’m so sorry Y/N.”

“It’s okay, grandma,” you told her, “I still love you very much. We will break it. Thank you for telling me.”

Magic in real life was nothing like what you had seen on TV. Well, you were doing a different kind, you supposed.

Jimin had a massive book on the floor in front of him, a row of dried plants beside him. Eyeing them, you took deep breaths. Jimin’s explanation hadn’t really made sense to you, so you just planned to go with whatever the process was.

You had understood one thing, however.

“Homophobic piece of shit curse,” you grumbled, picking aggressively at the floorboards. “This would be so much better if I had to kiss a girl, just to stick it to that woman.”

Smile tugging at his lips, Jimin looked up at you.

“Do you not want to kiss me?”

“Of course I want to kiss you, idiot,” you rolled your eyes, “I’m just saying.”

Chuckling, Jimin bent back over his book.

“Well, I think we’re ready. Then you never have to kiss me again.”

“No, Jimin!” you gasped, “I want to kiss you plenty!”

“Come here then,” he laughed.

Giggling, you walked to him and knelt in front of him, returning to the gorgeous familiarity of his kiss, his hands tantalising on your waist.

“Okay,” he panted, eventually drawing back, “that was a good practise. Time to do it for real. Are you ready?”

Nodding, you climbed off him and sat, mirroring his position cross-legged on the floor. At his reassuring smile, you closed your eyes.

You felt his soft palm rest on your forehead, and he murmured something. Though it was incomprehensible to you, it did stir something in you. Though your eyes were closed, your retinas seemed flooded with golden light, while something churned low in your stomach.

The hand stayed in place as the scent of lavender engulfed you, one of the plants Jimin had prepared. He spoke again.

Suddenly, the light flashed and disappeared, the world sinking into darkness.

One face is visible.

You know her, you have been here before, and she is still talking.

But now the smoke in the room is visible, light grey tendrils rising from burning lavender. There is no fire. The woman’s voice changes then.

The language of magic continues, but Jimin’s voice is sounding through the room, and another smell meets you, a herb you do not know.

You stay there for a while. Although you do not move, you are sure you could if you wanted. You aren’t in danger here anymore.

Her hand raises. She has done that before, but this time there is no threat. You are sure of it. You know it from the way light pools in her palm, warm, innocent, inviting.

You cannot look away.

Maybe you are floating. Something is pulling at you, and suddenly you gasp, tasting the herbs in the air. It feels like something is moving inside you. You clutch your chest, feeling something curling around your heart, fighting, and then it is rising and you are choking on it.

Maybe you are dying.

Gasping and spluttering, you find no air. But something finds you. A kiss like home, sweet against your lips, and when they pull away, air spills in.

A whisper by your ears, so close the breath moves your hair.

“Open your eyes.”

The room is light, and one face is visible. Jimin smiles.

“It worked!”

Tackling your boyfriend to the floor in a hug, you press your face into his chest. You couldn’t believe it. It was really gone!

“How do you feel?” he laughed.

“Great! Amazing! Perfect!” you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face, “I could do anything! I can have plants without killing them now, right! Jin might let me in the kitchen! Oh my god, I’m going to win a video game against Jungkook!”

Ecstatic, you watched Jimin laughing hysterically under you, joy written all over his face. It suited him.

Maybe now the curse was gone, you could do anything, but there was one thing you wanted more than all that.

“I love you,” you whispered, leaning down to kiss him.

Please please please reblog if you liked it, sharing my work really helps me out! Thank you for reading💜

223 notes · View notes

suituuup · 3 years

Photo

pieces - chapter three

Five years ago, Chloe dropped off the face of the Earth. Beca sees her again in the most unexpected place.

rated: E for drug use and sex scenes

AO3 LINK

“Bec?”

Beca hummed absentmindedly, blinking out of her daze and twisting her head in the direction of the voice.

Sarah smiled gently as she leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen. She cocked an eyebrow, giving a pointed look towards the sink. “I think the pan is clean.”

Beca glanced down, stilling her movements. She had been scrubbing that pan for probably ten minutes now, her thoughts completely consumed by Chloe and what she was supposed to do next.

Chloe clearly didn’t want to see her, and Beca wasn’t going to wait by the phone when it was clear that Chloe was far from okay. She was thinner than Beca remembered, and the look in her eye, the lack of light in those once bright blues, chilled Beca to the bone.

She looked… broken. As though her spirit had repeatedly been battered until all that was left were mere pieces of her old self.

If there were any left at all.

Beca couldn’t stand the thought of not doing anything, and she needed to come up with a plan to help Chloe without driving her into a corner and risk losing her forever.

“What’s going on?” Sarah questioned, pushing off the doorframe and padding over. She rested her hand between Beca’s shoulder blades, her eyebrows knitted together in concern. “You’ve seemed off today.”

Beca released a sigh, setting the pan down into the sink and reaching for the dishtowel laying next to her on the counter to dry her hands. “I’m sorry, I’m just… worried about a friend.”

Sarah nodded slowly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Sarah was unexpected, to say the least. Beca was a workaholic, and her career was too time-consuming for her to get into the whole dating thing. But Sarah, who happened to work as a barista in Beca’s favorite independent coffee shop, had somehow managed to convince Beca to go out with her. One dinner surprisingly turned into a second date, then a third, and it just like that, it had been almost a year since they officially got together.

Sarah was gentle, patient, understanding, overflowing with positivity, but most of all, incredibly kind. She reminded Beca of Chloe, sometimes. And maybe it was those similar personality traits that drew Beca to her in the first place.

They didn’t live together. Beca could feel that it was the next expected step on her girlfriend’s end, but she didn’t feel ready to commit, yet. She liked her own space, her solitude. So Sarah spent a few nights a week at Beca’s place, like tonight, and Beca was fine with that.

“Not really,” she replied, casting Sarah an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, it’s just-- complicated right now.”

“You need to stop apologizing,” Sarah murmured, her expression soft and loving. Beca let her shoulders sag, ready to apologize again. “I understand. But if you do change your mind and need to let something off your chest, I’m here.”

Beca nodded. “Thanks.”

“Are you coming to bed?”

“Not yet, I wanna get some work done, first.” She leaned in to peck Sarah’s lips. “You go ahead, I’ll join you soon.”

Walking across the living room and past the huge floor to ceiling windows looking over Central Park, Beca made her way to her home office, her happy place. She had bought the Manhattan condo two years ago, making it a requirement during her house-hunt to have a large room with plenty of light and enough space to store all her records and her music equipment. It was also where she kept her Grammys and other prizes, away from the attention as nobody really stepped into her office.

She usually popped a blues album on the record player, enjoying the soothing instrumentals while she replied to various emails, but not tonight. Tonight, she grabbed a yellow legal notepad and her headphones from her desk and curled up on the leather couch tucked in the far corner, then scrolled to her Spotify playlists until she found the one she was looking for.

she is magic

Beca couldn’t remember the last time she had listened to her Chloe playlist, one she had made back in Barden when she was hopelessly in love with her best friend. They were songs that reminded her of Chloe, or songs that Chloe liked. Or used to like, at least.

As lyrics she knew so well poured into her headphones, blocking out the rest of the world, different ones flowed out of Beca’s heart, materializing on the paper in front of her in black ink as she scribbled across the page. Lyrics about friendship, unrequited love, and regrets for listening to her brain and not her heart all these years ago.

It was pushing on two am by the time Beca called it a night. Her eyes burned, her mind felt mushy, but her soul felt a tiny bit lighter. Music had always been her therapy, and writing songs had always proved more efficient than paying a licensed professional, even though it had been years since Beca had last finished one, for lack of inspiration.

Or rather, because of the absence of her muse.

She woke up five hours later to a stiff neck and sore back, the bright sunlight pouring in from the windows lining one of her office walls drawing her from her sleep. She had meant to go to bed, before deciding to close her eyes for five minutes right on the couch.

Straightening with a groan, she grabbed her phone and turned it over, hoping to see a text from an unknown number on her screen.

Aubrey Posen [6:23am]

Any news?

Aubrey Posen [6:37am]

Should I come to New York?

Aubrey practiced family law up in Boston. She and Beca saw each other a few times a year, whenever Aubrey was in the city. Bella reunions were a bit more scarce now, with the girls being scattered all around the country. Their last one dated back to a year and a half ago, on the Fourth of July.

Beca ran a hand over her face and heaved out a sigh, swiping her thumb across the screen to unlock it.

Beca [7:16am]

No news yet. I think I’m gonna wait a few days before I head back to the club, if she doesn’t call in the meantime that is. The manager gave me serious sleazy vibes and I’m sure he could blacklist me if I’m too insistent. I don’t think there’s any need for you to come down for now. I’ll keep you posted.

Hitting send, Beca pushed to her feet and shuffled out of her office, hanging a left down the hall towards the kitchen. A note next to her coffee thermos sat on the island.

Missed you last night, but I hope you got whatever you needed done. I had to leave for my shift, you’re welcome to swing by for your second coffee of the day and your morning kiss ;) have a good day!

Sarah xx

Guilt swooped in over picking old feelings about an ex-almost over her girlfriend, and Beca let her head hang forward, releasing a grown. She was far from an expert at this relationship thing, but she cared about Sarah a lot and didn’t want to mess that up.

Beca shook off the sleepiness lingering in her bones and the stiffness in her muscles with a long, hot shower, then got ready for her day. She usually got to the office at 8 sharp, but it was already 7:54 by the time she was out the door, and her commute lasted about twenty minutes, so she wouldn’t get the chance to stop by Sarah’s workplace.

To: Sarah

I’m sorry, I got caught up in work last night and ended up falling asleep on the couch around 2. Come over tonight? I’ll cook dinner. Have a good shift.

Her morning was spent in the studio canning vocals for girl in red’s new album, a project Beca was stocked about as she was BMLJ’s most promising artist for this year’s Grammy Awards.

“That was awesome, Marie,” Beca spoke into the microphone, giving her a thumbs-up through the glass. “Let’s take a lunch break and resume in an hour?”

“Sounds good,” the younger woman agreed with a smile as she took off her headphones.

Beca headed back to her office down the hall and checked her phone for any new messages (finding none important), before shrugging on her thick winter coat and screwing her beanie over her head.

“I’ll be back in an hour, Gina!” She told her assistant on route to the elevator.

As Sarah’s workplace was just five blocks south from the label, Beca figured she would eat lunch there as she wasn’t able to stop by that morning. She stopped in the convenience store across the street from the coffee shop to buy Sarah her favorite magazine as she knew her break was coming up soon and she’d have something to read.

Beca was scanning the press stand for that specific magazine, not paying attention to the person walking into the store until they spoke.

“A pack of Marlboro, please.”

Beca would recognize that voice anywhere. Her head snapped up so fast she felt something in her neck pull, and she was rounding the stand before she even registered giving her feet the order to move. “Chloe?”

Chloe glanced over to her right and froze for a second, before fishing for a twenty in her jacket pocket and handing it to the cashier. “Are you following me or something?”

Given their last encounter, Beca wasn’t surprised by Chloe’s snark, so she gave as good as she got. “You came in after I did, so maybe I should ask you that question.”

Chloe stuffed the cigarette pack and the change into her pocket. “What do you want, Beca?”

“To talk,” she replied, softly. “One coffee, that’s it. And if you decide you really don’t want me in your life, then I won’t bother you again. I promise.”

Chloe seemed to ponder on that for a few beats. “One coffee.”

“There’s a shop right across the street.”

Taking her to the place her girlfriend worked at? Probably not the brightest idea, but she was afraid Chloe might go back on her decision if they spent too long finding someplace else.

When Chloe nodded, Beca took the lead and stepped outside, forgetting all about that magazine as she racked her brain about what she should say. Tactfulness wasn’t her greatest suit; Aubrey would be so much better at this.

They stepped inside Devocion and Beca picked a table in the corner, shrugging off her coat and draping it over the back of her chair. Chloe kept her jacket and beanie on, a bit hunched on herself as she sat down in the chair opposite Beca’s.

“Beca?”

Beca glanced towards Sarah as she approached, wearing a waist apron with the café logo on it. Her dark blonde hair was woven back in a French braid, a few strands escaping, and curiosity swirled in her green eyes as they flickered to Chloe.

Okay, in hindsight, bringing Chloe here was a terrible idea.

“Hey, um, Sarah, this is Chloe, a friend from college.” She cleared her throat. “Chloe, this is my girlfriend, Sarah.”

“Nice to meet you,” Sarah replied brightly, her smile fading a little when all Chloe offered was a distant nod. Sarah met Beca’s gaze briefly, clearing her throat. “What can I get you guys?”

“My usual. You want anything to eat, Chlo?”

The nickname rolled off her tongue so naturally, Beca didn’t even catch it.

Chloe shook her head. “Just a black coffee.”

“Coming right up.”

“Thanks,” Beca said as Sarah spun around on her heels, her focus shifting to Chloe. “So um, I wanted to apologize for the other day and putting you on the spot at the club. I just… wasn’t sure how else to talk to you.”

“I can give you some of the money back if you need it.”

Beca furrowed her brow, not having expected that. “No, no. I… it’s fine. I don’t care about money.”

Something flashed in Chloe’s eyes at that, something Beca couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Sarah came back with two coffees before she could analyze it further, setting the mugs down on the table. “Your club sandwich will be here in a few, babe.”

Beca nodded, casting her a small, appreciative smile.

Chloe straightened a bit in her seat, cradling the mug with both hands. “I’m not sure what you expect me to say or do, Beca.”

Beca licked her lips. “I was hoping we could… hang out from time to time. I’ve missed you, Chlo. So has Aubrey.”

The mention of Aubrey made Chloe lookup. “Does she live in New York, too?”

“Um no, in Boston. She’s a lawyer. But she’d come down to have coffee, or lunch, or whatever you feel like doing. In a heartbeat.”

Chloe shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

What little hope flared in the pit of Beca’s belly upon Chloe showing interest in Aubrey’s life vanished. “Why not?”

“I told you. I’m not the same person anymore. I’m-- I’m not…”

Beca tilted her head to the side. “You’re not what?” She pressed gently.

Chloe’s gaze fleeted out the window as her rather calm demeanor now radiated agitation. Her knee started bouncing and her fingers tightened around the mug, and it was as though Chloe was battling against her own thoughts.

She was itching to reach across the table to rest her hand over her wrist in a sort of grounding gesture, but something told her that would have the opposite effect.

“Chloe?” Beca attempted once more, her voice as soft as she could muster, as it seemed like Chloe was on the brink of bolting.

The tear slipping out of Chloe’s eye tore her heart into two. “I-I have to go.”

Her chair screeched as she pushed it back roughly, and she was nearly out the door by the time Beca scrambled to her feet.

It was lunch-hour rush in one of the busiest avenues in Manhattan, and Chloe had already disappeared in the crowd when she reached the exit, leaving Beca to helplessly wonder how someone like Chloe, once the epitome of sunshine, got herself trapped in so much darkness.

#bechloe #bechloe fanfic #bechloe fic #beca mitchell #chloe beale #pieces

74 notes · View notes

johannstutt413 · 3 years

Text

HAPPY BIRTHDAY GRAVEL!!!!!!

Capybara waifu who loved you waaaaay before you loved her back. Remember, guys: she’s everyone’s wife. Yes, you too. You’re married. This is a threat.

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

(continuing from this, based on calligomiles’ comment)

“Hey, Senomy?” The Doctor and Gravel were lying in a bed in the center of their thoroughly ravaged bedroom. It’d been a good night. “Let’s go on a road trip. Just the two of us.”

“If you’d like; as long as I’m with you, everything’s wonderful~ Where are we going?” She was lying on top of him, looking him directly in the eyes.

Enjoyable, but it made his next few words a bit more difficult. “We’re going to Kazimierz.”

“Kazimierz?” The Zalak gazed through his eyes to the man beneath, but as usual, all she saw was his silver soul and bottomless heart. “Why Kazimierz?”

“There’s something I want to find - something the me I forgot wasn’t brave enough to do. We won’t be there too long, I promise.”

Senomy sighed, absentmindedly reaching up to brush his hair. “It would never be my first choice, but I meant what I said, darling. We’ll leave tomorrow?”

“Mmhmm, tomorrow.” His hand drifted along her back, running along countless scars earned in her masters’ service. “I love you so much.”

“And I love you.” One kiss. “With.” Another. “Everything.” All of them.

The next morning, after sleeping in later than usual, the pair borrowed an RV and set out. It was a 5-day trip, but they had all of RI’s digital resources available to them for notices on weather and other hazards, as well as a full library of entertainment. While Gravel was probably the better choice, the Doctor insisted on driving, as it’d been his idea for this trip and wanted her “as comfortable as a queen;” that meant plenty of stops along the way, to the point it actually took a week to finally reach Kazimierz...not that either of them were in a rush.

Finally inside the city, the Doctor checked his phone’s GPS at the still-closed RV door. “Alright, so that’s where it is. Senomy, before we go, would you prefer me to call you Gravel while we’re out?”

“That would be better, yes. Now that we’re here, can I ask where we’re going?”

“Yes.” He took a deep breath. “We’re going to see the man who has your contract.”

She stared at him. “We’re...darling, that’s a terrible idea.”

“I know, but it’s the only way to make the revision I need made to it.” It was an effort to look her in the eye as he said that; his heart was an echo chamber for her pain, and this was one of the rare occasions he knew he’d see it.

“Revision?” Gravel, incapable of backing away from him even in fear, practically flew to cling to him. “Doctor, I thought...you’re not going to...”

The Doctor kissed her forehead. “I promised you once, and I promise again: I will not end your contract to me so long as you do not wish for it. For all the ways you protect me, it seems like the one way I can do the same.”

“But what change are you hoping to make, then? Contract law is almost inscrutable for even the most proficient lawyers in the country.”

“I had the clause written for me by someone from Rhodes Island more familiar with it.” He gently pried her off of him. “Now, let’s move quickly; the faster we finish here, the less time we spend in danger.”

Senomy still couldn’t fathom what the person dearest to her in all the world wanted to accomplish, and the thought utterly terrified her in a way that took her back to dark places...but this was the Doctor, not some sweaty Kuranta with a strong backhand or lecherous Lupo with wandering eyes. She had enough faith in him to see her through this, no doubt.

The only question left was what exactly this change was supposed to be?

Some time later, in a bar that pretended to be far more noble than it was (just like Kazimierz itself), the Doctor went directly to the bartender, Gravel barely even a step behind. “I’d like to place an order.”

“Oh, found one you like?” The Anaty gave him a crooked grin. “Whatcha havin’, masked stranger?”

“Give me a Rocky Road.”

The record on play skipped as a few nearby turned to look at him. The bartender took a step back. “That...I haven’t heard that name in years-”

“And you won’t be hearing it or anything else again if you’re not faster.” He drew no weapon, but his eyes began to glow crimson through his visor. “Give me a goddamn Rocky Road.”

“...A-alright. I’m not mopping you off my floor afterwards.” He reached into a small box under the counter, took out an envelope, and handed it to him.

The Doctor nodded, palming him a substantial amount of Kazimierzian currency. “We’re done here, then.” And without any further ceremony, they left for the address on the envelope.

“I didn’t know you could be so threatening, Doctor.” Senomy was doing her best to control herself, but it wasn’t easy. “How did you know where to find my contract?”

“Even if I’ve forgotten where I’ve been and what I’ve done, the rest of the world isn’t so fortunate,” he replied cryptically. This was all so strange for him - to her, he was usually an open book. Why all the secrecy? Why the omission? What was so important that they...that she had to see them again?

The manor hadn’t changed much in the time since Gravel had left it - some of the iron fence had a reddish hue, but the grounds were still well-kept, and a guardsman kept watch from the same tower as always. Said guard met them at the gate, a halberd in their hand. “Halt. Who goes...Lady Gravel?”

“They call you Lady?” The Doctor smiled at her before turning to the roadblock in front of them. “You know who I am, I expect?”

“Yes, the Doctor of Rhodes Island. Have you finally come to claim her contract?”

He nodded. “That I am. You’ve been expecting me, then?”

“I never understood why you left the physical contract with the family rather than take it with you...” The guard stepped aside. “I’ll inform the recordkeeper of your arrival. Do you wish to see-”

“N-no, that won’t be necessary, thank you, Roderick.” Gravel took a step behind the Doctor and followed him through the gate, up the winding path to the manor house, and inside the manor. It was hard to imagine that she used to think of this place as home - it wasn’t even that long ago, honestly. Amazing how love could change a person, no?

They found the recordkeeper easily; her office was close to the entrance, and while the family did have servants that could take them there, the Zalak knew the way as well as any of them. A surprisingly youthful-looking Feline was waiting for them, a slight smile on her face. “I knew you’d return, Doctor of Rhodes Island. You need the original form, yes?”

“I will, yes, but first, there’s an addendum I need to make to it.” He took a folded, well-worn piece of paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to her. “This is to be added between sections 4A and-”

“Doctor, this is...this is bureaucratic sorcery. What you’re asking me to do, it could very well rend apart the very fabric of the legal system this city stands on-”

The Doctor continued. “-and 4B. That’s why I’m taking the copy with me, my good woman, but please, make the change and make it quickly. We have places to go, things to see, you know the drill.”

“Considering the alteration, I imagine you do...” The Feline retrieved a file from a cabinet behind her, not even needing to look at the labels, flipped to the last page, and used a quill to make the alteration necessary. “You’ll need to initial it here.”

“Um, if I may, what’s the alteration? Doctor, you’ve kept me waiting since we arrived in Kazimierz.”

He took the quill, initialed the change, handed the quill back...and embraced her, lifting her off her feet to spin her around. “Now I may. Senomy, will you marry me?”

“W-what? I mean, of course, but...” The Zalak looked back at the recordkeeper, who smiled back at her. “I thought it was impossible for chattel to marry outside of their class?”

“Your Doctor, somehow, has bound himself to you much as you are to him; in essence, you belong to each other. It’s a rather clever way of going about it, and far too revolutionary for the current social climate, which is why you should leave as soon as the ink is dry.”

The Doctor nodded. “Exactly. Thank you for cooperating; I didn’t want to threaten a second person’s life today.”

“It comes with the job,” she shrugged as she grabbed a hand fan and began wafting the document. “Let me see if I can’t speed this along somewhat.”

“Thank you. Oh, Doctor, I can’t believe this is happening. But, um, please don’t be so secretive about things from now on?”

He nodded. “I promise I won’t, darling...Also, happy birthday.”

“Happy...birthday?” Her eyes widened. “Did you- but I thought-”

“That’s why I didn’t want you to drive; if we’d gotten here earlier, this wouldn’t be a proper birthday present, now would it?”

Senomy collapsed into him; he caught her without any trouble. “Oh, Doctor~”

“Alright, it’s ready.” The recordkeeper rolled the document and placed it in a scroll box. “For you, Doctor. And Gravel? You’ll look fantastic in white, I’m sure of it.”

“That she certainly will. Well, darling, shall we?”

She nodded, standing up again and taking his hand for the first time since they’d arrived at Kazimierz. “Yes, let’s hurry; we have so much time to make up for~”

#arknights #arknights fic #gravel (arknights)#HAPPY BIRTHDAY WIFE GRAVEL!!!#the best bodyguard loyalty can buy #and so damn cute in her new outfit #praise your wife everyone!#she deserves it

31 notes · View notes

whitherliliesbloom · 3 years

Text

in the eyes of the beholder

[ ffxivwrite2021 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #22 - fluster ]

[alphinaud/wol ] ★ [ 2,042 words ] ★ [ post-canon ]

fluster- to put into a state of agitated confusion or embarrassment

they say an artists always inadvertently pours their heart’s true feelings into their drawings.

The apartment has never been this empty - not since the day he moved in. With cardboard box towers stacked high, and a few other empty ones that have yet to be packed, Alphinaud pauses for a moment to straighten himself up and admire the empty space around him, wiping the sweat off his brows.

This has been his home for a good many years, not quite the kind that he would liken to Leveilleur manor back in Old Sharlayan where he grew up in.. but a home nonetheless- with the bonus of knowing his most trusted friends and allies are ever close by, Rising Stones being just a mere stroll away. So he cannot help but to feel a pang of sadness and longing swelling in his heart, especially as he casts a glance out the window to look upon the slow spinning aetheryte that stood in the center of Revenant’s Toll.

But, Alphinaud reminds himself, as he finally turns his gaze to look at the young woman standing upon a lalafellin stool in front of the bookcase, her arms stretched high above her head as she grabs at the rows of dust coated tomes and gives each a thorough pat and sweep with her feather duster, that the feeling was more sweet than it was bitter.

His girlfriend- or rather... his fiancée has busied herself with clearing his impressive collection of tomes and scrolls, cleaning them of months of neglect, before sorting and then packing them into the half-filled box next to her aptly labelled with a thick brush pen as ‘Books’. She’d even sorted the titles out by alphabetical order, just like he’d requested.

They’ve been packing since morning now, and he’s beginning to feel hours of prior strenuous labor catch up to him as he stretches his arms and flexes his fingers. And yet Illya seemed to be none worse for wear, for as used to physical strain and tireless work as she justifiably is.

Alphinaud takes a second to stop and stare at the woman for a fleeting moment. Her silken white hair that normally cascaded down past her shoulders and waist was now pulled up into a high ponytail and secured with a floral patterned scrunchy, her hair bopping and swaying side to side with every of her movements. Her pink overalls is stained and caked in dust, as is the once pristine white of her shirt underneath - but her dirtied wardrobe hadn’t seem to even be noticed at all, let alone bothered the woman.

And as she took her time to take a book by its spine and read the title before quickly dusting it, she’s merrily humming to the tune of an old Doman piece, volume soft and barely audible, yet soothing as her voice rose and filled the dusty air with an uplifting song.

When the young elezen man finally regains enough of his senses to snap out of his gawking, he can only twist his lips up into a bright smile before calling out her name.

“Liya.”

Her head swivels around instantly, amethyst bright eyes shimmering with immediate affection as she looks at him and mirrors his smile with her own, dazzlingly warm one.

“Yes, alphy?”

Her voice is sugar coated and dripping with sickly sweetness that he drinks up like he’s a man starved, heart soaring with an unbridled joy as he catches a glimpse of the ring on her fourth finger, a radiant crystal blossom sitting upon the painfully detailed golden band.

No matter how many times he attempts to fathom the reality of his present, there was always a more rational, disbelieving side to Alphinaud that would struggle to believe it. To fathom the great fortune he must have to be engaged to the woman he loved more than anything in the world, let alone someone who has been his biggest inspiration and source of admiration and motivation for years. And he cannot believe that he will soon be living under the same roof as her.

The Warrior of Light... soon to be his Warrior of Light. Even thinking of her as his threatens boyish laughter and cheers out of him.

Snapping out of the revelry of his daydream, Alphinaud gestures towards the metal canister next to her stool, long since emptied and left neglected with its contents drained.

“You must be tired. How about a break? I’ll refill your bottle for you.”

“No,no that’s okay-” Unsurprisingly, Illya is quick to refuse his offer with a shake of her head. “I’m not that tired. Don’t let me bother you.”

“It’s not a bother, dearest.” With a sigh, Alphinaud moves over to grab the canister, amused snicker leaving his lips when he looks down at the exasperated pout on Illya’s lips. “Let me do this much for you at least. I won’t be long.”

Ever a woman who much preferred relying on herself, it took a good many years for Illya to come to terms with accepting her own limitations and weaknesses - let alone entertaning the idea of burdening her loved ones with her troubles... no matter how trivial or small they may be.

But she’s come far - they both have... and the girl who would once stutter and burst into a blushing fluster is nowhere to be found in the presence of a older, more confident woman, who merely drops her shoulders in defeat before accepting his offer.

“If you insist, love. Make sure to refill for yourself too, okay?”

With a quick nod, Alphinaud swiftly take his own bottle before leaving the apartment before crossing through corridors past other closed doors and speed walking down flights of stairs to get to the Seventh Heaven.

Bloezoeng greets the elezen with a cheery grin, graciously refilling the two canisters full with a topping of ice cool water while making small talk, asking how the packing was going and even asking the young man to send his regards to the Warrior of Light. Nearby, the wandering minstrel sings as he strums at his harp, and Alphinaud only spares a single seconds glance towards the door leading into the back where the Rising Stones is, before leaving the Seventh Heaven, heavy and damp water canisters in hand.

Alphinaud hadn’t been lying when he said that he wouldn’t take long - it’d been a total of four minutes maximum by the time he reaches the third floor and walks down the hallway towards the only open door.

And yet when when he hears what the voice of his beloved says as he approaches the apartment, along with the tell tale sounds of sketch paper flipping, his blood runs dry in his veins and he feels himself freeze in instinctive panic.

“This book... it has no title?”

A book with no title.... Oh gods. She could only be referring to one book - the only book he’d kept purposefully hidden away on his shelf between other innocuous books for reasons unknown to all save himself. The only book with a blank cover, the only book with a well used bookmark made from a pressed lily that Illya had gifted him so many years ago slotted between its pages. A book that he had not wanted anyone to find or to see the contents of - especially not her.

“W-wait- Liya! Don’t-” He bolts into the room and drops the canisters onto the floor with a responding thud that leaves wet patches upon the wooden planks, navy blue eyes blown wide in terror. His heart pounds loudly in the confines of his tight chest, which then quickly sinks into the pits of his stomach when he stares dumbfoundedly at the lalafell and the wide opened book in her hands.

She’s staring down, speechless herself.

The pages of the book was not filled with words - but drawings. Black and white sketches created with a fine pencil and quill, soft water colored paintings that left dried patches of color upon the pages, colored line art that had been meticulously cell-shaded with an array of colored ink.

It was Alphinaud’s sketchbook- but not the one he carries in his travel bag or has laying open on his desk. He wouldn’t go through such lengths to conceal a sketchbook if it had just been that - and his dearest has always expressed how much she loved to look at his art.

But this was no ordinary sketchbook - for countless pages between the lavender purple covers of that book, marked with a bright white flower was filled with visages of the Warrior of Light - of the woman he loved.

From a quick sketch of the lalafellin woman with a stern expression as she was lost in her focus upon an embroidery hoop, a more detailed, colored drawing of her in her adventuring garments, long starlit hair radiant against a dark starry night background as she casts her eyes upwards at the sky... and a small painting of her surrounded by a sea of flowers, the gust of spring wind blowing her hair and pink dress behind her as she holds a single flower between her clasped hands as if in prayer, a serene, ethereal expression upon her face.

Illya can barely even recognize those figures as herself- is disbelieving as she flips through drawing after drawing of what was clearly Alphinaud’s favorite model in various clothing, settings and circumstances, in different mediums to boot.

But the one thing that remained a constant was the heart of the art he painstakingly filled the sketch books with, the heartfelt emotions and earnestness he must have felt as he was working on a single page.

There is a saying that says an artist will always inadvertently pour their truest, deepest feelings into the art they create - that a piece of drawing was a piece of an artist’s heart.

Illya could only wonder then, as she stares with heat pooling in her cheeks that spread rapidly to the tips of her pointed ears... what was it that Alphinaud was feeling whenever he held this sketchbook or drew within it?

What was it that he was seeing within his wide, observant eyes when he drew her? What compelled him? What will continue to compel him?

She holds his heart in her hands delicately, as if it would break if she were not careful, and slowly closes it before turning to look at the man, who has an equally, if not brighter, darker blush upon his now cherry red face.

“T-that is! I-I.... I was just- I-I-It’s not-”

Alphinaud was not often a man who got this flustered. Even when he is teased by the likes of Krile and Alisaie who threatened whenever possible and the situation was appropriate to spill unflattered secrets about his past to her, there is a sort of calm elegance to the way he’d diffuse the situation and more often than not lead her away from the two ‘gossip mongers’... as he would so eloquently put it. Though, to be fair, years of putting up with that has taught him to be a little more dexterous in navigating forbidden subjects about his time in the Studium around them.

But when the blame of the situation was nobody but his own to bear, and it involved a deeply hidden secret he’s kept for so many years from her... it’s destroyed whatever little of his poise he’s pretended to develop over the years... And Illya was absolutely the last person he wanted to have see him in such an unsightly state.

While Alphinaud attempts futilely to scrounge up a believable excuse, the lalafell has climbed down from her stool and is walking towards him.

The afternoon sky is bright, casting sunrays through the window panes and forming spotlights upon the wooden floor, as dust bunnies bounce and float carefreely around the room. Illya steps into the light, and the afternoon rays immediately reflect off her head like cut crystal... and above reddened nose are a pair of shining eyes that gaze up at him, and Alphinaud momentarily forgets to breath as she closes the distance between them and smiles delicately.

“I-If..... If you wanted me to model for you, you... you could have just a-asked me...”

#ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #ffxivwrite2021 #ffxivwrite #kiwisffxivwrite2021 #alphinaud leveilleur #alphinaud #illya skawi #we've come so far #mine #fanfic

4 notes · View notes

goodnightallwhites · 3 years

Text

A Blacked Valentines by Zenalite

Chapter 1 - A Blessed Day

Valentine’s Day already. Soft rain pattered against the windows of Micaela’s studio apartment as she did her afternoon workout routine and waited for her boyfriend’s arrival. The little cuck was hoping he could see some action after the last few months of dating her without so much as getting a glimpse of her ass. Boy, is he in for a surprise. She came down her for her lunges, and the sight of her own tight little body in the mirror dripping with sweat and the yoga pants stretching over her bubble butt made her giddy. “You’re such a hot fucking bitch,” she told herself with admiration. Jay arrived as the sun went down and came in offering a luxurious bouquet that must’ve cost him a fortune, with another small gift bag dangling from a trembling hand. There was a goofy smile on his pale face, but he was undoubtedly anxious; as wrong as it was to think of him as prey, his pure beta weakness made him irresistible to her spider instincts. Micaela accepted the flowers and quickly offered her cheek for a kiss as he came for her mouth. He left him there, downtrodden and wet, with the string of the gift bag wrapped around his fingers. She found a vase for the flowers and gave them some water, then pulled the yoga pants as tight as they could go and made her way back into the room with a grin. Her beta white boy of a boyfriend held out the gift. “H-Here,” he stammered. “This is for you too.” “Awww, you’re such a darling,” she cooed, keeping it a little condescending. She reached into the bag and made a face as she took up the little jewelry box and opened it. The sight of the diamond on the ring almost floored her, and Micaela wondered what the crazy idiot did to afford it. Sure, he could starve himself off for a month for those flowers, but this?... “Who did you kill for this?” she asked. “K-Kill? Nobody!” His damp face reflected in the ceiling lights as he stepped forwards, wringing his hands in the weakest gesture possible, as if he were apologizing for the act. “It’s my mother’s. It was my mother’s he corrected himself. It’s been passed down for generations in our family, all the way from a hundred years ago or something.” Whether he wanted to propose or not, Micaela put an end to it by placing it on her index finger. “I like it,” she said, trying to suppress her excitement. The ring was so beautiful that she almost considered giving him a blowjob. Almost. But she could never sink so low as to take the clitty dick of some slavish beta boy. “So…” Jay gulped and stood before her. “So,” repeated Micaela. “I guess it’s time for your Valentine’s Day gift, huh?” Jay put his hands in his pocket awkwardly trying to act cool. “I don’t know… Is it?” Micaela grinned. She tugged on her yoga pants suggestively and teased him as she slowly slithered out of them, bending over before him so to give him a good look at her butt, the pale cheeks shimmering as the lights inked out every bit of firm glute muscle. His face went white as he watched her, and she could see his knees buckling. “You like that?” “Yes…” he said weakly. “I do.” Oh, what a stupid little beta boy. But then, weren’t those the most fun to break? Her fingers started bunching the material at her chest, slowly lifting up the shirt, until his eyes widened as he saw the BLACKED branding along the waistband. He stared at it stupidly, confused beyond words, and went on watching as she removed the shirt entirely and stood before him, her gorgeous body wearing only the trademark BLACKED lingerie. Micaela pulled on her bra straps and turned for him. “Happy Valentine’s Day. I know you said you loved those BLACKED vids, so I thought I’d get this just for you.” He struggled to say the words, still shocked by his supposed gift. “It’s lovely.” She stepped forwards and gave his cheek a warm caress. He had been trained well. Over the last few months, Micaela got him to accept all sorts of humiliations. First, by repeatedly telling him about her old black lovers and how amazing they made her feel, then insisting she needed a break from sex. How being around them turned her into a size queen and she needed to forget how big they were inside. She even invited him over to her place and showed him her favorite BLACKED releases and made him watch all of them and then rank his favorites. And he did it all. Just in the hopes that maybe, somehow, he would get to fuck her one day. With all her constant teasing and talk of the their future together, he fell for her and thought that it would happen for real, and that maybe this whole interracial thing was just a part of her he needed to learn to accept… Now, as Micaela placed her hands on his neck and watched the gleam of her new diamond ring, she felt more confident than ever that his days were numbered. “I have one more surprise for you,” she said, tracing a finger down his chest to his desperate little dick. “Do you know what it is?” “No…” “I’m going to be a very, very bad girl for you. You know how you said you loved that BLACKED stuff so much?” He blinked and answered reluctantly. “Sure.” “I’m going to do it for you. I’m going to have a shoot, and you’re coming with me.” “Micaela,” he started, but she covered his lips with her finger. “I’m doing it for you, baby. Because you love it so much. And I want to make you happy.” “It’s not--” “Plus, I’ve already signed the contract. There’s no way to back off from it now. Aren’t you happy?” Micaela pouted and fluttered her eyelashes like a sad little girl. “Baby, I thought you’d be happy…” Panicked, he shook his head and became as small as a cockroach. “I’m happy.” Micaela kept the sad look but smiled inwardly. What a weak little boy. It’s almost sad to kill you. After, she took selfie in the mirror, showing off her new ring and new set of lingerie and uploaded it for her followers on Twitter and Instagram to see. Jay watched the dozens of fire and eggplant emoticons posted with dread. “Honey?” He lifted his head. “Y-Yeah?” “Don’t you like my picture?” “I do… It’s very nice…” Micaela smiled warmly. “Here you go. You can post it yourself too, to show the fam.” He shivered visibly as his phone beeped. “Show… them?” “Of course! You gave me the ring, didn’t you? And I gave you such a nice gift. Don’t you want to celebrate?” “But I have my college friends there… My relatives…” Micaela drew her head back theatrically and made a face. “And? What are you implying?” “N-Nothing. I’ll do it. Whatever you say.” It was a little effortless. Micaela sighed, a little bored, and watched as he was about to announce that he was a cuck to a snowbunny to the whole world. The Californian sun shone above the verdant garden as the crew went about setting up the cameras for filming. Micaela stood next to Jay, waving as every male gaze landed on her, while her boyfriend only kept his head on the ground, petrified by shame and feelings of inferiority. “Micaela…” he said slowly after a while. “God, I can’t wait to get fucked,” she said, disregarding the beginning of his appeal completely. He just swallowed his words like a good little cuck and stayed quiet. It wasn’t long until the director showed up, a ditzy looking blonde that had just gotten out of film school, her hair bunched up in a ponytail while her heart-shaped glasses caught the glare of the sun. “Hey, you guys. You’ll go in for makeup soon, our guy is almost here.” Micaela shook her head. “No worries.” The blonde glanced at her boyfriend and then back to her, then back to him. “You know, I think it’s pretty cool that you’re supporting her like this.” Jay bobbed his head like a eunuch honored just to be noticed. “Thanks…” “Actually, I’m the one doing it for him. My boyfriend is a HUGE fan of BLACKED stuff.” The blonde blushed and giggled. “Me too. I even wrote the script for today.” What a good little snowbunny you are, thought Micaela. Though she doubted the blonde was anything special. This was the kind of girl that slept with black guys because she thought it made her look cool, not because she truly felt the need to fuck hard and get wasted by a sweet BBC. She was the type that would screw around, have a few quaint fucks, and then marry and have babies with the first sap she met. The more Micaela looked at her, the more she felt her irritation rise. Even cucks like Jay were better - at least they had a soul. “That’s nice,” said Micaela. “Though, if you don’t mind, I have my own ideas for the script.” “But it’s--” “Like I said, this has been my boyfriend’s fantasy for a while so I’d be very mad if anyone got in the way of fulfilling it the right way. Don’t worry, though, I’m sure you’ll like it.” The blonde just stared at her and ultimately nodded just as Micaela knew she would. “S-Sure… I guess we can try it…” Spineless worm. Micaela laughed as she walked away. “Do you know what my fantasy is?” Jay suddenly started. “My fantasy is that we could run away right now a--” “This is your fantasy.” She reached and patted his head like one might do with a dog. “Seeing me getting fucked by a black stud and made to come better than ever is what you want for me. After all these months, can you imagine how tight I’ll be for him? I’m going to milk him dry. Oh, honey, I wish it would be you, but I’ve already made this agreement, so… my pussy belongs to a big black cock today.” Defeated, he gave in once more. It took a while until they got around to doing her makeup, but Micaela was happy with the way it turned out. There was a smoky, sleazy element to it despite the fine touch, and the moment she took off the robe and looked at herself in the branded BLACKED lingerie, she got a little wet thinking of how many cucks would be at home jerking themselves off to her once it was all released. Jay was standing at a distance, his eyes unable to look away from her perfectly toned body. All he dreamed of was being able to have a romantic moment with her and a handjob at best, and yet he was denied even as she prepared to take a BBC before the whole world. Micaela brushed back her highlight and let her fingers trace enticingly around her belly button. “Do you think my co-star will like me?” “D-Definitely…” “You know, I hope I don’t accidentally get preggo or something. Since we won’t be using any condoms.” His eyes went wide. “Aren’t you on the pill?...” “Are you joking? That stuff ruins your body. Nah, I’m just going to do it. After all, we talked about having kids, right?” She shrugged in a good-natured manner. “If it’s meant to be… Anyway, I think that will work best for the script I have in mind!” The ditz returned to tell them that the talent was in the building. Micaela took Jay by his clammy hand as they went in search of her scene partner. When the company asked Micaela if she would accept working with older guys, she jumped at the opportunity even before she heard about the increased pay. If there were two things she loved in life, it was the raw power that a black stud offered and the experience, dominance, and assertiveness brought by an older man. Combining them both into one was a dream come true. And the idea of having her cucky watch her barebacking a guy almost three times their age was just… divine. Mr Booker resided in an old folks home before one of the nurses there snapped a pic of his monster dick showing through his trousers and made him go viral. His face was deeply lined, but he looked slim despite the fact that he was about to turn seventy. He was, unfortunately, a little bit senile, and some of the crewmembers were trying to trick him into taking his meds. “Come on, Tony, you need to take these. They’ll make you feel much better,” a girl was telling him. The old black stud shook his head. “Hell no. You people brought me out here, fine. I ain’t taking no goddamn pills.” He snatched the bottle out of her hand with an unexpectedly quick movement and sent it flying across the room. Micaela grinned and approached him. “Mr Booker? My name’s Micaela. We’ll be working together today.” “You mean you’ll be the one I’ll be… you know.” Jay instinctively kept his distance but she squeezed his hand and pulled him in. “That’s right.” “Well, I’ll be damned, girl. I thought they were going to serve me up some old crone. You’re a tight piece of ass, aren’t ya’? Look at you… You got your little thing on and that blue in your hair. You some sort of hippie? Because I’ll fuck the shit out of you if you are. I don’t deal with them no good hippie bitches.” What a delightfully crazed old bastard. “No, sir, not a hippie. But feel free to fuck me as hard as you want. In fact, my boyfriend would love it if you did. Isn’t that right, honey?” Jay gulped and looked down. “Yes, sir…” “He’s your boyfriend and he wants me to fuck you? Damn, son, you must have some useless pecker if he wants me to fuck you.” Jay just went ashen and seemed to become so tiny in spirit that Micaela could barely see him. Oh, you poor thing… Did you ever really think you would not get fucked? It was incredible just how many of these cucks lacked any kind of self-awareness. These pasty motherfuckers with no looks, no experience, and no cash, genuinely thinking that they somehow earned fucking a perfect 10/10 like her. If any of them were decent, they would’ve turned her down out of respect even if she asked them out, let alone asking for a date themselves. But today Jay was going to get the lesson of a lifetime: white beta cucks deserved to die alone and unfucked. The blonde came and looked at everyone. “Are we ready?” The months they did of waiting for the movie to come out were agonizing not just for Jay, but for Micaela as well. He worried over what the final product would look like, while she couldn’t wait to get his reaction and that of the world when they saw her on screen like that. Maybe I’ll become a star, she thought hopefully. The vixen added to Jay’s misery by locking him in a chastity cage with the promise of sex the moment the video got released. “Until then, I just need to know you’ll be a good boy.” Seeing him zip up with the pink and puffy cage around his tiny dicklet was one of the funniest things she had ever seen. But now it was finally time. Micaela bought drinks and food, and prepped the movie on the screen. She saw that her Twitter got two thousands followers just since morning, and most of them were sending her private messages saying how hot she was and how she deserved to be fucked by BBC. Now these were the sorts of cucks she found endearing and would reward rather than punish if it came down to it. They know their place. Jay came looking oddly excited, thinking that this would be his big night. “You ready?” Micaela teased him. He bobbed his head. “Let’s do this.” They turned off the lights and got comfy as Micaela pressed play. It started with a teaser of her showing off her body in different outfits and posing for the camera. My hubby and I always wanted to have a baby, but I just couldn’t imagine myself making another white kid. White boys were just so weak and spineless compared to black men that just the thought of carrying one in my womb made me want to kill myself. I loved my husband, but I knew that if he loved me as he said he did, then he would give me what I wanted... As the voice over played, Micaela glanced at Jay and the way the movie reflected in his glazed eyes. That’s when I tracked down Tony. He was an older guy, but no less of a man because of it. He could give us the strong black baby we wanted without getting in the way of our future marriage. When my husband said yes, his only condition was that he be able to watch… Jay read in the garden as Micaela approached hand in hand with Tony and introduced him. The camera zoomed in on his legs and the way his immense BBC showed bulged through and dropped past his cotton shorts. The next cut showed Micaela biting her tongue and lusting after it, then switched to Jay’s amazed reaction. “Well, baby, don’t you want to see what he’s packing?” she asked him suggestively. “Take it out.” Jay blinked and reached out tentatively, pulling on the other side of his pants so as not to make contact. The top part of the meaty shaft came into view and sprang out as the shorts dropped entirely. They kept a long and humiliating shot on Jay and the way he stared in shock at the monstrous BBC. Micaela’s nuzzled against Tony’s chest as his dark hand fondled her pale round ass, and then her palm moved all the way down his stomach till she could finally touch it. They focused on the way her slender fingers failed to wrap around his crazy girth. The family ring given to her by Jay gleamed in the sun and further added to his personal dismay as he watched his girlfriend caressing the dark shaft with such awe. Tony smacked her ass hard enough to make her yelp cutely for the camera, then came in to kiss her neck as the old fingers kneaded her young ass. “Damn, you’re a bad little white girl.” Micaela tossed her head back and cooed like a helpless little girl for the camera, making a show of it, tracing the warm tips of her fingers lovingly over the throbbing BBC in front of Jay’s terrified face. “Thank you, Daddy,” she whispered. “I’m so glad you’re willing to give us a son.” The old man grinned and brought her sweet lips in for a kiss. “It’s my pleasure.” They edited a split screen of the hot interracial kiss on one side and Jay’s cucked face on the other. The black stud sent his tongue down her throat and sucked on hers, trying to eat her up right in front of her white boyfriend. Micaela stared into his eyes and trembled as it happened, her knees giving in from her proximity to the strong black bull. As Jay gazed away impotently, Tony suddenly glanced down at him. “You got a nice wife, white boy. I’m going to treat her real good.” Drool dripped down the side of Micaela’s mouth and fell to her luscious cleavage. “Honey, I think I’m ready. Let’s have a baby.” Jay nodded stupidly. “Yeah… Okay.” The bull grinned and suddenly jerked his hips forwards and let his dick slap Jay’s face. “Cheer up, boy!” Micaela showed genuine shock when it happened, and she was glad to see it made it into the final footage. Jay just stared helplessly, unaware that such a thing was allowed. His lip twitched and the beginning of tears showed in his eyes, but Micaela reached out and ruffled his hair. “Darling, you’re too shy. Relax. You were the one that wanted a baby, remember? Why don’t you give Daddy’s cock a good luck kiss before we start?” She brought the stiff BBC before Jay’s lips and held it out. “Go on, for good fortune. You don’t want us to have to do this again, do you?” Tony suddenly slapped Jay’s face. “Go on, kid!” The good little beta closed his eyes and leaned forwards until his painfully puckered up lips gave the black shaft a disgusted kiss. Even as they were filming it that day, Micaela knew Jay was truly one of the sleaziest cucks she had ever dealt with. A lot of desperate white guys could be pushed into watching their perfect girlfriend get rammed by BBC for the hopes of sloppy seconds. But to kiss a dick in porn just for the hope of getting some? The slut must’ve wanted Micaela so much that not having her hurt more than anything else. With her “husband’s” blessing now acquired, Micaela dropped to her knees and started worshiping the bull’s incredible BBC, taking it between her palms as she brought it up to her lips. Her kisses covered the entire length of the shaft, then her tongue came out and followed it all the way down to the head, which she proceeded to nuzzle against her lips as if she were making out with his dickhole. Both hands were needed to get a proper grip on his mandingo dick as Micaela took it into her mouth, the head so big that it instantly filled her mouth and stretched her cheeks. Taking that old black cock in her pretty little white mouth and feeling it stretch her out was an amazing experience even at the time, but seeing it now on film, relishing the contrast between his ebony physique and her porcelain limbs was immensely satisfying. Interspaced with footage of her proudly loving on his BBC were shots of her doing it as Jay watched right beside her, his own hand hesitatingly passing over his crotch and the little white dicklet throbbing underneath. Micaela spit over his dick and licked every inch until it dripped and glistened and Tony brought his hands down to make her deepthroat it properly. “There you go,” he said, forcing the immense shaft down her throat. Micaela was enough of a pro to take it without gagging, but even for her, the powerful throbs combined with the bursting veins on his dick and its general size nearly got her to spit it back out. Almost. In fact, she did so well that it was the bull that finally buckled and laughed, saying that he needed to sit down. The old man probably hadn’t come properly in some twenty years and saved himself for the occasion. Well, Micaela was planning to take every drop for the camera. Tony stretched down on the grass as Micaela ran her fingers over his stomach and buried her face in his balls as his shaft sat across her face. The camera caught the way it pulsated like supernova about to blast, only moments away from splurging his load across her face. “Nuh-uh-uh.” Micaela lifted his dick up with a single fingertip and held it out. “Before you can come over my face, you’re going to need to fill my womb. I want to have your black baby. I need it.” Her eyes found Jay. “Isn’t that right baby?” He watched her worship the BBC so breathlessly and was so horny that he just nodded like she had just said the most natural thing in the world. “Absolutely.” That may have been a weak moment, but now it was recorded for all posterity, for all the viewers to see what white beta males acted like in the presence gifted black gods. Micaela gave the towering and majestic BBC a few more kisses, then rose and took off her bra and panties, revealing her dripping pussy and tender perky breasts to the camera. She steadied herself as she dropped down on his cock, first robbing the engorged head against her pussy before she let it go in and impale her as she dropped down greedily. Her back arched and a guttural moan escaped her mouth. The monster started ripping through her as it passed inside and Tony grabbed her by the waist to get a hold on her white body as he pushed his BBC as deep as it would go into her stretched-out little hole. It looked gorgeous on the TV, her pristine white body undulating in the sun as she rode him senseless, sweat dripping down her tense back as her snatch took in the immensity that was his throbbing BBC. “Fuck, girl, you feel good,” said Tony, smacking her ass again. He marked her as a master might do with a slave, and camera zoomed in on her red ass as it bounced up and down his dick, her juices flowing down his heavy ball sack. “God, it feels good!~” Micaela cried. “Big black cock feels so much better…” Jay bit his tongue as she made the comment, then she reached out to stroke his face and grin. “Sorry, baby, but it’s true.” She took his fingers and held him as she went on smashing down into Tony’s powerful shaft, squeezing her white cuck in her grip as he was forced to watch her getting all her satisfaction from a superior man. To anyone watching, it looked like the most natural thing in the world. A strong young woman choosing to breed with a superior alpha male while her beta partner was forced to comply and assist. But considering the shoot was going to be plastered on every porn site there was, there were zero chances that Jay’s family wouldn’t see it. His parents, his relatives, his friends… Even if it was just acting, he was there, holding a white girl’s hand while an old black guy took her to town. “Shit, baby… You’re so deep!!” Tears of pleasure welled in her eyes; her mouth just stayed open and drooled stupidly, her mind getting sucked in and lost in a sea of pleasure. At the time Micaela wasn’t aware that she looked so dumb, but watching it on the screen made her look like a dumb fucktoy that was one second away from going full ahegao and making peace signs to the camera… which wasn’t entirely untrue. She had done all sorts of drugs, but nothing rivaled the glorious feeling of surrendering her young white pussy to a godly black cock. The old man was enjoying himself more and more and she knew he was getting close just by how fast and intense the throbbing of his shaft was getting. He suddenly grabbed her and pushed her onto her back, then got on top of her, spreading her legs wide and pinning them against her delicate titties. Micaela told him she wanted a baby, so he put her in a mating press. In truth, going by the crazed look in his eyes, it was doubtful that he ever fully understood that they were filming a scenario rather than acting out a real scene. All he wanted was to impregnate her white womb. “I’m going to give you a fucking baby,” he sputtered excited, his spit spraying all over face. Watching it now, Micaela was a little surprised by just how small and weak her voice became in those moments. Even though she liked to think of herself as a great fuck, on camera she came across just as another whimpering white girl that met her match when she asked to be dominated by black man. At the end of the day, every snowbunny responds to the same way when their insides are torn to shreds by an alpha male. Micaela couldn’t even recall what happened as she came, but now she could see it: her eyes rolled back completely, and a little girl’s desperate coo sounded from her contorted face as her tongue lolled out in the bright sun. The video closed off with Tony pulling out of her and her creampie spilling copiously, then bringing his dick over for her to suck off. Jay just watched as her lower body kept jumping and jerking from the terrible orgasm, as if she were still coming… BLACKED Micaela crossed her arms and bobbed her head. “It could’ve been better, but I think it’s okay.” Jay shivered where he sat, his psyche damaged beyond repair. “T-They showed my face… I thought I was going to get blurred… You said…” “I guess they forgot,” said Micaela with a devilish grin. The dumb cuck was losing his mind at the thought of every person he knew watching this. What would his mother say when her own ring flashed as Micaela stroked that beautiful black dick? Gifs and webms would be spread all over, and no doubt the story would come out too. “Young white guy humiliated by real life girlfriend during shoot.” Oh, the incels on 4chan were going to let him have it until he potentially killed himself. Any chance at a respectful life was over. But to top it all, Micaela noticed a dark spot on his crotch. The little beta must have been overwhelmed by all the stress, and combined with the sight of a real man tearing her apart it made him lose it. Micaela couldn’t suppress hey feyish delight, but tried to hide it. “Oh my god, did you just… Did you just come in your pants? Wow, that’s so pathetic.” Jay quickly tried to cover it up. “N-No…” he stammered. “T-That’s n-not it…” “Holy shit, how much of a cuck do you have to be to come to something like this? I knew you were pathetic, but this is just too much for me. Get out.” His clammy face turned to her. “W-What? No! Micaela! Think about what you’re saying! We’re going to get married.” Micaela slapped him like a bitch and then even kicked him for good measure. It sent him to the ground where he belonged, then her toned leg kept kicking as he crawled and slithered all the way to the door like a maggot. “That video is the closest you’ll ever get to me in your fucking life, you white beta loser. So, enjoy it.” “Micaela, please…” he sobbed, a path of tears staining her floor. “You can’t. I have nothing. Only you.” Another kick sent him flying out the door and she gave him a final glance from the doorway. “No thanks. A beta like you can’t offer me anything.” “M-Micaela… I’m still locked up… And my ring…” “You mean my ring? That shit ain’t yours, buddy. You gave it to me, remember? I earned it.” She winked. “And anyway, why would I unlock you? You can come just fine, it seems. Not like you have any use for that tiny clitty anyway.” Jay looked at her as she stood there in the threshold, her perfect body silhouetted by the light spilling from within as her face remained in total darkness. “God, and I want to fuck so bad tonight. I guess I’ll just call up one of my black friends.” “MICAELA!” With that, she slammed the door shut. She laughed giddily and got herself a drink, though he was still sobbing by the door when her bull arrived. Micaela could hear Jay’s final cries and moans as the shit got beaten out of him, the sounds of him leaving her life forever. As she brought the glass up to her mouth, the shine around her finger reflected in her eyes. It truly is a gorgeous ring, huh?

9 notes · View notes

dhwty-writes · 4 years

Text

Chapter 6 - Stories, Smiles and Secrets

So, I have been informed that the last chapter was sad. I'm sorry (I'm not). As compensation there is- uh... 'checks notes* fluff? It's that what you call it? Yes, there's fluff in this chapter! Enjoy! Thanks @persony-pepper for betaing this chapter!

Summary: The poacher is found and Jaskier does what he does best: telling stories.

Read on AO3

Part 1 | Part 6 | Part 8

Jaskier almost fell out of his bed when the doors burst open without any warning. "Wha's happenin'?" he slurred, trying to regain his balance as well as his dignity.

"I have come to tell you, brother," Janina announced and cruelly ripped the curtains open to reveal bright sunlight, "that Cousin Fiona and I have just led a delightful conversation over the breakfast table. While you were," she raked her eyes over him and wrinkled her nose in disgust, "still sleeping, great gods above and below, the sun rose half an hour ago!"

He suppressed a groan and swung his naked legs over the edge of his bed, ignoring Janina's shriek: "Good gods, I did not need to see that."

He rolled his eyes at her and dragged himself to a standing position. "Be glad I'm wearing a shirt at all," he grumbled, not even attempting to smooth out his appearance. There was no way he'd be able to match Janina's impeccable countenance in these early hours. "From the top," he demanded as he pulled on a dark green silk robe, one of his most prized possessions, "you had what with the girl?"

"A conversation," she said smugly and sat down on the chair he normally deposited his dirty laundry on. 'Serves her right,' he thought smugly. "Ten whole minutes."

"That's impressive." Were it any other hour, he would be howling with laughter. "You do realise that I had plenty of those, right?"

"She didn't say a single swear word."

He raised his eyebrows. "That's not really what I call 'in her good graces'," he grumbled, unwilling to admit that it was far more than he had to show for it.

"It's progress," Janina insisted stubbornly.

"Well, congratulations to you, dear sister." He winced. "Coax a smile out of her next and you have won." Jaskier clamped his mouth shut. 'Why the fuck did I say that?' he asked himself, 'Why the fuck don't I ever think before I talk?'

The smile on Janina's face told him that she had hoped for an outcome like that. "I'll hold you to your word," she purred and spun to leave.

"Fuck," he whispered, his brain working hard to catch up with what was going on. She was already out the door when he finally got his mouth to work again: "Janina!"

She peered back into his room. "Yes?" When she was batting her eyelashes like that, she looked almost adorable.

"Don't you dare threaten my witcher again," he hissed. "Or Fiona, for that matter."

"I-"

"No, Janina," he interrupted her harshly, "one misspoken word and never seeing the inside of this castle will be the least of your worries." He stood, throwing all he had picked up on by observing Geralt into looking as menacing as possible. "Never forget, sister, in here our power might match but you don't want to face me out there. A word from me and you can forget about your precious reputation. Is that understood?"

It was impressive how she took it all with a straight face. "Quite, my lord," she answered coldly, the slightest quiver in her voice betraying what went on inside her head. "May I go, Lord Pankratz?"

"You may."

She spared him a long calculating glance. "Just so you know it," she whispered, "you are turning into father. You even look like him."

Jaskier was glad that the slam of the door drowned out his shocked gasp as he staggered backwards, his knees growing weak. 'Sweet Melitele,' he prayed silently as he flopped down on his bed again, 'anything but that.'

'Surely it can't be that bad,' he thought, but when he tried to think back on his behaviour in the past few days, it made him sick.

"Fuck," he cursed again. 'No wonder the princess doesn't like me. I wouldn't like myself either.'

For the second time that week he was already dressed when Jakub came to collect him and quickly sent him away with the food he had brought. The words of his sister weighed heavily on his mind and stomach, and he found himself entirely incapable of eating anything as the words of his letters blurred before his eyes.

There were a lot of invitations from his varying neighbours he had to decline, feigning excuses about his father's recent death while they really were about hiding Cirilla and Geralt. 'I've got to do something to make her descent less obvious.' Hiding her in plain sight hadn't been his worst idea so far, still the possibility that some nobles had been to Cintra in the last few years and had caught a glimpse of the princess. But there still was a month to figure that particular obstacle out.

Midday was approaching rapidly when a knock on his door announced a visitor. "My lord," Borys, one of his guards, greeted him with a bow when he stepped inside. "We have found the poacher."

Jaskier raised his gaze expectantly from the letter he was penning. "Well," he looked around. "Where is he?"

As answer, there was the sound of commotion rising to his study and he rushed to the window to see a scrawny lad kicking and screaming, straining against the iron grip two of his other guards had on him. Marin was shouting orders and gesticulating wildly while the culprit drew quite the crowd. There were stable boys hooting and hollering, not quite obvious who they were cheering for and one of them seemed to shout something bad enough to earn him a clout on the ear from Wiktor. Geralt ushered Cirilla to the side – they had just been training – and pressed the two wooden swords into her hands while exchanging a few words. With a sharp nod the princess sprinted across the courtyard, disappearing from his line of sight – into the armoury probably.

Then, Geralt stepped out of the shadows and his demeanour changed to what Jaskier called the Scary Face. From up here it looked almost a bit like a bird ruffling up its feathers. The thought made him smile benignly. The boy stopped struggling as soon as he saw the witcher looming above him.

Jaskier turned away. He had seen enough. "Have him brought into the hall," he ordered and went back to his desk to at least close his inkwell – no need to waste the good ink by having it dry up.

By the time he got to the hall, his captive was already there, kneeling before the dais surrounded by no less than four guardsmen and a witcher. Jaskier clicked his tongue in disapproval. "Now that won't be necessary, I think," he decreed. "Leave us, please."

"My lord," Marin began warily, "talking to him alone would be highly inadvisable, in my opinion."

"Right," he answered as he took his place standing before the dais and placed his hands on his hips. "Which is why the witcher stays. The rest of you leave."

There was a fair share of reluctance on all parts but most of all on Geralt's: "I am not some common guard, my lord," he growled.

"Indeed, you aren't," Jaskier answered as soon as the three of them were alone in the room. "I just think the lad might appreciate a more private environment."

The kid laughed, high and clear. "For what exactly, my lord?"

"Ah," he said and leaned back against the dais, looking his captive over. "Not a lad at all, it seems. I am impressed, little girl. Do you have a name?"

"Alina," she answered. "And I am not little."

He raised one of his eyebrows. "How old are you, Alina?"

She raised her chin defiantly. "Sixteen."

"Right," Jaskier snorted. "How old are you?" he asked again.

There was hesitancy in her eyes before she cast them down and mumbled something incomprehensible.

"What was that?"

"She said she'll be fourteen in a moon's turn," Geralt answered for her. "My lord."

His eyebrows shot up. "Now I'm even more impressed. Cut her loose, witcher, Alina and I will have a nice conversation about how she learned to hunt."

The witcher grunted something Jaskier had long learned to interpret as surprise, but did as he was told all the same before retreating to one of the mighty columns that supported the ceiling. Alina rubbed her wrists slightly, obviously torn between looking at Jaskier in confusion and not wanting to anger him by doing so. "Get comfortable," he prompted and waited until she sat before him with crossed legs before he continued: "Who taught you how to hunt? I've seen your traps, they're wonderfully crafted."

She scoffed. "As if I'm going to tell you that."

"I'm not going to hurt you," he tried to assure her, "I'd have already done that if I wanted to. So? Any other master huntsmen or -women I need to know about?"

"Just me," she answered. "Now."

"And your father died when...?"

She flinched visibly. 'Ah.' He was onto something there. "My mother," she said after a while, "died a year ago. She's the one who taught me."

"I am sorry for your loss. Your father?"

"Ask yours," she shot back.

"Then I am doubly sorry that my family has caused you pain. Do you have any siblings?"

"Two," she admitted. "They're both younger than me."

"And there's no one left in Lettenhove to take care of you? Aunts? Uncles? Cousins? Maybe in some other town?"

She shook her head and there was the tiniest of sniffles.

"Oh dear," Jaskier said softly, fighting the urge to wrap her into a tight embrace. "I am so very sorry." He sighed heavily. "Go to the kitchens, Alina. You will receive a warm meal and food to share with your siblings. You will be taken care of for the winter."

She blinked in surprise. "Aren't- aren't you going to punish me, my lord?"

"I do not appreciate it when my game is being killed without my consent, that is true," he amended. "Therefore, you will come back in spring. I believe my huntsman is looking for a new apprentice."

She could do nothing but stare at him, her mouth opening and closing repeatedly.

Jaskier waved his hand at her. "Go now. You must be hungry." Still at a loss for words the young girl scrambled to her feet and rushed out of the room.

"Why'd you do that?" To his shame Jaskier gave a start, Geralt's voice much closer to his ear than he expected. "My lord?"

He turned to the witcher who stood barely two paces away from him and quirked his eyebrow. "Why did I do what?" he inquired.

Geralt gave a non-committal shrug Jaskier usually translated as 'whatever', but to his surprise he even elaborated: "Send her off with food. Promise to train her. Not punish her."

"She was hungry," he explained, "with no hopes of earning money. And she was scared."

"She could have lied," he suggested.

"Why should she?" Jaskier responded without hesitation. "I firmly believe that accused are innocent until proven guilty."

"To escape her rightful punishment? To steal from you?"

"I have plenty to share, it is no trouble at all." He fiddled with his signet ring, waiting for a response. It didn't take long for Geralt's silence to wear his patience thin: "Well, has she?"

"What?" Amusement made the lines around his eyes crinkle.

"Lied, I mean."

For that Jaskier was even rewarded with a tiny smile. "No, my lord. Not as far as I could tell."

"Good." Honest relief flooded through him. 'How terribly embarrassing it would have been,' he thought, 'to discover that my judge of character has betrayed me now.' Then, another thought appeared in his mind: "Do you think cousin Fiona is well enough to go riding with me today?"

"Hmm," Geralt made, thinking about it for a while. "I guess. Give me... give me an hour with her, my lord. I'll bring her to you."

He clasped his hands behind his back and nodded curtly. "I'm looking forward to it."

Geralt was a man of his word and not one hour later there was a timid knock on the door to his study and Cirilla entered, her eyes cast downwards. "Lord Julian?" she said so quietly he almost couldn't hear it. "I wanted to apologise. For disappointing you."

He smiled widely. "Oh, you mustn't. There is nothing to apologise for. The gods know I wouldn't look forward to spending all my time with old fools such as myself or our resident witcher."

She tilted her head, apparently unsure how to respond to that.

"Can I maybe tempt you to go for a ride with me now?"

She nodded eagerly. "I would like to."

"Good!" Jaskier leapt out of his chair and skidded over to her, offering her his hand to take, which she respectfully declined. That was just as well for him, same as the stoic silence she offered in response to his incessant babbling on their way to the stables. Geralt had to have alerted the stable hands, for they were already waiting there with Dancer and Dreamer, the two beautiful mares his sisters called their own. Both had recently received new saddles—he had discovered that, while saddles couldn't be embroidered once they were done, they could be branded, so now he had a saddle with buttercups and Cirilla one with little lions.

They rode out the gates at a leisurely pace, much slower than the breakneck speed Jaskier had grown fond of. But this ride wasn't solely for him; rather it was for the information Geralt had revealed to him on the previous day: Charming Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, the Lion Cub of Cintra with pretty gifts, was a futile attempt. The reason why he couldn't get her to like him was that she thought he didn't like Geralt. 'And that I am a total ass to everyone,' his brain added helpfully.

They had long left castle and village behind when he tried again: "Would you like to hear a story, cousin Fiona?"

"I would prefer not to,” she answered coolly.

"It's a good story, I promise." She scowled at him. "And I am sure you have heard it before, though surely not from a raconteur as skilled as I am. Let's see, what do we need? Right, a stage: imagine the most beautiful place in the world. There are miles upon miles of fields with flowers, in every colour of the rainbow. Can you see it?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Good. Now, the actors. We have a Hero, of course, because every story needs one. Large and fearsome with a mighty sword and a mightier shield he uses to protect the Innocent. Ah, there's another character. The Innocent, who ask the Hero to save them from the Villain. There's a Devil in this story, and a King. And... well, there's also me."

"You?" she asked sceptically. "Why are you there?"

"No reason in particular," he smiled at her. "I am just... the Narrator, if you will, the most unimportant character there is. The story would have transpired just the same." His smile grew sad. "There just wouldn't have been anyone to tell it after. But let's not think of that." He cracked his knuckles drumming out a rapid rhythm on the horn of his saddle in lack of a lute to play. "Once upon a time in the late summer of 1247, there was a mighty Hero in a town at the edge of the world. A beautiful year that was, and there were many beautiful places, though none quite as beautiful as where we set our stage. And I was just- I was travelling the continent, looking for a story to tell. Not necessarily mine, just any, really. That's what the Narrator does, right?"

Cirilla didn't answer.

"I was in a beautiful little town, singing not quite so beautiful little songs, when it happened: the Innocents cried out to the Hero. The Hero accepted, of course. He set out to slay the Devil. And I followed him. Always in search of a story to tell, just as I told you. The Hero didn't want me there, of course; he was, hm, a lone wolf, if you will." He quietly laughed at his own joke. "Did I listen? Of course not."

"That's stupid," the princess interrupted him. "And you're telling the story wrong."

Jaskier smiled. 'Finally.' He knew his talent hadn't abandoned him. "Is it? Why so?"

"You're not the Narrator! You're just another Innocent, and the Hero is trying to protect you!"

"Am I? I'm not sure. You are never just one thing, clever girl. A hero in one story is a villain in another."

She scowled. "Well, then what is the truth?"

"The truth?" He contemplated that question for a while. "Why, my dear Cirilla, I believe the truth in this story is completely inconsequential. As is in most stories."

"That doesn't make any sense," she huffed in annoyance.

"Let's see if I can make it make sense." Jaskier thought about it for a little while. "It doesn't matter if the story I tell you is true or if I have made it up," he said finally. "Truth is not what stories are for."

There was a sparkle in her eye, akin to what he'd call curiosity. "Well, then what are they for?" He felt himself reminded of his days as guest lecturer in Oxenfurt. She wasn't even that much younger than the youngest of his students, although he'd always preferred to teach the older classes.

"That is the question every master poet asks themselves," he gave the same answer as always, "Why do we tell stories? Why do we listen to stories? What makes a good story? I fear I cannot give you one true answer as little as I can give you one true story. I can, however, give you the answer that is true for me."

He took the lack of an answer as an invitation to continue: "Stories are for emotions. They are to make you weep and laugh, to make you shout in anger and yelp in surprise. To make you feel wonder and terror and hate. And love. Above all, stories are there to make you fall in love. With the world, with the future, with the past. Love for the villains and the innocents. And for the heroes, of course."

Cirilla grunted, obviously displeased with the answer. Jaskier almost gave up when she didn't offer another reply. But then, to his surprise she asked: "How does the story continue?"

That put a smile on his face as he urged the horse up another path to extend their ride. That would take a while. He continued to give another rendition of his and Geralt's first meeting, a bit truer to the actual events than what he relayed in his first famous ballad. But with her he didn't have to fear that any harm would come to the elves of Dol Blathanna.

Once he had finished, she was silent for a long while. Then she said: "The Hero is Geralt." It was not a question.

"He is."

"Then the story is not a good one," Cirilla said decisively. "I know the ending and it is not a happy one. You hate each other."

Jaskier smiled softly. "Oh, my dear princess. That is exactly why I told you this story. I know this might look like a grim ending but I promise you, it is not. If there had ever been a time to hate him it was there in that shitty tavern in Posada, when he was the Butcher of Blaviken. Before I came with him. Before I had made him the White Wolf. Before I had spent half my life in service to him and his heroics."

"What did he even do to make him hate you so?"

Jaskier flinched at the wording of that. 'I don't hate him,' he wanted to say. 'Not for a long stretch.' Instead he asked: "Shouldn't you ask him that?"

"I did!" Cirilla insisted. "And he tried to explain. But I don't think he even knows what he did wrong."

His heart clenched painfully and suddenly he had the pressing desire to weep. 'You lying bastard, as if you don't know' he thought and felt the anger flare up again. "Then it is not my place to tell you."

"But he hurt you?" Jaskier turned, surprised at the genuine concern in her voice. 'Maybe she doesn't take that much after Geralt after all.'

"Yes."

"A lot?" She blinked at him with large puppy eyes and he wanted nothing more than to reach out and embrace her.

"Yes."

"As much as my grandmother when she-" Cirilla's voice broke and she gulped.

"Oh my," Jaskier breathed. "Oh, I am so sorry, I didn't mean to remind you of that, dear girl, I-"

"It's alright," she whispered, her voice thick with tears. "But it's nice to know that we have something in common."

Jaskier winced. "No, it probably hasn't hurt quite that much. But very nearly."

"Why?" she asked agonisingly. "How?"

"Sometimes the people we love most are the ones to hurt us most," he answered honestly.

She stared down at the reins she clutched tightly in her hands. "I still think it's a sad story."

"Oh, but you're seeing it wrong. We are not done yet; look around you." He spread his arms. "All the players are on the stage again! I think we are merely entering the second act. And I believe we might live to our happy ending yet."

She grunted and rolled her eyes, the spitting image of Geralt.

Jaskier couldn't help but laugh. The sound seemed to startle her. Did all sounds startle her or did he just laugh that little? "I see you are taking after our resident witcher."

"And that is a bad thing," she stated matter-of-factly.

"Not necessarily, no." He granted her a quick smile. "He's got a lot of good qualities. "

More silence followed as they ducked beneath the branches of a tree. Soon after Cirilla remarked: "You never say his name."

'She's very perceptive, that one.' Now it was him who stared at his hands, twirling his thumbs idly. "I suppose I do not."

"Why?"

He sighed heavily. How could he even begin to explain that? "I have shouted his name to every corner of the continent," he said thoughtfully. "The one you know and half a hundred others you surely will have heard. All to erase one unsavoury moniker. And it hasn't gotten me anything but rejection. I guess he has to earn it again."

They rode in silence for a while. To his surprise it was Cirilla again who spoke up first: "So you love each other?"

"I wouldn't know about him. But I guess I do."

"You don't kiss."

That startled Jaskier and Dancer snuffled when he pulled on the reins too harshly. "No, we don't. Never have."

"My grandmother and grandfather used to kiss all the time," she said with the innocence only a child could possess.

"I fear I cannot imagine that."

"It was gross."

He laughed. "That I can imagine. How about a faster pace?" he asked when they left the hill trail they had been on. When the princess nodded her assent, he pressed his heels into Dancer's sides, prompting her into a slow trot, not so fast that Cirilla couldn't follow. To his surprise she quickly sped past him and it was on him to catch up to her again, cursing and panting when he did.

"Cousin?" she asked, her voice lighter than ever before. "What about your name?"

"What about it?" he asked surprised.

"He said you forbade him to say it."

'Ah. That.' That truly wasn't his proudest moment. "I did."

"Why?"

"In part just because I was angry. In the beginning also, because I thought I could soothe my pain like that. I am no longer who I was with him and I can never be again."

"And now?"

"Now it's just fun to look at him trying to avoid saying it." He winked.

There was a smile tugging at Cirilla's lips. And then, for the first time since her arrival she laughed. It was a glorious sound, sweeter than any music he'd ever heard, as if sent from Melitele herself – he swore he would treasure it for the rest of his life. "You're mean!"

"Only a little," Jaskier replied and laughed, too. It was the first true laugh that had passed his lips since- since the Dragon Hunt truth be told. "But don't tell him, I want to see him dance around it for a little longer."

She drew her fingers over her lips, signifying her silence. Then, she asked: "What about me?"

"What about you, dear child?"

"What should I call you?"

"You, my dear, may call me whatever you like." He smiled brightly. "Though I think I'd like it best if you called me Jaskier."

"Jaskier," she said, tasting the sound of the name on her tongue. "I like that. It sounds pretty."

"I was very pretty when I chose it."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "Really? I wouldn't have guessed it with all those wrinkles."

Jaskier placed his palm on his chest, gasping in mock-hurt. ‘She and Yennefer would be a great fit,’ he caught himself thinking. "Now who's the mean one?" To his never-ending amazement Cirilla laughed again. "What about your name. What should I call you?"

"Ciri. It's what everyone calls me."

"And you would like me to belong to that chosen few?" he teased.

"Yes, Jaskier," she answered. "I would like that very much."

"You know what I would like?"

"Hm?"

He leaned over to her so he could whisper in her ear even though they were still a few good paces away from the gatehouse. "Sneak in the kitchen and steal baked apples."

Ciri gasped a little. "We can do that?"

"Pfft," he answered and sat upright again, "who's going to stop us? The lord?"

"Isn't your cook going to be angry?"

"That, my dear," he tapped her on the nose, "is half the fun." He swung from his saddle and extended his arms to help her down. "Come with me?" he asked and this time when he extended his hand, she took it.

Once they had raided the kitchen for baked apples and other sweets – very unsuccessful in their attempt not to get caught – he led her to the North Wing, past Armoury and Dining Room and Study, to the floor where his personal quarters were along with two other bedrooms. He pushed the door to the smallest of the three open and Ciri nearly dropped the plate she was carrying.

"What is this room?" she asked in wonderment as she stepped inside. There was a narrow bed on the other end as well as a desk, but above all it was littered with toys – dolls and tin soldiers, a rocking horse and several toy swords, stuffed animals and balls and drums and everything a child could wish for. "Jaskier?"

"It's, um-" He cleared his throat. "It's my room. It was, rather. Until I was your age. A bit older maybe. I couldn't move you in here for propriety's sake, I'd never hear the end of it but you are welcome to come here anytime you like. Or the four bedrooms above, they're my sisters'. I'm sure they have more dolls and suchlike if you'd prefer tha- oof."

The air was pressed out of his lungs when Ciri hugged him tightly. "Thank you," she whispered quietly and he gently stroked her head. "Can we stay for a while?"

He gulped. "Of course, little one. As long as you like." He sat down on the thick rug in front of the fireplace and watched the little princess flit around, seemingly eager to try out each and every one of the toys while he helped himself to the sweets they had abducted. Despite the host of toys in this room, he didn't have a lot of happy memories connected to this place. 'Maybe it's time to make new ones,' he thought.

"What are those?" Ciri shrieked in delight and showed a box to him.

"Oh!" he answered gleefully as he gingerly accepted the chest. "My puppets!" He had almost forgotten about them. "I invented my first stories with those."

"Can you tell me one? Or two?" she asked eagerly as she sat down.

"As many as you want. Let's see, I guess I'm a bit out of practice, but-" He dug through the chest, searching for the right puppet. "Once upon a time," he said impassioned as he tugged two of them free, "there was a Prince living in a tower. It was guarded by a fearsome Dragon..."

After no less than five of his earliest inventions his throat was sore from all the talking – how had he been able to sing for hours, gods, what had his life turned into? – and begged for mercy. Ciri, ever the lenient princess, granted it to him, moving the puppets about by herself for a while. Oh, what would he give to hear the story that bloomed in her head, a story about a knight with a fool's hat riding a kelpie with a prince no less?

"Jaskier?" she asked, hugging the prince close to her chest.

"Yes, Ciri?"

"What about the Narrator?"

"What about him?"

"In your stories," she explained, "everyone deserves to be loved. Even the villains. What about the Narrator?"

"I told you, my darling," he said softly, "his fate is inconsequential to the story. It doesn't matter whether he is loved or not."

"That's not true," Ciri whispered and for a moment he feared she would begin to cry, "Without him there would be no story at all. No happy ending." She hugged the prince closer. "And... it matters to me."

"Oh, my sweet darling girl," it was all he could do not to burst into tears, "the world doesn't deserve you." She looked very confused at that, so Jaskier offered: "Would you like another story?"

It was already getting late, Ciri was bedding her head on an embroidered pillow hugging a toy emperor tightly, and Jaskier could scarcely speak anymore when a quiet knock at the door announced Geralt. Ciri blinked sleepily up at him and Jaskier nodded curtly.

"I take it you had a pleasant afternoon?" the witcher asked. “And evening.”

"Very," Ciri answered and yawned as he leaned down to brush the hair from her face. "I like Jaskier."

Geralt gaped, though Jaskier could not say whether it was for the statement or the name.

He smiled contently and stood, walking over to the door.

Geralt cleared his throat. "You do not need to leave, my lord."

"I know," he said softly. "But I believe you have a lot to talk about." He hesitated at the door and looked back over his shoulder. "Sweet dreams, Ciri. Goodnight, Geralt." The look he got from both of them was priceless.

#my writing #of witchers bards and broken hearts #OWBABH #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #cirilla #geraskier fanfiction

18 notes · View notes

mwolf0epsilon · 4 years

Note

Sorry to bother you. But can we get a story of Norman helping Sammy from the inks Control?

Summary: It was only a matter of time before Norman's curiosity got him deader than that one cat... No good deed goes unpunished.

---

"Somethin' ain't right 'bout the studio." Is the one sentence that precedes a series of catastrophic events in Norman Polk's life. A combination of letters that form a very simple and inconsequential phrase that still held a lot of negative connotation. Easy to dismiss, especially over breakfast as he reads the paper with a bored expression on his face.

His wife sits in front of him, buttering their youngest child's toast while the eldest daughter fetches a glass of juice for herself, and her brother, the second oldest child, glances up to peer over and then around the paper.

"What do ya mean pa?" Aaron's inquisitive eyes catch his one good eye, and Norman finds himself setting the paper aside and picking up his mug. Out of his five children, Aaron is the one to inherit his father's curiosity.

"Just a thought." He takes a sip of his coffee and shrugs "Things been a little weird as of late."

"How do you mean?"

"Aaron don't go listenin' to your pa's nonsense or ya gonna get stuck with his ramblings. You gotta get ready for school, so eat breakfast and get going." Margarite rebuts, before glancing at their two daughters. "That goes for you both as well, you especially Louise, your teacher's been hasslin' me bout you doin' no work."

"Mrs. Wilson is nuts. She picks on me for no reason, the crusty egg!"

"Louise!"

Aaron pouted, clearly unsatisfied with the lack of a response, but thought better than to go against his mother's wishes. Wise kid. Norman was proud he was growing up smart.

He didn't bring it up again until the kids were sorted and off to classes. His wife gives him a long-suffering sigh before crossing her arms and looking at him in the eye.

"Don't go lookin' for trouble Norman. I know ya got the guts to go findin' nothin' good." She pleads with him.

"I don't go lookin' for no trouble Maggie, just curious is all... And things have been weird. It's gettin' to the others..."

"Norman, you do know what them people say 'bout your sorta curiosity don't ya?"

"And what would that be?"

"Curiosity killed the cat. And ya sure are lookin' real cat-like to me..."

Joey Drew had plans, that much Norman knew. It all had to do with that weird machine of his, as well as all those brittle pipes that kept bursting and flooding areas with thick glossy and acrid smelling ink.

What plans, Norman couldn't tell (yet), but the consequences were visible. Structural integrity in the studio was a mess, something Thomas Connor often dreaded about due to his impeccable work ethics.

Things were constantly soiled with ink, and cleaning supply expenses had risen to the point Wally was having to lug in bleach and detergents from home to get stuff cleaned up. Everyone's dry-cleaning bills had likely also suffered with this.

Speaking of, everyone was going crazy.

"I tell ya, meltdown of the century." Wally winced on the rare occasion Norman took the time to sit with others to eat lunch. That day he was sitting with Wally, Buddy and Dot. "Thought Miss Campbell was gonna throttle the poor broad!"

"She has been acting very hostile." Dot winced in sympathy. "Miss Pendle has the patience of a saint if she can bare all that, but she's not the only person Susie has blown up on recently."

"Uh?" Buddy looked over at his friend in surprise. Norman too looked curious. Wally snapped his fingers as he realized what she was on about.

"Oh yeah! The other night right? She went and barged into Sammy's office and things got heated, and not in the good way if ya know what I mean."

"Wait really? Miss Campbell yelled him?" Buddy looked to be in disbelief. He couldn't imagine a petit little lady like Susie yelling at that overgrown peacock of a man. Not when Sammy tended to yell back at people with twice the amount of ferocity.

"Didn't just yell. She tore him a new one! Was so bad I got outta there as fast as I could. Didn't wanna witness no crime a' passion and all that." Wally glanced around, hoping neither Susie nor Sammy were around to hear. "Saw him come outta the office much later when I was about ta lock up for the night. He looked... Rough."

"He always looks rough." Buddy commented.

Norman found himself frowning at that.

Now that he mentioned it, Sammy had been looking a little green around the gills. Like he was sick, or at the very least extremely sleep deprived. With Drew's policy of time being money, and illnesses having to be serious for sick leave, it didn't surprise him that Sammy might have caught a bug and been unable to sleep it off at home.

"Speak a' the devil..." Wally ducked his head and quickly scarfed up the remains of his meal before getting back up and moving off. "Here he comes now."

Buddy and Dot followed his example, not feeling particularly keen on getting yelled at by Sammy. Norman let them go, eating his meal at a leisurely pace as he observed Sammy more carefully.

He didn't just look rough. He looked off.

How exactly, Norman couldn't explain, but it certainly must be something if the hairs on the back of his neck were so fast to raise.

He needed to look into it.

It's a particularly bad encounter in one of the men's bathrooms that tips Norman off to what might be wrong.

After that particularly bad scene involving Drew, Norman had been more cautious with his wandering and observing. His boss's behaviour raised questions, and his threats were definitely ringing alarm bells in his head. How it all involved that wretched machine Norman couldn't figure out.

Until, while putting his burnt hand under cold water (another projector went and caught fire because ink had gotten in it somehow), Sammy Lawrence suddenly barged in and practically kicked in a stall door to then double over a toilet bowl and violently vomit the contents of his stomach.

All this happened in very few seconds and Norman found himself with his unburnt hand clutching at his chest in fright.

"Jesus Christ, ya nearly went and scared the soul out of my body!" He closed the tap and pulled the first aid kit closer, setting to work on bandaging his injured hand. Bless the doc for giving him a kit in the first place, after so many incidents with projectors.

He waited for Sammy to bark out some sarcastic retort, but instead was met with more retching and coughs. Norman became concerned when it didn't stop.

"Sammy?"

He peered into the open stall and was met with a smell that shouldn't be coming from someone's insides. An acrid chemical smell that permeated the studio, due to its origin being pumped through pipes like blood in one's veins. The music director was puking ink.

"Sweet mercy..." That wasn't good. The boy needed that stuff out, which he was managing on his own from how much he was getting sick. The issue was, how much of the crap had he swallowed if it kept coming up? "Sammy what the fuck?!"

"G'way y'fu'kin' ..." He cut off as another wave came up to meet the rest, his nose dribbling with the black sheen of ink, and big fat tears barely clearing the gunk already covering his pale skin "H'hurts..."

The pathetic whimper was enough to break his heart. Sammy sounded scared for once, rather than angry, sarcastic or apathetic.

"How much did ya even get in ya? Did the music department go under again?" Once the music director didn't look like he was going to throw up again, the projectionist scooped him off the floor and noted with horror how unusually light and pointy the blond felt in his arms.

It was like holding a sack of bones... What in the blazes? Just a few days ago he looked healthy enough...

"M'gettin' ya to the infermary. The doc might have somethin' for intoxication... If not then Drew can't just keep ya here, this is a hospital thing."

"N-no... No doctors..." Sammy struggled weakly but gave up once he realized he couldn't squirm out of Norman's grasp. "M'fine..."

"Boy, I have half a mind ta call the doctor myself if ya go sayin' stupid shit like that. You ain't fine."

"J-just stomach ache... It'll go away..."

"Samuel Lawrence you are a dumbass."

How daft did the kid need to be to not see the issue here? Hopefully the resident doctor could convince Drew to let Sammy go to a hospital. Hard to fake getting a toxic liquid in your system after all...

After the encounter in the bathroom it's not long before Sammy goes missing. People start speculating about it, and some are rather mean-spirited about it.

Sure Sammy wasn't the kindest person, but going about saying he ran off with his tail between his legs because Susie dumped him was just plain disrespectful (especially considering he hadn't seen Susie around as of late either).

The stories about him drinking ink tho... Those peak his interest. They are also easy to confirm, as Norman looks in horror at the contents of the drawers in Sammy's office. Empty ink wells. Several of them. Some definitely licked clean.

It explains things Norman wished he hadn't overlooked. The machine, the pipes, the slow descent... The ink was what was wrong with the studio.

Norman realized then and there that he needed to warn the others to get out. Whomever would hear him at least.

Starting with Buddy and Dot. Those kids needed out.

Whatever Drew was planning with that hellish stuff, it couldn't be good for them.

Once the authorities' investigations are closed up and the studio opened back up again, Norman decides it's time to finally grab his light and go down and see what the groaning was. He eats breakfast with his family as quiet as a mouse, lost in thoughts, then goes to work after kissing his wife goodbye.

Once he reaches the door, he finds a card and keys on the entrance mat.

Wally had quit. Good, at least the kid had enough sense to bolt when told to.

Norman is the very first person the set foot back inside the studio.

As such, he's the very first target for one of two creatures still able to access the floors above.

His light catches onto an inky black figure in overalls and a grinning dancing devil mask, then catches the gleam of a blade.

Norman doesn't get the chance to scream as the axe buried itself in his chest, right through his heart. He wheezes out what little air remains in his lungs and it doesn't take long for him to slip away.

What makes it worse is how the figure cradles him gently and murmurs nonsense he can't understand. That voice... Why did it sound so familiar?

It all goes dark. It's too quiet.

The Projectionist screeches as it runs after the figure in overalls and grinning mask. It chases after the thief mercilessly, putting it's hands through the holes it crawls through in an attempt to flee from its burning gaze.

It gets cocky and ends up getting grabbed by the leg and pulled back with force.

The Projectionist may not be able to hear its screams, but it can feel the vibrations. It's terrified.

Good.

It roars in triumph as it plunges it's hand through the figure's chest, bursting it into a puddle and discarded clothing.

Never shall it try to steal it's hearts away, ever again.

The Projectionist carried on, unaware of the poetic justice behind its own actions.

An eye for an eye was just as popular a saying as curiosity killed the cat, after all.

#Eps Writes:#Bendy and the Ink Machine #BATIM #Norman Polk #Sammy Lawrence

21 notes · View notes

shewhowillnotbenamed1 · 4 years

Text

An Opening

@ravenfan1242 I had been meaning to write your WallyRae - this is finally done! I never wrote an AU like this or for Kid Flash/Raven. I hope you enjoy! Thank you so much for the lovely Valentine’s Day WallyRae fanart!!!

Prompt List

@ravenfan1242 WallyRae Fanart

———————-

A disembodied arm sprang open an office, and stole the living wits straight out of the occupant, who until that moment, was lunching alone. A plastic spoon hovering within range of an agape mouth. “I thought I smelled something delicious.” Her shocked cobalt blue examined the intruder who then asked, “what’s on the gourmet today?”

“Um…soup.” Raven said to the bowl tightly. “Just soup.”

“I like soup.” The redhead remarked, holding the door frame above and angling his body towards the desk. “Did you make it?”

Sprinkles slid off the spoonful steadily. “Microwaved it.”

“Close enough, right?” He grinned. The kindness of his blue-green eyes shone even in the sparsely lit room, its single window covered in slats.

“Right…” She mumbled. A limp noodle nose-dived off the cutlery and plopped back into the lukewarm pool. “Cooking adjacent.” Which was as close to the act as Raven was willing to stand.

A wide breadth was generally best.

“Exactly what I always say.” He agreed. “Although… it certainly smells homemade, Raven.” Why was she blushing? Why was his mention of her viscous broth - located somewhere on the borderline between piss and dishwater - making her forget how to think straight? The lull was disturbed when freckled fingers rapped on her door in a rapid staccato. “I’ll see you later?”

She nodded weakly. “Later.” With that, he went whistling on his way.

With bright smiles and even brighter hair, Wally was unreal. Whether he stopped by her office unexpectedly, saw her in the kitchen, or spotted her in passing, he had this tendency or - compulsion - to talk to her. Even if it meant he had to race over to her and abandon someone mid-sentence, he would find his way to her side. Though he only started weeks ago, he had a presence that elicited eagerness, instead of her general indifference.

The day they met, something strange happened - she forgot to bring in her thermos of tea to work. She stopped in the kitchen on each floor, before she went up a total of five flights - to the sole coffee machine in operation. The machine beeped scarlet - angry accusations; it demanded to be cleaned before servicing anyone else. A not-so-office-friendly phrase threatened to slide from her lips at the sight of a hand swiping the final steaming cup of liquid - the proverbial straw.

“Just my luck.” She sighed to herself. An office building without a working coffee machine was one with cruel working conditions.

The new owner of the wax paper cup turned to her. “I’m sorry, did you need coffee?” Perhaps he was sympathetic, but likely he heard the desperation in her voice, the sheer panic of taking on Tuesday without a cuppa.

“No…tea.” Raven corrected the redhead. “Coffee doesn’t do it for me.”

“What a coincidence!”

She believed it.

Apparently, he already had a superabundance of energy. A voice that was less jarring, explained. “Coffee makes a bit hyperactive - or more so.” His lips turned up cheekily. “Would you like mine? It’s herbal. Mint.”

“Really, I couldn’t.” But the man didn’t hear of it, he grabbed another paper cup and unloaded an even amount.

“We’ll share - you can make it up to me by telling me your name and department…” He could see she was befuddled. “I’m Wally West - I’m new.” His skin radiated charges through the handshake, it lingered on the cup he passed to her.

“Raven Roth… Human Resources.” On a typical day, she had few direct interactions with others, but she wanted to interact with him.

That week, they spoke every day. She tried to put her finger to the pulse of it, but couldn’t surmise.

It was easy to attribute her attraction to the dashes of freckles, flaming tresses, and feistiness, but it was more than that. There was a gravitational pull drawing her to the western hemisphere. It was saturated with sun. It was offbeat and unique, and…fun. With that chance encounter, work life changed for the better. So even though Raven hardly ever did herself, the days of routine nine to five took their own, well-deserved time-off.

———————-

Office parties and happy hours. These were social situations that had persisted through time, even though cocktails and coworkers were not meant to commingle.

And it was why, Raven didn’t know why she was attending this one. Frankly, she would much rather be in her own company than that of her tipsy boss and drunk coworkers, and other wasted strangers in the lowly lit bar. It was the most awkward thing in the world to witness their behavior while they bummed booze off the company dime.

The true reason she was here - it was mandatory. A mandatory, holiday party, the intention of which was to spend time socializing with coworkers in a low-stress environment. The aim was to avoid getting sloppy. Working in HR, she was aware. Though, others seemed to forget, they tended to get rowdy. Especially before their vacations.

Speaking of which.

“Man, you’re usually faster.” Pre-party rum was affecting speech patterns of the recent arrivals. “Happy hour awaits!”

“I know, we’re already so late.” That was definitely pre-party rum from someone’s cubicle closet.

There were other divisions here. Teams that were not as straight-laced as her own.

“Wally, you need to relax and get a drink - or two.”

He tipped his head, as spotted her by the bar. His steps were clumsy, eyes watery from the alcohol. At last, freckled cheeks, with their rosy halo freckled, wiggled out a hazy smile. The orange and blue bulbs above had gone paces past ambient lighting, to delve deep into clubbing territory. They were outside of work and outside the standard, watts of fluorescence she had grown accustomed to seeing him under. The palpitating in her chest appeared to agree. Raven didn’t know whether it was the drink she had been nursing, the thumping bass of played-out pop, or him in his gray button-down, with its rolled up cuffs showing forearms, tanned and strong.

“I hoped - you… to - night -” The shock of red bobbed, invitingly. Raven squinted and motioned to her ear. Oh - right! Wally mouthed. He pointed to a stool, Raven shrugged. She sipped quickly to hide her smile as he plunked down at her right.

And now…

At least five songs had gone, but Wally hadn’t left her side. Their bodies were tilted towards one another in the backless seats. He had given up shouting over the music to whisper directly into her ear canal. Each syllable was slow and slightly slurred - deep and deliberate.

“You look very nice.” Wally was referring to her black sheath dress. Though work-appropriate, it was tight and clingy. An unintended positive of the unseasonably warm weather, Raven had foregone tights. And Wally West clearly noticed.

“You know I’m in HR - that could be misconstrued as flirting,” She jabbed him with her straw. “But, you’re alright with me, Wallace.” When they were alone here with alcohol in the air she felt emboldened. To call him Wallace and scoot closer in her seat - to flirt about whether or not they were allowed to flirt.

“Misconstrued…?” His grinned went lopsided with nausea for a moment. “Oh - boy that booze.”

For a second, she placed a hand on his shoulder in a gesture that hopefully was innocent to any onlookers. “Wally, are you alright?”

“Yeah.” He swallowed, shakily. “I just… don’t drink - like ever.”

“Really - not ever?” The ink eyebrows shot up. “Why not?” Her upturned nose twitched.

“Ever run hungover?” Run? A pale hand’s push slid their glasses out of sight. “I run - marathons… One’s coming up next weekend, so I’m in the middle of training for it.” Wally chuckled pathetically or painfully.

She fingered her ebony tresses thoughtfully. Then she whispered, while leaning forward so her mouth brushed the pink, freckly orifice. “So then why…did you drink?”

Wally spoke near her cheek, the sharp, spiced-sugar whisked Raven’s nose. “Because I wanted a little liquid courage.” His queasiness had dissipated. “I… want to dance - will you dance with me?” He asked, as though it had only occurred to him moments ago.

Suddenly, she glanced at her surroundings. “Um, I…” They were alone, but not truly. And even if they were, this was still a work party. She sneaked a peek behind them. The darkened room was thinned out, over half the people had left. Those that remained were drunker and louder than the last. Could it be that it was safe after all?

“Raven?” Wally was following her line of sight. “Are you…looking for an out?”

“No,” She promised and placed her palm in his. “Let’s do it.”

“Do it?!” Wally gasped. “Why, Raven, I’m appalled!”

“Don’t you dare…” Her voice had suddenly gone dry.

“I thought you were in HR.” Wally continued. “Can I report someone in HR - to HR?”

She sighed into her smile. “Your jokes are still decent when you’re wasted.”

Right or wrong, it was best to be cautious. Raven felt more at ease when he took her to a secluded corner in the back. Her and Wally danced restlessly, waiting, with their bodies a ways apart. Unspoken, until they were the last ones left.

At last.

Turning in aimless circles, with her arms draped on his neck and his hands tight to her waist, they drew closer. With the party over, it was harmless. She and Wally had morphed into two individuals out on a Friday at the bar.

The bar where booze laden blood overheated their bodies. Raven’s cardigan was torn off and the first three buttons on Wally’s shirt had come undone.

One song melded into another and another and another. Until one that played for their ears alone - it was one where rules of Human Resources, policies, and holiday parties could fall away like layers fallen between them.

———————-

Raven clicked open another email. One day was unending lull only for the one that succeeded to be filled with a billion urgent emails that all required her attention.

Today was one of those days.

Open Skype.

That was it. No subject. No greeting. No signature. And it was from one Wally West.

An involuntary smile began to slide across her skin as she clicked, wondering what this could possibly be about.

WW: 30 minutes. Me and you.

RR: I’m busy. What is this about?

WW: You’ll see. I’m signing off - so you can’t say no.

Wally appeared in her doorway no less than five minutes later. “Raven - up!” He commanded.

She shook her head violently. “I have a ton of work to do today. I can’t -”

Wally persisted. “Up. Up. Up!” He went around to pull her out of the chair. It made her remember their dances. She had to breathe carefully to calm herself. “You can squeeze in an hour for lunch.” Raven opened her mouth. “Microwaved leftovers or calcified bags of nuts from your desk drawer are not lunch.”

“Wally, please…” Raven she begged. She had to at least attempt a last ditch effort. “I should get this done.”

His red hair flopped over his face. When he straightened back up, he gave her a soft smile. “Trust me, it’s only an hour, and you’ll love it.”

“Okay.” She couldn’t say no to that - or to him.

He chatted with her animatedly for all five blocks until they arrived at a little bistro Raven had never been to, despite it being so close.

“Two tomato soups and two grilled cheeses, please.”

Simple, but classic, it was her favorite comfort food. When the waiter disappeared, Raven playfully shoved him. Wally grinned, appreciating how well he knew her.

True to his word, it was the best lunch at work she had ever had.

And after, they ran, with full-stomachs sprinted, arm and arm in their pea-coats. The uncooperative weather wafted their condensed breath out into the ether. The chill snapped their cheeks and noses, outlining them in pink as they raced on. He had vowed to get Raven to her office before an hour elapsed. But before they rounded the corner to the building, he stopped.

“Wally, come on.” Raven panted. “We have to get back - before -”

The experienced runner was hardly winded. His voice didn’t waver when he told her, “Raven, I don’t… Have to get back.”

“No. We all have an hour.” She exhaled, glancing at her watch for the time. “That’s the rule.” Her tone dropped a decibel, she conspired, pinching her forefinger and thumb. “I mean I’m supposed to say that, but you can push it a little…”

“Raven, I’m an independent contractor.”

Faintly, she wondered why he needed to mention that. “Meaning? You have a stricter deadline than I do -” He brushed a raven lock, tenderly gazing at her as he did so. “Wally…! What if someone sees you…”

“Today’s my last day, Raven.”

“What?” The pale girl ripped away, violently. “No." She bit out. Raven tried to slow and soften the harshness. "I… don’t understand.”

“My contract ended.” Wally explained. “And they decided not to extend it.”

“But,” She argued, knowing it was futile. “Surely there’s something we can do, or I can do.”

After all, what was the point of working in her department all these years? What was the point if she couldn’t help a friend?

“Raven, don’t worry about me.” He slid closer. “It’s alright, I’m needed elsewhere.”

“So that’s it.” Raven lifted her head.

“I’ll be packing up tonight…” Wally continued in a normal register. She wished he wouldn’t. “If you wanted to help…”

The wind picked up, night colored tendrils blew back in frigidity. The ice in the air surrounding her body was as cold as the ice overcoming her heart. It was painful enough that he was going. Leaving her. Helping to carry out the process would be cruel. “I don’t think I can do that, Wally.”

“I understand… But now, I can do this...” He eyed her closely. His bluish-green eyes memorized her face, at last, her lips. With enough films and sappy television in her repertoire, she knew what was next.

Two parted pillowy lips advanced, angling downward. Raven stood on her tiptoes, stretching her body to sun. His warmth drew her nearer to his atmosphere. This was it. The moment she had only dreamed of… She shut her heavy lids, just as his mouth, stung by the chill, veered…into her forehead.

“Let’s go back… to the office.”

The cool wind whistled and Raven was stung.

All over again.

“I’ll - meet you up there.” She stepped back. “I need a moment.”

As soon as he had disappeared out of sight, Raven started to walk. The other way. To the train. To go home. She felt sick after all.

A half day only seemed appropriate.

53 notes · View notes

long-cosmos-overhead · 4 years

Text

I would like to request a Dwalin x Ori x Reader. The reader has had a dream of meeting her soulmate. All she sees is a hand grabbing for her own, stopping her from falling into the darkness. Sometimes her left hand and sometimes her right hand. Never both, it never occurred to her that it was two different people.

You were slipping. The abyss of darkness below waiting to swallow you whole and toss you aside like you were one single pebble in a huge colony residing at the bottom of a river. Your fingers clawed and the Earth beneath you dirt piling up underneath your fingernails. You were falling now. Limbs flailing in the air trying desperately to grasp a hold of anything to stop your fall. Dirt fell beside you almost in slow motion, falling deeper into darknesses eternal slumber until they were no longer Just witnessing a twisted example of your fait made your stomach twist in fear you couldn’t wish to any other.

You were so close to the darkness you could almost feel it’s cold hand wrapping its fingers around you. It was toying with you leaving its grip loose enough for your nerves to eat you alive. Air flew past you caressing your falling body rippling through your clothes and dancing up your skin. Tears spilled from your eyes leaving tracks so cold and rich in raw emotion. Your heart pounded against your chest for what would’ve been the last time before your inevitable death. You were practically touching the dark, your feet moments from being snatched by its gruelling hand dragging the rest of you with it. You closed your eyes unwilling to bear witness of the fall that would break you.

Fingers grasped around your right hand stopping you from falling. The grip so tight and unwilling to let go it turned your fingertips red. The darkness beneath you subsided growing smaller and smaller until it had completely vanished in defeat. It’s cold grip that hovered around you ceased to be present. You wanted to scream out in relief. The fall constricted your bodies every ability so greatly talking was an impossibility.

The fingers suffocating your hand were rough and weathered yet held an amount of comfort it made you feel a way you had never felt before. Somewhat safe and assured but also something deeper something that made your heart pound, not of fear but a mix of warmth and affection. A spark ran through your body encasing you in bliss despite almost falling into the pit of darkness. You shifted your head to peer up a little still shaken you decided not to make big movements.

The hand was clearly that of a man. Short finger nails rimmed with dirt and grime, somewhat muscly; the hands of heavy labour, veins rising against the lightly tanned skin and littered in tattoos of various shapes and markings ones you could not make out yet made sense. Normally body markings didn’t affect your perception on appearance but the ones engraved on the hand that held you were strangely captivating you felt your eyes resting on them unable to shift your gaze. You found them right as if if they weren’t there it wouldn’t look right.

The day following was confusing. Waking up was even more so. You had been so immersed in your thoughts even Thorin threw you a few glances. You barely uttered a word.

“Lass you seem distracted.” Dwalin sat beside you shifting the log you too resided on. The sun’s last rays dipping below the horizon leaving the trees shadows creeping further up the ground. A moment ago one lay atop your foot but had since seemed to crawl back a little. You thought nothing of it, your thoughts quickly wrapping you in a steel grip.

“Just been thinking about some things.”

Dwalin hummed in understanding. He always seemed to be the one to understand you providing quiet support. When you first joined the company you were rather lonely often hanging back with the brothers Fili and Kili. To say you were intimidated by the axe wielding dwarf was an understatement the first time you saw him you could’ve sworn he disapproved of your existence. However, in a short amount of time you became one of the few people he trusted and he became one of your closest friends.

“If you need anything don’t hesitate to ask lass, I’ll fetch you some food you could do with some.” He patted your shoulder and you felt a familiar spark course through your body. You jolted in shock causing Dwalin to quickly remove his hand.

“You sure you’re alright lass?” You looked up to meeting his eyes. The confusion and worry that glassed over his blue ones made you feel a sense of uneasiness. Seeing such emotions were rare coming from him. You swallowed thickly nodding your head unable to form words. His eyes narrowed as if he had caught you out on a lie but whatever he was thinking he dropped for your sake.

“Come let’s get you to bed, I’ll sleep nearby if you need anything.” He offered you his hand to help you rise from the log. Admittedly it wasn’t terribly comfy the bark had scratched into the back of your legs leaving the skin undoubtedly irritated and red. You raised your hand to grasp his but stopped midway. The dying embers of the suns rays fell gracefully upon his hand illuminating his short nails layered in dirt, the way his veins rose slightly above his skin, the toned edges of his muscles reaching up his arm and out of sight underneath his sleeves and finally his tattoos each section of inked skin matching up exacting to the ones you had dreamt about.

Everything was happening so suddenly the links your brain drew fuelled the panic rising in your chest. The shadows growing on you causing your heart to beat wildly against your chest. The deja vu was overwhelmingly identical. Your breathing became shallow and almost rapid. Looking again into the blue eyes of the dwarf you only managed one word.

“Dwalin.”

You were easily hoisted up into his arms. To Dwalin you felt awfully light. He’d never seen you so lost and consumed in your own thoughts that you lost touch with the world around you. He had witnessed people seriously overwhelmed before he took pity on them and continued about his activities however upon seeing you, a brave and powerful women become reduced to your most vulnerable in his arms shook him to his core.

You felt the wind whisper in your ear as Dwalin ran to the area Thorin had set up for the night. Dead leaves and twigs crunched under his heavy boots alerting everyone of your presence. The company drew silent. Thorin had sat upright against the rock he laid on seemingly more awake, Fili and Kili stopped sharpening their weapons offering you a worried, sympathetic look, Bilbo had looked up from tending to the horses his brow creasing in confusion. Bombur had jumped up in fright. Your face was buried in Dwalin’s chest still panicked, the reaction from the company didn’t even hold place in your mind.

“Y/n what happened?” A gentle voice rang from beside you. Ori had been your best friend and fiercest protector alongside Dwalin. He always managed to soothe your every thought that bled you dry with anxiety or anger. Despite being the youngest of the group he still remained grounded and ever so polite no matter the situation. Just his voice simply asking you a question felt as blissful as a warm summers day. The company reeled their heads in a little awaiting the answer to your current state unwilling to pry open your personal thoughts they held their tongue.

“The lass is worn out, Ori, take her to bed and set up our rolls near should she wake and need anything I’ll fetch some food she could do with a little to eat.”

Ori took you from Dwalin’s warm embrace entering you into his. Reality slowly began enticing you back into its clutches. Cold gusts of wind clashed with your shaking figure, subconsciously you curled up into a ball. You were tired. So tired, it were as if you had been conscious for weeks on end. Your stomach ached for food but your body yearned for sleep so desperately. Your eyelids gradually got heavier and heavier until the forest around you transfered from beautiful scenery to a blur of greens and greys. Your body succumbed to the allure of slumber in Ori’s warm arms.

It was the same dream that haunted you. You were falling, quicker than last time. It was as if you grew tired of watching the same scene, the same emotions that you decided to race forward in time. The dirt around you only paused to entertain your vision for a few seconds. You anticipated the cold, malicious hand slowly suffocating you taking your every will, ambition and achievement in its wake and in quick time it came. It was almost more agonising the second time. You fell deeper and deeper into the dark. The shadow crawling up your skin until it had reached your midsection. You drew one final breath.

You should’ve known a hand would catch you right before the hand of darkness grasped you fully. Your left hand ached in pain upon supporting your whole body weight. Your feet swayed upon your sudden departure from falling. The dark pit of fear below shrunk in defeat until it ceased to exist once again. You had to know the person that saved you a second time.

The hand clinging to yours was frail yet firm. Rather small yet masculine. His fingernails were well kept, clean and short. His fingers so thin it made his knuckles protrude outwards allowing them to easily account for the magority of his hands distinguishable features. The hand holding you up was soothingly soft and you couldn’t help but feel familiar with the touch. Despite hanging meters from your death you were pulled into such a rich sense of security courtesy of the contact you were blessed with. You dared to look up just a little more. A blinding white light stole the face of your saviour whisking you back into consciousness.

Your body automatically jolted upwards and you gasped for air as if you had been starved of it all your life. Light beads of sweat populated your forehead while cold chills shuddered down your body. A rough hand clasped upon your shoulder pulling you into their lap.

“Lass what’s been going on with you?” Dwalin spoke his voice softer and quieter than usual.

You couldn’t hold back the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes any longer. You clung to Dwalin seeking any sort of comfort you could. His other hand found its way to your back rubbing circles in your skin and easing the painful tension that knotted your shoulders together. Faintly you heard him shushing you, trying to calm your shaking, tired body.

“Y/n?”

Ori questioned beside you. He rubbed his eyes clearly having woken up from the commotion. His hand placed over yours. The feeling was too familiar resurfacing every detail of the horror your mind had conjured just moments ago. You stared blankly at him for a moment almost scared to look down having already anticipated what you would see.

His hand matched each fraction of the one that caught you. Not one tiny marking was out of place.

“Ori I..I..”

It took a while to calm you down; the sun had since risen over the horizon it previously fell below. Finally you fell back asleep again. Ori and Dwalin had decided to leave you to rest a while longer after the company had awoken. Mid morning slowly passed by the suns golden rays hitting your body as you lay asleep now in Ori’s lap. Never once did his grip falter on you. Dwalin made sure of that too, informing Thorin of your hectic nightmare.

For once there was no cold hand constricting you. You only felt warmth and safety laying in the arms of your two dearest dwarves. Some day you’d figure out everything but for now you were happy.

@swoopswishsward I am so so sorry for being so late for this one. Please forgive me I hope I did a good enough job

#dwalin x reader #dwalin imagine #dwalin #the hobbit #ask #request #fluff #angst #dwalin fluff #dwalin angst #ori x reader #ori imagine #ori #ori fluff #ori angst

71 notes · View notes

ashleyswrittenwords · 4 years

Text

How to be a Queen [Part 18]

Summary: Princess Zelda is at a loss. Her handed royal responsibilities have begun to weigh heavily on her and she is eventually backed into a corner. Live a life she loathes or run away from everything she’s ever known? Navigating life is hard, and Link forces her to learn that she doesn’t have to do it alone.

Warning: None.

Part 1

How To Be A Queen

The beds did end up being pushed together but Link never made it to the room. After our rendezvous by the temple and our hand-in-hand stroll towards the inn, a man intercepted us on the path. He seemed to stand at attention and mentioned news through hushed whispers. Halfway through, Link turned to me with an indiscernible expression that only spurned alarm. It was then that I realized that the man was a scout in civilian clothing.

He followed us to the inn, only stopping after we walked through the doorway. The old innkeeper glanced at us with disinterest before going back to his novel. With much of my protests, Link pressed the room key into my hand and leaned in, “Go upstairs and rest. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“A few hours?” I whispered back in disbelief. A fire crackled on in the background, promising comfort and warmth. “It’s the dead of night. Who is that and what did he tell you?”

He held my hand up and studied the slowly fading marks left on it, tracing a finger over them with a furrowed brow. “I can’t tell you right now.” With a short pause he added, “I will soon though. When I get back.”

I tried searching his eyes for an inkling of his thoughts but only found the soft request to ask no further. Gently, I retracted my hand from him and reasoned that Link’s absence wouldn’t last for too long. While thumbing the key, I reluctantly acquiesced.

“I should be back before morning,” he said with an apologetic smile.

“Is that a promise?”

Link diverted his eyes to a lock of my hair he had caught between his fingers, suddenly intently interested in the way it reflected the dim light. Then, with a quick glance at the doorway, he caught my lips in a brief and chaste kiss. It left me so dazed with the unexpected happiness of his affection I almost didn’t hear him say, “I’ll do my best.”

Without much fanfare, he left me alone in the inn.

---

It would be a lie to say I didn’t sleep comfortably. After countless nights of sleeping on pallets, I had come to expect soreness in my back and neck each morning. Contrary to my expectations, I woke with the sensation of the snugness of soft sheets and fluffy pillows. I sighed in contentment and snuggled deeper into the mattress. My outstretched limbs aimlessly searched for the reason why I stayed up pushing the twin beds together and briefly got berated by the innkeeper. All that was found was the cool softness of bedsheets.

Link wasn’t here.

With a start, I sat up quickly only to be foiled by the sunlight streaming through the window curtains. I complained in a bleary groan. The bed was empty other than my own person. Mechanically, my knees drew to my chest and drew my arms around them in a hug. Was he okay? Would he be okay?

As I began racking my head for where Link could have gone, I spotted a folded piece of white paper on the nightstand weighed down by a pair of keys with the label “Great Plateau Stables”. I bit my lip in concentration, peeling the second page off the first as if the writer hadn’t bothered to wait for the ink to dry. It tore a bit and I immediately regretted the error when Link’s signature came into view.

Zelda,

If you’re reading this then it was decided that plans have changed and it couldn’t wait for tomorrow to leave. I don’t know when I’ll be back. I’m sorry. I wish I had time to talk to you and I wish I had answers for you, but I don’t. General Nohansen wants me in the West. I’ll be fine and I’m sure your uncle is doing everything in his power to keep you safe.

There was a large space of crossed out words and sentences. His handwriting was hurried and ran off the page in some places.

I left Cozmo’s stable keys and more pillows. There’s money in the bag under the bed. I know you won’t listen but if I’m not back in a week’s time you should head back to the castle. Write ahead of wherever you go and don’t go to the desert.

Yours,

Link

He had left the plateau then. My grip strained the letter. I skimmed over his words several times until I reached “if I’m not back in a week’s time”.

“If,” I found myself whispering incredulously. If? What in Hylia’s name does that imply? I pinched the bridge of my nose as my thoughts seesawed between damning him for leaving me alone and keeping my tears at bay as I prayed that he was safe.

The incessant thought continued until I finally flung the covers from over me and pulled myself from the safe haven of my bed. It wasn’t mine, I briefly corrected myself, at least night tomorrow it won’t be. Within the pack under the bedframe was a clean pair of riding clothes that I hurriedly fumbled and tripped into after haphazardly yanking my nightgown off. I cursed myself for misplacing my boots before finding them neatly sitting at the door.

Maybe if I rode hard for half a day I would be able to catch up. My grip on the stable keys tightened, making the rigid knobs bite deeply into my hand. Link seemed to be in a hurry, surely that meant he wasn’t going to idly travel the road. No, he could already be wherever he was going. What road would they be taking?

-don’t go to the desert.

I stopped abruptly in the doorway.

Uncle sent him to the desert. I sat in on all diplomatic meetings with Father. Goddesses, think, what were Hyrule’s top priorities when it came to political relations with the Gerudo? That’s right… trade agreements were being renewed, but that was routine. A yearly formality. Urbosa would never allow that display of friendship across borders be broken.

Think! I bit down on my bottom lip to stop it from trembling. Uncle Nathaniel wouldn’t have wanted Link to leave my side. Lest he suddenly decided I was capable after only a month, which would be strange, there was no way he would send his most favored captain away in this circumstance. Unless…

“My goddesses-!” A sudden gasp choked me and my feet found the stairs, but my head was already miles beyond the Temple of Time. I bounded down the stairs, even missing the last few. The fire was still roaring in the small lobby, making for a cold day, but I couldn’t be bothered and quickly turned the corner for the exit. There I would attempt to locate the stables. I had to find Link. I won’t allow my father-

A burly man stood in the door, momentarily befuddled by my appearance. Then, he bowed low.

“Your Highness,” he uttered reverently.

I stared and stared and stared, “I – what did you say?”

He remained in his bowed state, torso nearly parallel with the floor and hand across his heart. My own pounded dread into my veins. I doubled back as I heard Rauru’s voice behind me.

“Princess.”

I spun around. There by the hearth, Rauru adorned in elaborate priesthood robes made himself at home with a teacup in hand and the rest of the kettle on the old inn table. Another man sat across from Rauru, sitting rigid and straight as he looked between us. A foot soldier, I presumed instantly. Horror stuck painfully into my gut. Mouth agape, I tried to verbalize it, “Rauru?”

“Come sit for afternoon tea, Your Grace,” he smiled a smile that promised there was more than the words he spoke.

“Afternoon? It’s already past noon?” I was panicking, thinking of how extended the gap was between Link and I. How long would that be? A day by now? Curse those stupid pillows.

“Ah, it’s unlikely the sun is even fully over the horizon. But! It can always be time for afternoon tea if you don’t care to go outside,” the old man huffed laughter into his cup as he drank, patting the cushion adjacent to him. After a shaky breath and shrugging off the feeling of being watched, I complied with his gestures.

Despite the warm tea in the small cup he handed to me, I felt no desire to drink it. Glancing somewhat frantically at the two men in the room, it occurred to me that certain expectations were allotted. I tried to avoid looking perturbed as I uncrossed my legs and attempted to unfurrow the bad habits adopted by being away from proper society.

“Father Rauru,” I started, “I beseech you to allow me to… to join with the captain.”

Rauru looked towards the fellow across from us, “Boy, are you sure you don’t want tea? You seem to be intently interested in partaking.”

“Er, no, Father. Thank you,” he faltered before arising from the chair and joining the other man at the front of the room.

With a lowered voice, the priest leaned in and I waited in rapture. “I saw him in the early hours of this morning. The boy was fine. He left with two others from the King’s army. Not long after a group of these men arrived under the Crown’s orders.”

I paused, my palms growing sweaty against the pottery. I spoke with haste. “The King or the General?”

“As much as I could gather, the General. However, their instructions sound very much like your father.”

“How do you mean?”

Rauru mentioned loudly about the poor quality of the tea before returning to a hushed voice, “In no more than 48 hours, you are to join the convoy back to the castle.”

It took every fiber of my being to contain my disappointment. “I…” I swallowed harshly, “What makes you think it couldn’t have been my uncle? There must have been a substantial reason why he sent Link away. If Father wanted to bring me home, he would have exhausted efforts a month ago.”

“Zelda,” Rauru sighed, taking short note of our company who chattered away unintelligibly. “I know you were but a child, but you must remember the desert uprising.”

“Of course. The Gerudo uprising was a serious threat to Hyrule,” I said indignantly.

The priest raised an eyebrow, “Yes, however, it was not by the hand of the Gerudo themselves. It was a band of rebels that had infiltrated the aristocracy. As you may recall, Madame Urbosa was the one to expose the spies – later giving way to the clashes between the rebels and Gerudo loyalists assisted by Hylian forces.”

My cheeks tinged pink at my own ignorance, “I was under the impression that you were a priest, Father Rauru.”

“Indeed,” he huffed at my lame jab, “A priest who pays attention. Now, history reviews aside, there are rumors that the rebels were never completely eliminated. The reasons are unknown to myself, but I do know for a fact that religious zealots are a vastly different kind of enemy. Lives are easy to diminish compared to stopping the spread of vitriolic propaganda to an already disadvantaged people.”

Before I could ask for Rauru what the rebels aligned with, the foot solider - whose only common trait was his clothes – sauntered over and bowed shortly. “Forgive me, Your Highness,” he cleared his throat, “We must make haste to the capital within the hour.”

Rauru took the cup from my hands, “It seems that our time has been cut short. Princess Zelda, it was wonderful to see you once more.”

I diverted my eyes to the floorboards, “Father Rauru, I cannot thank you enough for allotting the Captain and I such warm hospitality… no mater how brief it was.”

“Before you depart for Castle Town, would you mind accompanying me to the temple?” Rauru paused to give notice to the man. “If time permits, of course.”

“Sir,” I held the stable keys out to him, “Would you mind readying the horses and whatever else my father has decided to surprise me with?”

He seemed to hesitate, “Princess, with all due respect we have very little time.”

“Oh,” I folded my hands in my lap and looked up at him through my lashes, hoping to channel the little girl I once was that guilted the cooks into extra desert. “I hoped I would be able to pay respects to my late mother while I’m here.”

At that, I almost felt bad as the man faltered out of his normally erect composure. I forlornly shrugged, “Of course, I would understand if the circumstances won’t allow.”

“A-Absolutely, Your Highness! I apologize for the intrusion, please take as much time as you need. We’ll prepare for your departure. Would you like to be accompanied?”

I smiled brightly to his concern, “Thank you for your understanding. I believe Father Rauru will be a fine escort.”

It felt awkward to have the roles of propriety fall into place as I walked to the head of the room and out of the door. The pack around my shoulders were shrugged off and taken towards the stables. Then Rauru and I took our leave with interlocked arms. The man who was waiting at the door trailed ten paces behind us. It didn’t take long before I noticed there were several other people that stuck out in the small groups of tourists. Outside the inn, amongst the market wagons, a Hylian woman stared at us over a map from across the square. A scabbard at her hip was lamely covered with the hem of her shirt. Every now and again a man would walk alongside the one trailing us to whisper before walking away as if nothing transpired.

“How many are there, do you reckon?” I mumbled.

Rauru whistled lowly, “Do I ‘reckon’? It seems you’ve spent far too long in the wild. Imagine if Impa heard that improper language!”

His smile reached his eyes, making him seem younger than he was. I shook my head to keep my own at bay. I had a feeling that it wasn’t where I was, but who was with me. “You know what I mean.”

“I reckon there are at least one dozen. At least from what I’ve encountered.”

We were climbing the stairs to the temple and I reminisced shortly of the first time my mother had brought me here and pushed away the memory of the last. They were hazy and I could now tell I misremembered much about this place.

“Father?” I finally said as we reached the apex of the stairs. He looked expectantly at me. I looked at the descent of the stairs to both find our stalker and mull over my words. “Do you… Would you ever come back to the castle? I just…” I stopped, frustration at myself building. “It has been so empty when you left and Impa has been increasingly absent. My prayers have made no progress and I fear,” I sniffed and my lip began to tremble. “I fear if there my portion of the prophecy will not be fulfilled. I fear the goddess has abandoned me.”

With a hand under my chin, Rauru lifted my head upward. His smile had softened to a knowing gaze caught between understanding and pity. “My dear,” he shook his head at my degrading disposition, “The goddess would never abandon her children. When you were small, what did I tell you after our goodnight prayers?”

I squeezed my eyes shut and felt my tears being wistfully wiped away. “Hylia loves you forever and always.”

He nodded, “And not a bit less.”

“Not a bit more?” I offered a watery smile.

The priest smiled back, “If it were possible, every bit more.”

His hand dropped to my chin and I hurried to embrace him. Rauru reciprocated with a chuckle. “Thank you, Father Rauru,” I softly smiled into the embroidered fabric of his robe.

“Think nothing of it, my rose,” he took my arm in his again and began to lead me through the tall temple doorway. The doors themselves were already propped open for visitors. Though there were few patrons among us, he still took care to tame his volume, “She will deliver when the time is right. It seems inconvenient to us, I know, but remember She would never forget about us.”

I sighed, surveying the stained glass and the beautiful etchings of the goddess statue, “Hopefully that insinuates that the Calamity is still far away.”

“Humph!” Rauru grumbled. “Calamity… No one knows what form of danger the prophecy imposes, but to call it a calamity is an imposturous label.”

“Surely if it’s an unknown entity, then it cannot be underestimated.”

“Perhaps I should return to Castle Town if everybody is beginning to sound like that Sheikah woman,” he huffed once more. “It shouldn’t be underestimated. However, to fearmonger the nation into submission and to torment a grieving child-”

He stopped himself and we sat in the pews of the temple in a short silence.

“Forgive me, Zelda, it seems that subpar tea has gone to my head.”

I looked up at him with a forgiving smile, “Does that mean you’re coming back?”

He laughed heartily, “Not necessarily. I’m still needed on this rock and there’s a strange peacefulness that comes with the void of politics. But, if the royal princess of Hyrule wrote to me, I would certainly be at her beck and call.”

Father Rauru placed his forearms on the pew in front of us before I could reply and bowed his head. “Now, child, let us pray for our dearly departed queen, for Hylia’s protection over Captain Link, and your safe venture to Castle Town.”

I copied his movements and followed through with repeating the praising words in my mind. Even in the calming serenity the Temple of Time afforded, I could not shake off the itching feeling that the latter prayer would not come to fruition.

#haha i planned out the plot and know SO MUCH NOW #omg the drama will be spectacular #loz #ashleyswrittenwords #how to be a queen #legend of zelda #legend of zelda: breath of the wild #fanfiction #zelink #zelda #link #zelink fanfiction #loz fanfiction

18 notes · View notes