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notdonesimpin · 3 years

Text

Sorcery ~r.s.~

ceo!ryomen sukuna x gn!reader

warnings: sukuna in a suit??, fluff

synopsis: [request by @draconic-dumbass ] “two unlikely people bound together by what some call fate, but to them, it must be sorcery” OR the reader doesn’t take care of themselves and sukuna has to do it for them.

a/n: For fic purposes, Sukuna has his own two armed body. I wanted a CEO!AU where curses don’t exist, okay? Sukuna’s just a man who looks great in a suit. The curse aspect isn’t really needed in the way it’s portrayed in the show so i don’t wanna think about it😣 don’t hate me.

The door opens as you peek your head in the hallway to see Sukuna roughly loosen his tie with a huff and unbutton the top of his shirt as he takes off his shoes.

“Long day?” you ask.

“My assistant cried today if that tells you anything. They overbooked me, and didn’t realize it until this morning.”

Your eyes narrow, “What did you say to the poor thing? She didn’t cry for nothing.”

Sukuna throws his hands up defensively as he walks over to you with a teasing smile, “I didn’t say anything! Though, I wanted to say a lot. I think she got the message when I sent her home.” The last part came out in a mutter, but you heard it well.

You hit him in the chest, “This is why you can’t keep an assistant! You’re too aggressive. I liked that one, too.”

“Well, I had an amazing assistant for years, but they quit when their husband told them to focus on art. My days ran so smoothly, and I had a beautiful sight all hours of the day,” he says, wrapping his arms around you as he continues, “Was I too aggressive with you?”

“You could barely say a sentence around me when we first met, Ryo. Don’t get cocky.”

Before he could say anything else, there was a knock on the door and you moved to answer it.

“It’s just Nao. They’re being my other model for today! I can’t model and draw myself, so I needed an amazing stand-in. How about you rest for a bit and I’ll do Nao’s solo poses and get you when I need you?” you suggested as you opened the door.

“It’s been a while. Good to see you, Y/N. Sukuna,” Nao says, giving Sukuna a wave and you a small hug.

“Nao, don’t fuck up while I’m not there,” Sukuna jokes, turning around to walk towards the bedroom.

“I’ve been doing this longer than you. I think I got it.”

“Don’t take those clothes off! The more wrinkles, the better!” you call after him.

You softly shake Sukuna. “Ryo, I need you to model for me now.”

He groans, opening his eyes to see you beaming at him. “It’s not fair, your face makes it hard to say no.”

“Then get up, so I can finish for today!” you urge.

He follows you to the living area with sleepiness still extremely apparent on his face.

“No wonder you chose him to be your muse for the King of Curses. He’s like The Walking Dead right now,” Nao laughs, earning a glare from Sukuna as you drag him to the spot you want him.

“You still haven’t told me anything about your art show,” Sukuna reminds you.

“Hands in pockets please…” you gesture to your own pockets when you make the statement and Sukuna lazily complies as you continue talking and telling him what to do. “My theme is Sorcery. Take a step but don't step… There! I wanted to do three bigger panels for my main showcase. They have the King of Curses- AKA you- and the ruler of blessings- aka Nao but Nao is just modeling so I can shade the pose right and put myself in it. Then the middle panel will be them together. Look at the ground. Now, only bring your eyes up the look at me… Perfect! Stay still. Basically it shows two unlikely people bound together by what some call fate, but to them, it must be sorcery.”

You yawn, waking up the sound of Sukuna roaming around the penthouse. You check your phone to see the time. 4:36 A.M.

You suddenly find yourself wide awake and decide to get up and work on your rough sketches.

You go out of your shared room, rubbing your eyes as you adjust to the light and walk to the kitchen.

“Where the hell is my…” Sukuna’s muttering comes to a stop when he sees you sitting at the island, drinking a glass of water as you wait for the coffee pot to get ready.

“Good morning,” you softly say with a yawn.

“Why are you up? Did I wake you?” Sukuna asks, buttoning the cuffs of the shirt and walking over to you.

“I need to work on the rough sketches anyways since my canvases come in today. I’m so behind,” you groan, “What are you looking for?”

“My passport. I swear I grabbed it from home before I came here.”

He watches you tie his tie for him as he tries to recall where it might be.

“It’s definitely at home on the kitchen counter. I saw it before I left. I meant to grab it for you. Sorry, Ryo.”

He tosses his head back in frustration, “Why is this penthouse so inconveniently located. I have to go in the opposite direction of the office and the airport to go home and get it.”

“You’re the one that said my apartment was too small to be my studio.”

“I know.”

“And that I should separate home from work.”

“I know.” He squeezes your cheeks to stop you from talking. “I don’t regret buying this penthouse for your work. You get an ocean view and you have an entire space to do your work. I’d buy you the entire building if you needed it.”

He lets go of your face and you say, “Okay, Mr. CEO. All you had to say was that you love me.”

He chuckles and pours two cups of coffee, handing you one of them. “This business trip is pretty short, so I should be back around afternoon or tomorrow night at the latest.” He checks his watch, “I should go, so I don’t be late with my detour.”

He grabs his blazer off of the back of the chair, sliding it on as he walks towards the door with you right behind him. He slips his shoes on and turns to you, giving you a soft kiss.

“Be safe. I love you.” you say.

“I love you. Don’t overwork yourself while I’m gone.”

As soon as the door closed, you muttered: Sorry, Ryo. That’s exactly what I’m about to do.

A few hours later, you get a call from Sukuna and immediately answer.

“How’s the new assistant, Ryo?” you immediately ask.

He paused, glancing at the assistant beside him. “So this was your doing. I can’t say that I’m surprised. This one seems a lot more competent.”

“Don’t run him off. He knows how to run businesses well since he grew up with his father.”

“I got it. Mx. CEO,” he taunts, “How long have you been working?”

You glance at the time on your phone. 10:32A.M.

“Technically five hours but only been diligent for the past four hours. I finished my sketch for the King of Curses panel about an hour ago. So, I’ve just started drawing it on the canvas.”

“So, what I’m hearing is that it’s time to take a break and eat something,” He suggests, but you both know that it was a command.

“I’m not going to pass out on you again, okay? I can take care of myself.”

“As you’ve proven on multiple occasions, you can’t. I’ve got to go. I’ll see you tomorrow. I love you.”

“I love you. Make good decisions!” You hang up and get back to work.

You didn’t know how much time had passed or how long you’d been actively moving around and working until your regular Wednesday at 11:30 alarm went off.

Wait… Wednesday??? You’d only been up for a couple hours. How has an entire day passed without you even realizing it?

At the same time, you received a text from Sukuna: I have to stop by the office before heading to you, so I’ll take you wherever you’d like around one.

“Shit!” you exclaim, typing back a quick response before rushing around the penthouse to clean and change your clothes.

Sukuna couldn’t know that you haven’t slept in the past 31 hours.

By the time you cleaned up and got dressed, Sukuna was already at the penthouse, leaning against the kitchen counter and holding a glass of bourbon in his hands.

“Let me see your hands,” he requests.

You stick out your hands, trying to calm them down because both of you knew that you get really bad tremors when you haven’t slept in a while.

“I didn’t think you’d be back so early,” you softly spoke.

“Darling, I texted you. I guess it makes sense that you don’t remember since you responded with a jumble of letters,” he sighs, sticking his hands in his pockets as he shakes his head, “What am I going to do with you?”

“I just got really focused. I’m so close to finishing the King of Curses panel. I started the Ruler of Blessings panel as well… I gotta keep the ball rolling while it’s hot,” you explained.

“That isn’t healthy. How have you been painting? With the way your hands are shaking, you shouldn’t even be able to hold a paintbrush straight.”

“I was focused! And before you say it, I’m not tired, so I’ll just get back to work.”

He looks at you in amusement as you walk away. “Still as stubborn as ever.”

“I’ll stop after I finish the curse panel, okay?”

Before you could even get out of the kitchen, Sukuna had picked you up by your waist and started walking away.

“Ryomen Sukuna! Put me down!” you exclaim, “I told you, my feet stay on the ground!”

He laughs and continues walking, “I told you that if I want to pick you up, I will. If you think you’re heavy, then you’re wrong. You’re like a feather compared to what I lift at the gym, okay?”

You fall silent, letting him carry you all the way to the bathroom. He sits you on the counter and starts running the water for a bath. As you wait for the bath to fill up, he stands in between your legs, bringing his hands up to your face and lightly grazing underneath your eyes.

“They’re puffy…” he looks at you with a hint of sadness, “I understand that the art show is very important to you, but this is the third time in the past few months that I’ve had to physically stop you from overworking yourself. If you don’t take care of yourself, your art will suffer, too.”

“I know. There’s just a lot of big names coming this time. I really want it to be good.”

“It will be because you’re an outstanding artist,” he reassures.

You give him a small thank you as he turns to stop the water and you shed your clothes, getting in and closing your eyes and enjoying the warmth.

“You see how nice hot water feels?” You could hear the teasing in his voice.

“Yeah, yeah. Self-care or whatever.”

Sukuna begins to wash your body for you, humming a soft tune and lulling you to sleep. He finishes washing you up and takes you to bed, putting one of his shirts on you and crawling in beside you, letting you wrap yourself around him to steal his warmth.

He softly smiles to himself and gives you a soft kiss on the top of your head as he whispers, “Sweet dreams.”

#ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x you #sukuna #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk #jjk fic #jjk masterfind

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levihantrash · 3 years

Text

Shitty Comics and Their Shitty Artists

Levi’s pragmatism pulled the brakes. “I’m not about to dedicate my life to become a broke comic artist.”

Levi Ackerman, a gruff cleaner with an appetite for toilet humour meets the unabashedly friendly creative writing professor, Hange Zoë, who somehow ropes Levi into working on a comic with them. While the comic’s title remains undecided, Hange knows that it’s going to be set in a world where giant, human-like creatures devour other humans. Erwin Smith, the comic’s self-appointed editor, unironically thinks it’s going to be a hit. All Levi knows is that he wants to indulge in drawing this comic while hanging out with a certain writer who just won’t stop talking to him.

Where Hange, Levi, and Erwin are the creators of Attack on Titan.

Chapter 1:

“The sweets are really good here, huh?” A kind, bespectacled face appeared beside him, peering at the bulging of his shirt.

Levi had stolen from the pantry plenty of times. He had never gotten caught, so his gradual boldness could have been the problem. He had seen Mikasa, his younger sister, whenever she passed by the snacks section in the grocery store. Her gaping mouth at the sight of the colourful assortment of sweets was enough to let him know.

“I just like looking!” Mikasa said hastily. He hadn’t said anything either.

To be caught now, when he had overheard a staff member mentioning that most of the professors would be taking their leave during the summer break, was just his bad, bad luck. Objectively, he was risking his month-old job, but stealing from the pantry was much less risky than stealing from the grocery store. He began doing it weekly. Every Monday, right before the professors came streaming in, he would take a quick survey of his surroundings, and snatch two chocolate bars, sometimes a banana—only a handful. He would glance at the security camera hanging in the corner, willing it to catch him. Nobody would be petty enough to arrest a cleaner for swiping staff snacks in the pantry, right?

Levi stared back at the unfamiliar person. He recognised most of the staff by now. Only the English Literature professor, Erwin Smith, would greet him in the mornings.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Hange Zoë, the new creative writing professor. Nice to meet you!” They extended out a hand, which he felt obliged to shake, albeit warily. The hand was sweaty, and the handshake, vigorous.

“I was setting up my table and I wanted to meet everyone. Turns out most of them are on vacation,” Hange said absent-mindedly, scratching their head. The two buttons of their shirt had been mixed up, scrunching up the dress shirt's already lopsided collar. Levi resisted the urge to rebutton it for them. Today was not the day to scare off what seemed to be a genuinely welcoming person. Hange, on the other hand, found the firm handshake hilarious. What made this person so uptight?

Hange, realising that he wasn’t saying anything, breezily went, “what’s your name?”

“Levi,” he said, pushing his hands back into his pockets.

“You don’t prefer Dr. Levi?” Hange asked curiously.

“I’m not a professor. Just the cleaner,” Levi said shortly.

“Oh? Is that why you’re so secretive about the snacks?” Hange teased him, much to his chagrin.

“You rich profs have enough to eat,” Levi spat out.

Hange didn’t even blink, nodding calmly, “you’re right, it’s certainly good to make full use of the school’s resources.” Levi, sensitive to any hint of condescension, found none, though not regretting his overdose of sarcasm.

“Also,” Hange added, “I’m not going to tell anyone, I promise! So could you not look like you want to kill me and leave my dead body in the cleaning closet?”

Levi scoffed, relaxing the fists that had formed naturally by his side.

“Do you like bread?” Hange asked suddenly, scanning him for signs of the affirmative. He shrugged.

“I passed by a bakery this morning and it had the most delicious smell,” they sighed, “I was running late so I couldn’t get anything.”

“It seems like you’re kind of a mess.”

Hange laughed—this person could literally laugh at everything, Levi thought. They lifted their shoulders with their arms in the air, in a manner of “I was born like this, what do you want me to do?”

As the conversation subsided, Hange saw Levi’s eyes dart towards the neglected mop and bucket, finding it oddly endearing.

“Well then! I won’t disturb you any longer!” Hange announced. Levi wanted to tell them that they weren’t disturbing him at all, before stopping himself. His initial plan was to escape from useless small talk. Uttering such absurdity would be counterintuitive.

“Since you’re here,” Hange grabbed the last few packets of chips in the basket and stuffed them into his gigantic apron pockets, “you might as well take the rest!”

“Are you pitying me?”

“Those snacks aren’t for you,” Hange merely said cheerfully, before tentatively asking, “or am I wrong?”

“Don’t expect any favours,” Levi said begrudgingly.

He looked awkwardly at the distracted professor, who had chosen to open a chocolate bar themselves.

“Thanks…” he said, and Hange only grins, bits of chocolate and almond stuck to their teeth.

----------

Routine, that’s how it all began. Levi and Hange were seeing each other every day. In each encounter, Hange would tug out a new bread or pastry from the depths of a green, bottomless leather bag that they carried around everywhere.

Initially, Levi felt offended. “You think I can’t afford bread?” He asked, narrowing his eyes.

Hange’s eyes widened, “of course not! I want to share the joy of this bread, if you remember that bakery I was craving for,” they poked at the loaf, leaving a small dent in the middle.

With their hand still extended out, Hange scoured for words, “and you look like someone who doesn’t often indulge in little joys.”

“I didn’t ask you to psychoanalyze me.” Levi grabbed the bread, tore it into two, and pushed one entire piece into his mouth. A muffled word of thanks came out. The other half was planted back onto Hange’s palm.

“You said you wanted to share, didn’t you?”

Hange glowed in acknowledgement. They stuffed the warm bread into their mouth, cheeks full, incoherently raving about its texture. The sight of Levi chewing the bread contentedly after unexpectedly cramming it into his mouth; Hange wanted to preserve it, to immortalise this tentative pleasure. If fresh bread was what it took to achieve that, it was perfectly doable.

Levi saw it as what it was. An offering. There was really no reason to reject free bread, and if this were Hange’s version of bribery, it was innocent enough.

“Why don’t I get bread?” Erwin asked Hange, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Levi’s nose wrinkled at the overly strong aroma.

“Sorry Erwin!” Hange patted him on the back, not sounding apologetic at all, “I only have money for one friend and since Levi is my first friend here, it’s only fair, don’t you think?”

“Certainly,” Erwin said, sipping on his black coffee, eyeing a certain stony-faced individual’s violent coughing at Hange’s mention of “friend.”

“What?” Levi asked, clearing his throat one more time.

“Good day to you both,” Erwin said, sweeping past Levi to return to his desk.

Following the end of summer break, Hange became relatively friendly with their colleagues in the staffroom, who had never greeted Levi. Unbothered by the lack of formalities, Levi found himself getting along best with living things that discarded general rules of propriety. Like children, animals… and Hange. Still, when Levi trailed back to the staffroom, wet mop in hand, he found himself at a hearing distance behind Hange’s conversation with a group of colleagues.

Hange got to the point, smiling sweetly. “Why do you all pretend Levi doesn’t exist?”

There were awkward, feeble words of justification. Something about Levi being too scary. Something about Levi not greeting them first. Hange listened, eyebrows furrowing.

“You could at least say hi, right? He doesn’t bite,” Hange said coolly. Their colleagues felt the faintest chill up their spine. Levi sloshed the mop onto the floor, making his presence known. Hange barely flinched, as though expectant of his company.

“Are you talking about me behind my back?”

Hange slung an arm around Levi’s shoulders and whispered, “no, I’m telling everyone right now that you don’t get enough sleep and that’s why you’re glaring at everyone.”

Levi elbowed them away. “Who cares what people think?”

Unwrapping the bread Hange gave him, he took one significant, large bite while everyone squirmed in silence. Hange, strangely amused by the scene playing out before them, ushered Levi towards Erwin’s cubicle.

“Levi! What are your plans for today?”

“Cleaning.”

Hange clapped their hands together, “I invite you to have lunch with me and Erwin!”

“Why should I go?” Levi said, not unkindly.

“Why not?” Levi couldn’t give a good reason. Hange, latching on to Levi’s lack of refusal, took the mop away from his hands.

“You can finish cleaning later. Everyone has to eat, right?”

“Not you, apparently,” Levi muttered, remembering how Hange had straight-up not left their desk for a whole ten hours—the sun shining on their sleep deprivation at dawn until the desktop screen illuminated their exhaustion at dusk.

“That was one deadline, Levi.”

“Sure.” Regardless, he wasn’t about to decline Hange. Somehow, Hange had grown attached to Erwin, and had endless discussions with him. Conversations about writing, mostly. He didn’t participate much outside of jabbing at Hange’s ribs when the volume of their voice went over the publicly acceptable range. Otherwise, he would be shooting glares at Erwin whenever he tried to probe into Levi’s personal life. Erwin had an intensity that was difficult, near impossible to ignore.

Incidentally, the topic of comics cropped up.

“Comics?”

Hange picked up on the rare tonal shift of Levi’s voice, studying him. Erwin’s fork elegantly pierced a French fry, the screech of the fork’s contact with the plate prompting Levi to speak over it. He was positive that Erwin was trying to get him to talk. On purpose.

“Yes, I like them,” Levi conceded, draining the tea from his cup.

“I learn something new about you every day!” Hange exclaimed, as Levi gripped the edge of the cup harder.

Seemingly catching on to Levi’s discomfort, Erwin asked Hange for recommendations, telling them how he had never read any comics.

“How predictable of a literature professor,” Hange said, sitting up straighter to mock the poise of a scholar, glasses perched at the tip of their nose for the intended effect.

“You look like a fart with a stick up their ass,” Levi commented, leaving Hange howling. Erwin, the consistent gentleman, remained at ease with these disparaging jokes.

While Hange listed out their favourite comics, Levi noted that none of their top choices was marginally close to any of his preferences: in genre, in plot, and in art style.

“I like horror.”

“I don’t,” Levi countered. Hange grinned wider.

“Well, you’re scary enough as you are,” Hange considered, taking in his aloof disposition and the way he sat stiffly on the chair. Nonchalant, and could possibly decimate you.

“Look,” Hange said, thrusting an open book into Levi’s hands. “This comic is so good. It keeps me up at night.”

Levi leafed through the pages, absorbed by the clean black and white lines. That was, until he flipped a page and winced at the image of empty eye sockets, gouged out, spurting inked blood.

“You don’t like blood,” Hange said this matter-of-factly, promptly closing the book.

“I don’t like unnecessary death.”

“How do you know those deaths were unnecessary?” Erwin asked, pushing back his blonde hair in an effortlessly charismatic manner.

Levi could picture it. Erwin, a fearless leader, bringing people to greater heights.

Hange had less noble thoughts. Erwin was definitely the protagonist in a teen movie who looked older than high school age and was starring as a blonde jock whose embarrassingly lacklustre coming-of-age arc was spurred by a shy, beautiful nerd. For good reason, Hange kept their mouth shut.

“I don’t,” Levi answered, “but is any death really necessary?”

Erwin smiled, “perhaps not.” The seed of doubt grew in Levi.

Hange leaned forward across the table towards Levi, a hand covering one side of their smirking face.

“Erwin’s a lot more calculative than you think.”

Levi swatted away Hange’s strands of hair tickling his cheek, “I know,” he said half-heartedly, not wishing to contemplate the extent of its truthfulness.

Carving the last piece of meat on his plate into two, Erwin shrugged.

“So, you would say that some deaths are necessary?” Levi asked. The question blurted out on its own, slicing through the amicable atmosphere like a stray bullet. For some reason, he wanted a proper answer. Hange was busy flipping through the same horror comic book, their eyes trained on the page.

“Do you like bugs, Levi?” Erwin asked.

Levi visibly scowled. “No.”

Erwin’s fork scraped the plate insistently. “Do you kill them?”

“Obviously.”

Erwin’s collectedness seemed impenetrable. “Would you say their deaths are necessary?”

“Necessary enough as a cleaner.”

“There, you have your answer,” Erwin said, with finality.

“I’m talking about human lives, not some insects,” Levi said, frustrated.

“Some lives matter more than others, am I right?”

“Yeah…” Levi said, struggling to grasp Erwin’s logic.

“It’s the same for us,” Erwin said cryptically.

Hange stood up, snapping the book shut. “Shit, I have to teach a class in ten!” Levi naturally stood up as well. Erwin gave a friendly wave, undeterred by the abruptness of their departure.

“See you, Erwin!” Hange called out, rushing back to the staffroom.

“Why does Erwin have to be so ambiguous?” Levi griped.

“You’re not very telling, yourself,” Hange said blithely, grabbing their laptop before marching out of the door.

Armed with constant smiles and warm words, Levi would classify Hange as someone just as enigmatic. Their discussions about writing were arguably personal, but they weren’t exactly close to the heart.

The two people Levi was becoming acquainted with in the past few weeks were a slate full of words in a language he understood, but couldn’t decipher. For the rest of the day, he compromised on these doubts by making sure the windows had not a speck of dust on them. Every moving insect was stamped out under his supervision. He thought about Erwin’s words, turning them over and over in his head. He thought about Hange’s nonchalance towards Erwin’s questions.

----------

After locking up his cleaning supplies, Levi peeled the sweaty gloves off his arms, untying the bandana on his head that kept his long fringe away, and removed his apron. Hearing a friendly shout in the otherwise deserted school building, he caught Hange coming to a stop behind him.

“You’re still here,” he said, frowning.

“Had a lot of work,” they said, armed with this reasoning every day.

“Were you listening during lunch?”

“Hmm, kind of,” Hange stated obliquely, “you know how literature people are.”

Levi was bewildered, his passive expression cracking slightly. “I don’t. As you might have realised, I don’t talk to a lot of people.”

“Literature people,” Hange rubbed their chin, eyes looking upwards in deep thought, “enjoy discussing morality in a mostly abstract, hypothetical way.”

“That’s annoying.”

Hange fell in step with Levi, who was headed to the exit, “Erwin’s one of the better ones. He’s pragmatic, and he’s not just all talk.”

“Yeah, so what’s his grand plan…” Levi said, finding the right words, “for humanity?”

“He wants to create a comic.”

Levi blinked.

“Huh? What does that have to do with morality?”

Hange looked unperturbed by Levi’s confusion, as though it were commonplace for them to defend the importance of the comic genre.

“Think of texts as a philosophical question waiting to be answered. And the questions of morality being narrativized makes their conclusions more believable. More influential. Erwin has a vision for comics to be the source of truth.”

“What truth?”

Hange grinned, “if we knew, would we need to write the comic?”

“You talk like it’s more revolutionary than it actually is…” Levi said, pushing open the door to step out of the school building.

“A comic can be life-changing,” Hange mused, admiring how the sunset decorated everything in watercolour splashes of orange and pink; a distinct nostalgic hue.

Levi remembered that Hange was, after all, a creative writing professor. “Yeah, you would say that.”

“It’s not because I’m a creative writing professor!” Hange said, impassioned. He gave them a dry look.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Besides, Erwin wants to be the editor of the comic that I am writing,” Hange said proudly.

Levi felt that his head might explode. “Since when were you writing a comic?”

“Since last week!” Hange said, remarkably animated.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Isn’t that what friends are for? To share things with?” Hange asked, hopeful.

That word—Levi figured that that was what they were by now. Friends. He didn’t hate the sound of it.

“You’re not going to ask what it’s about?”

“You’ll tell me if I just waited.”

“You’re right! But you see,” Hange exhaled, shaking their head despondently, “my problem is that I don’t have someone who can draw out my writing.” Levi’s hands twitched. He interlocked them into a prayer, hoping Hange didn’t notice.

“Why not just write a novel?”

Hange was unconvinced, “I’m tired of just the written word, Levi! The versatility and multimodal form of the comic are incomparable to a novel!”

Levi had to agree. “Have you been trying to find artists?”

“Yes, but none of them seemed very keen on drawing the story,” Hange said, recalling the number of people who became increasingly disconcerted upon hearing the gist of the story.

“So, what’s the story?” Levi asked.

Hange was hesitant. Levi waited.

“It’s horror, isn’t it?”

“The premise includes giant naked human beings running around eating people,” Hange said. Levi grimaced. They expected this, but it didn’t make their disappointment at his very reasonable reaction any less jarring.

“It also has a lot of blood,” Hange said. Sensing that they were one sentence away from diving into a world-building sermon, they paused.

“Do you want to hear more?”

“Maybe tomorrow,” Levi said honestly. It had been a long day.

“Of course! I’ll see you tomorrow!” Hange said, giving him a reassuring pat on the back.

“I’ll see you,” Levi said belatedly. Hange was already brisk walking towards the crowded street.

Instinctively, he called out, “Four-eyes!”

Turning back, Hange stood where they were, surprised.

“Tell me the story tomorrow.”

A gradual look of appreciation spread across Hange’s face, as their eyes arched downwards into thin curves.

“Thank you, Levi!”

Levi sidestepped Hange’s thanks with a disgruntled “tch. Whatever.”

I finally did it! I posted the first chap of the fic I've been working on for the past month *_* if you read till here... thank you!!! hearing your thoughts/comments would be nice heheh

#aot #snk #levihan #fanfiction #my writing #levi hange erwin #levi and hange #ao3 #attack on titan #levi x hange #erurihan #levi ackerman #hange zoe #erwin smith #im rly nervous n excited

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jvnghxope · 4 years

Text

love sewn | final

final part;

◦ pairing: Jungkook | reader

◦ genre: boy next door au; fluff, angst

◦ word count: 9k

◦ warnings: angst, mentions of self-hatred, cheating, infidelity

◦ abstract: You’ve never cared about the thin-as-paper walls of your beloved apartment until Jeon Jungkook moved next door. You could hear everything –from his late-night parties on Saturday, to the quality time he spent with his girlfriend in the intimacy of his bedroom. One day, everything ceases. Days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months and you find yourself knocking his door before you can think it twice.

⇥ prologue | part one | part two | part three | final

◦ a/n: It took me a lot more than anticipated to edit it, but it is finally here! Thank you so much for all your love and support. I hope you have enjoyed this ride as much as I did.

A numb feeling spreads throughout your body as you stare dumbfounded to his cellphone.

You don't know if their conversation continues and you don't care. It's like your mind has shut down. You feel a giant knot inside your throat like you just swallowed a big-ass pill without water. This is awfully like that night two years ago and you feel the breath hitch in your throat.

“Hey," Jungkook says as he appears in the hallway, dressed in jeans and a naked torso as he slides inside a t-shirt. “I was thinking we could go to this park after breakfast. It has a majestic view and you can draw something and I could take some pics– What’s wrong?” He asks the moment he sees your expression and then, his eyes fall to the cellphone.

“You have, hmm, a new text,” you say as calm as you can and hand him his phone.

Maybe it's not a good idea that you stay here. Yes. You need to go. You move past him to walk to his bedroom but he stops you, taking your wrist.

"Did you read these texts?" He asks. A part of you expected him to be mad at you for invading his privacy, but he sounds more worried than anything.

"It was not my intention," you reply, your voice just above a whisper. "I wanted to check the hour…"

"Let me explain."

“There’s no need to explain.”

"It is not what you think."

You take a deep breath and turn around to face him.

"What I think is that you have unresolved feelings for your ex."

There, you said it. The confusion in Jungkook's eyes only confirms it. He has an internal struggle.

"It is complicated," he finally says.

At that, you smile. "I know."

You can assume by his expression that he feels genuinely torn.

“Jungkook," you murmur, taking the hand that was holding your wrist in yours and squeezing it tightly. "I am not your girlfriend. You don’t owe me anything.”

Words that are hard to pronounce but the truth behind them might give him some perspective.

He shakes his head, "Don't do that."

You frown, "Do what?"

"Minimize this," he points at you and him. "Come here." He tugs you by the hand and leads you to his couch.

"I hate to burst your bubble Kook, but we had one date."

He nods, "I know. We might not be a couple. But that was something I was hoping we could be in the future. That we've dated once doesn't change the way I feel about you."

The small layer of ice that was beginning to form around your heart warms at his words.

"What about Zoe? Do you still love her?"

He sits there, silently, pondering his answer carefully.

"I'm going to be honest with you," he starts and your heart clenches, already fearing his words. "I don't know. I haven't seen her or spoken to her for over a year. But she was a big part of my life. I just can't forget her completely."

You nod. You understand that. "I'm not asking you to do that. I just… I think we moved too fast. Last night–"

"I don't regret what happened between us," he snaps. "Not at all. I thought I made myself clear when I told you about my feelings. I know I am a mess, and yes, maybe it was too quick. But last night was genuine and beautiful. I would do it again."

The tears sting in your eyes. Jungkook caresses your cheek with his thumb when one of them falls.

"Last night was special for me too. But there's something you need to understand. I don't think I could be with you until you resolve this. I don't want to be insensitive or selfish, or anything. I just know that, if we continue this, if we continue living inside a bubble, one day it will burst and someone is going to get hurt. What if when you meet her again you realize your feelings for her haven't changed at all? The three of us will be in a more complicated situation than none of us want to be. Believe me."

At this point, the tears are cascading freely down your cheeks.

"Don't you think that is a little pessimistic?"

You sniff and wipe your cheeks with the back of your hand, "It is realistic. I've been in the same position before. I've been the second choice and I don't want to be again. So, I think I should go."

You stand from the couch.

"Wait!" He stops you. "What does that mean for me? For us?"

"I think that's up to you. But, for now, maybe we should take some time to think and revalue our situation."

He chuckles dryly, "That sounds awful to 'I don't want to see you anymore'. I don't blame you. I wish things were different."

"Maybe right now it was not our time."

"I don't believe that. Everything happens for a reason."

Ugh. Even in times like this, he is so stubborn. He stands from the couch, too. His eyes are red and he looks defeated. It only makes your heart sink even more. You hate seeing him like that. You wish things were different, too.

Summoning all the courage you have, you take his face between your hands and raise on your tiptoes and press a soft kiss to his lips. Jungkook's arms find their way around your waist.

"Take care of yourself, Jungkook."

You murmur against his ear, hugging him. At that, his arms tighten around you.

"Is this goodbye?" He asks, his voice strained and face buried on your hair. You choose to not reply and give him one last kiss to his cheek.

After you've gathered all your stuff, you walk towards the door. But when your hand touches the doorknob, you hesitate.

Is this really the right choice?

It is, you tell yourself. And with that, you walk out of his apartment without looking back.

Seeing you walking away broke his heart in a million pieces.

He wanted to run after you so bad. Hug you and tell you everything was going to be okay. But he didn’t. He knew he needed to let you go. If seeing you walking was heartbreaking, seeing you cry because of him almost killed him.

Waking up the next day after your departure felt surreal. Like he was dreaming. For a moment, he forgot what happened the night prior. He stood up and made himself something to eat. As he was breeding some coffee, he was waiting for your arrival like every Monday morning. But of course, that didn’t happen. You didn’t come. And then it hit him. You didn’t swing his door open with that smile of yours he adores so much.

He wanted to call, even send a text. But every time he picked up his phone, his mind was blank. Would you pick up if he called? If so, what should he say? He wished things were different. He wished he met you in different circumstances.

He avoided all of Zoe’s attempts to approach him, too. Every call, every text since the last one. It has been a year. She had all those months to do it. Why was she contacting him now when his life was somewhat normal? She made everything more complicated than it already was.

“...so, that’s the reason why we should keep it casual,” Yoongi finishes the sentence and turns to his friend. “Are you even paying me attention?”

“W-what?” Jungkook blurts.

“That’s a no,” Yoongi giggles and punches him softly on the shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I logged out for a second." Jungkook rubs his temples and takes a sip of the coffee he left on the table. It is not even hot anymore, but the taste is enough to give him some comfort.

“Are you okay?” Yoongi asks. When Jungkook nods, he hums. "You don't seem okay."

Jungkook glares at his friend.

“Yeah. I was just… thinking,” he says. "I have a lot in my mind."

"Yeah, no wonder."

It is strange. He sometimes forgets how close to you he has become in the past few months. He is probably aware of the whole ordeal from both sides.

"Shut up."

Yoongi opens his mouth to say something snarky but gets interrupted by a newcomer: a cute redhead in a pretty business dress.

"Hello. My name is Lisa and I’m the assistant of miss Hyeri. She will receive you now," she greets them and urges them to follow her.

Then the realization hits him. Jungkook and Yoongi are about to have an important meeting with one of the curators of the most important museums in town. He doesn't have the time to be nervous because the next second the receptionist is opening one of the many wooden doors.

A gasp falls from his mouth at the sight of the meeting room. It is both mesmerizing and massive. Most of the space is occupied by an enormous table. A woman is waiting for them at the end of the table. Jungkook recognizes her from the gala.

"Min Yoongi, Jeon Jungkook" Hyeri greets them and shakes their hands. "Please, take a seat. Do you want something to drink? Coffee? Tea? Maybe something to eat?"

“I’ll have a cup of tea, thank you,” Yoongi says. Lisa nods and disappears through the door. Not much longer after that, she reappears with a cup of hot tea.

“I’m so glad you guys could meet us here with so short notice.”

“It is no problem,” Yoongi comments after taking a sip of his tea.

"We were wondering why we are here,” Jungkook adds.

“Oh, right,” she claps. “I have good news. One of my permanent artists recently decided to part ways with the museum and now that we have a free spot, we would like to offer it to you guys.”

For a moment, they just stare at her with wide eyes and mouth agape. Yoongi is the first one to jump into action.

“Seriously?”

Neither of them can believe it.

Hyeri nods with a smile. “The Museum is a big fan of your work. I've been following it for over a year. It is really impressive what you guys have accomplished.”

“Wow. That means a lot coming from you. Thank you,” Jungkook musters and then exchanges a look with Yoongi, slightly panicked. He has always admired Yoongi’s ability to hide his emotions. He is there, completely serious when Jungkook is freaking out. He is both excited and afraid. They have never had a boss. Never had to meet deadlines. To be honest, Jungkook is not very good with deadlines. He likes to work at his own pace.

“So, how would it work?” Yoongi asks.

“Unless there is a special occasion, we change the exhibitions every month or two months. If you agree to work with us, you’ll have a little over a month to work on your first one.”

“Will we have creative flexibility?” Jungkook interjects.

"Totally. Unless there is a special theme or it violates our politics, you are free to create what you want.” Then, she hands them a folder. "Everything is explained in the contract. You can check it out. There is a money offer too. If you want to change it, we are open to negotiation." As if in cue, Lisa opens the door and waits with a smile. “I apologize but I don’t have more time. Please, feel free to arrange another meeting with Lisa whenever you have an answer. I look forward to hearing from you guys.”

"No, it’s okay. We understand. Thank you again for receiving us," Yoongi says as he shakes the curator's hand. Jungkook does the same.

"Thank you so much for coming. Have a nice day," she has enough time to wave them goodbye before her phone starts to ring.

They follow Lisa out of the door with dumb smiles and full of hope.

Thirty minutes later, Jungkook opens the door of their gallery.

“I didn’t expect that,” he musters as Yoongi closes the door behind them.

“Then why did you expect?”

Jungkook shrugs, “I don’t know. A part of me thought she wanted to steal Vante from us.”

Yoongi snorts, “And why would she tell us?”

“Good manners?”

“Right.”

"Anyway. It sounds like a good offer, right?"

"Yeah," Yoongi answers. "I gave it a quick check. They are willing to pay us twice the money we earn in two months at the gallery. That sounds pretty good. But I want to call Taekwoon, first. Maybe he can come next week to check the contract before we make a decision."

"Good idea," Jungkook agrees.

“Why are we here, anyway?” Yoongi asks while scrolling down his contacts.

"I need to pick something up from the office. Do you want to go to grab something for lunch? I am starving and in the mood for Thai food.”

“Can I pick the restaurant?”

Jungkook chuckles. “Sure.”

He leaves Yoongi in the entrance as he makes his way to the office. It was Yoongi's idea to have the office behind a hidden door. More like an office is more like storage. They keep there all the photographs and paintings. Theirs and their artists. But Jungkook didn’t find what he was looking for there. So, he returns to his friend.

“Hey, Yoongs. Do you know where is the portfolio of my trip to Machu Picchu? I don't find it and I want to use some pictures in the next exhibition…"

Jungkook stops on his tracks and a gasp falls from his lips.

"Zoe…"

She is there, Jungkook's ex, standing in front of him with a very awkward Yoongi.

"What are you doing here?" He manages to ask after staring at her for a couple of awkward minutes.

"I came to see you,” she says and the sound of her voice moves something inside his chest.

"You can stand,” he blurts.

"Yeah,” she laughs, embarrassed. “We have a lot to talk about."

Jungkook's face turns to Yoongi. "Go," his friend says. "I'll wait at your apartment and I'm still picking the food."

Twenty minutes later, they are both in one of the cafes near the gallery.

Jungkook shifts awkwardly on his seat.

“So, about what you wanted to talk about?”

"Well, I don't know where to start." Zoe takes a sip of her latte nervously.

And that is what sets him off.

“Since when can you walk?” He tries so hard not to sound mad but that is an impossible task. All the anger that he has been holding back for a year is finally pouring off of him.

"Two weeks after the accident, I started to feel the tip of my toes. After a month, I could feel my legs completely. After a lot of physical therapy, I finally can walk without any type of help."

Her face lights up at the memory and Jungkook doesn't know if he feels relieved or still angry. Maybe a little bit of both.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He deadpans. "Picking up the phone was really that hard?”

Zoe gulps at that. “I wanted to reach you, but I was not in a good place. I was dealing with a lot and my body was getting used to the medication again…”

“A text would have been enough... “ he counters attacks. “Do you even realize how I lived the next months? How hard was it? I know is nowhere near what you have been through, but living with the guilt… almost broke me."

At this point, tears are running down Zoe's cheeks and his heart clenches.

"I know I'm late, but I am so sorry." She reaches out to grab his hand. He stiffens but doesn't pull away. "Jungkook, the accident was not your fault." Somehow, those words managed to lift some weight off Jungkook’s heart. He didn’t realize how much he needed to hear those words until now. Especially from her. It is like he can breathe properly again. “I know what I said. I regretted it the moment I said those words. You didn't ruin my life… You saved me.”

Jungkook can’t help but snort. “Saved you? How? I almost killed us!”

A soft smile spreads across her face. “That night, I was in the middle of a crisis. I was a danger to myself and others around me. You might not understand how much you helped me that night. Despite what happened.”

She uses one of the napkins to wipe her eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Maybe I could have done something more.”

“It was nothing personal,” Zoe replies, taking a sip of her already cold coffee. “I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder when I was 12. When I told my friends, they started to look at me weirdly. Like with pity. I couldn't bear the look in their eyes. It made me feel like there was something wrong with me. So, when I started high school, I decided to not tell anyone about it. Ever since then, only my family knew about it.”

Jungkook nods, understanding.

“I was feeling so good,” she continues. “In my stupidity, I stopped using the medication. I thought I didn’t need them anymore. The first month I was okay. Fine, actually. It was in the second month when the problems started. I guess it was around the time we started fighting over nonsense…”

Jungkook finds himself squeezing her hand in comfort. Of course, he remembers those fights. But right now, they don't seem important anymore.

“But, are you okay now?”

She sniffs. No matter how many times she wipes her eyes, the tears keep coming. “Yeah. The medication is working. These last two months are the first time I’ve been genuinely happy in the last year.”

A smile tugs the corner of Jungkook’s lips. “Who is he?”

Zoe looks at him with wide eyes, “What?”

Jungkook chuckles at the way she is looking at him. “I know you like the back of my hand. Who is he?”

Suddenly, Zoe’s cheeks turn slightly pink. “I met a guy in my support group three months ago. He is an athlete too, with an injury in recovery. We officially started dating a month ago. It's pretty new.”

“He makes you happy?”

“Yes," she says with a radiant smile enough to light up the entire cafe.

"Did you tell him about it?"

She chuckles, "Yes. I'm not going to make the same mistake again."

“Good. I am really happy for you.” He offers her a smile.

It is true. There is no jealousy. He really feels happy that Zoe found someone that understands her and what she's been going through.

“Thank you,” she smiles back. “What about you?”

“Me?” Jungkook can’t hide his surprise and a smirk appears in Zoe’s lips. She still looks beautiful with puffy eyes and smudged mascara.

"Come on. I know you too like the back of my hand. I know how your 'I'm sad because a girl' face looks like. What's up?"

"Do you remember my neighbor? ____?"

She nods. "She's really beautiful. What about her?"

“Well, we had one date," he confesses.

“And? How was it?” Zoe asks excitedly and Jungkook smiles shyly. Talking about you makes his heart flutter.

“Good. Really good, actually. I asked her to be my date at the gala.”

“That’s so cute. So, are you two a thing now?” She coos.

“No," he says and Zoe notices the change in his mood right away. "It is complicated."

"What happened?"

"There was a misunderstanding… I think… And you are involved.”

Zoe chokes on her coffee. “Me? Why?”

“She thinks I still have feelings for you and I was not much of a help either.”

"Do you still have feelings for me?"

"No."

"And why didn't you tell her that?" She accuses him.

"Because I was confused when she asked me!" He exclaims. Zoe frowns and he raises a hand before she starts to speak. "We didn't talk for a year. Our relationship ended literally out of nowhere. We didn't have the time or the will to talk about it. So, I buried my feelings. At the time, they were not worth dwelling on."

Zoe shifts on her seat. “It makes sense. I think we can both agree that we shared something magical, passionate and it didn't last that much. We never get the chance to celebrate our first anniversary."

Jungkook chuckles, sharing the nostalgia. "Yeah. We had a lot of plans for that day."

“Sometimes I think we were so stubborn and more in love with the idea of love rather than with each other. If the accident it would not have happened, maybe we would have broken up in the next couple of months.”

“You think?”

“Yeah. We need to admit we were not compatible enough,” Zoe shrugs with a smile. “Anyway. One of the reasons I contacted you, besides apologizing to you, of course…”

“Of course.”

She ignores him, “...is because I miss you and I want us to be friends.”

“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“Really?”

Jungkook throws her a bag of sugar, “What do you mean ‘really’? You know my family abandoned me a long time ago. So I made a new one: Yoongi and you. For a while, we were only the three of us and everything was fine. One night, that changed. I lost a member of my family. Again. Of course, I want you in my life.”

“Owww, Jungkook…” She wipes fake tears. “I forgot you were such a corny.”

He snorts.

“I’m going to get another coffee and then you can tell me everything about her and we could come up with a plan because I didn’t raise you to be this stupid.”

And with that, she stands up and walks towards the bar.

Just like that, two old friends reunite. As the last months never happened.

The next day Jungkook wakes up feeling as light as a feather. It felt nice to talk with an old friend. He feels like Seokjin, Anna and the other guys are more friends of yours than his. It feels nice to have someone else by his side besides Yoongi. Finally, he feels he can breathe properly again. After a year of living full of guilt. Now, he can finally move on with his life. He spends the morning thinking about what he should do next.

He was looking for some of his old photos when he finds one of your sketchbooks. You must have left it here the last time you visited. He knows how important the sketchbooks are for you. They are like a window to your soul. He needs to return them. With that in mind, he takes the sketchbook and walks to your apartment.

If things were as they used to, he would enter unannounced and straight to your room. But things are different. Now, he knocks as any normal slash civil neighbor and waits. Some minutes pass before he realizes there's no one inside. Jungkook sighs disappointed. Part of him wanted to see you again.

"Jungkook?" Someone behind him calls his name. "What are you doing here?"

Seokjin is standing behind him with a lot of bags of groceries.

“Hey," he greets him. "____ forgot one of her sketchbooks at my place. I was wondering if I could leave it in her bedroom."

Seokjin nods, “Do you mind helping me first?”

"Ah, yes," he takes a couple of bags of Seokjin's arms.

“Thank you."

Seokjin opens the door and Jungkook follows him inside. Seokjin places the bags in the kitchen counter and throws the keys into the table.

“Wow, these are a lot of groceries.”

Seokjin smiles sheepishly, “Yeah. I want to perfect some recipes.”

“More than they already are?”

He chuckles, “Yes. I want everything ready when I open my new restaurant?”

“Wait a minute,” Jungkook gasps. “When did that happen?”

He suddenly feels bad for not keeping in touch with him after the little fight he shared with you. His friend only shrugs, keeping his hands busy as he places the ingredients he is not going to use at the moment in their respective cabinet.

“I bought a nice place downtown last week,” he confesses. “But I’ve been planning it for a while now. It seemed like the next step.”

“Wow, congratulations!” Jungkook beams and pats Seokjin’s shoulder over the counter.

“Thanks,” the older replies. “Actually, I may need your assistance with something.”

“What can I do for you?”

"Someone told me you are good at video editing."

A small blush appears on Jungkook’s cheeks, “I wouldn’t say good, but I am decent enough. What do you want to do?”

"I figured if Gordon Ramsay can teach cooking through videos, I can show my recipes too. Will you help me?"

"Of course."

The elder hums and a comfortable silence fall upon them. After a while, Jungkook’s gaze shifts toward the hallway that leads to your room. Seokjin notices, even when he is busy chopping some vegetables.

"___ is not here," he comments.

"Oh…" Jungkook already knows that but that doesn’t mean that he feels any less disappointed. "Is she out?"

Seokjin nods, "She went to visit her sister for the weekend. I thought she told you.”

“Well, we are not exactly in speaking terms,” Jungkook confesses, his eyes falling to his hands. "When is she coming back?"

"Possibly Monday after work,” Seokjin throws the vegetables he just chopped to a strainer. “What happened between you two?”

“She didn’t tell you?” Jungkook asks surprised.

He shrugs apologetically, “Kind of. But every story has two versions."

At that, he stays quiet. Seokjin doesn't push him to talk, which Jungkook is thankful for. The elder keeps doing his magic in the kitchen and soon it starts to smell really good.

“A year ago,” Jungkook starts. “I was in a car accident with my former girlfriend. I was driving. She was the most affected. She had several injuries. She blamed me for everything and I accepted that blame. We didn’t talk or saw each other for a while until she contacted me the night of the gala. She wanted to talk. ___ saw it. We had a little… argument about it.”

“What happened?”

Jungkook's face return to look at his friend.

"That night was our first date. I was so excited and nervous. I have never felt like that about someone before. The date went pretty well. Until she saw the text."

He can still see your face. Trying so desperately not to cry but failing nonetheless. It has been printed behind his eyelids.

“She told me that we couldn’t be together until I figured my feelings for my ex. She started to ask questions I couldn’t answer at the moment. I’ve been confused for a long time and denied it for a while.” Jungkook groans and buries his face inside his hands. "I think I ruined everything with her."

“No, you didn’t.” Jungkook raises to meet Seokjin’s gaze. "Is valid to have unresolved feelings when your relationship ended abruptly. Especially after a tragedy. You didn't get closure."

"You didn't see her face." Jungkook chuckles dryly when a shot of tequila appears in front of him. It reminds him of when things were less complicated.

"She is hiding."

"Why?"

Seokjin shrugs, "You know her. Her heart is bigger than her body. She is the type to help strangers when they are at their lowest. She is that selfless."

Jungkook blushes at that. He still feels bad at the way he treated you those first days.

“But when it comes to romantic feelings… She is scared."

"Why?" Jungkook finds himself asking. You never told him about his past relationships and he never asked.

"Someone broke her heart," Seokjin confesses with a sad smile. "It took her some time to recover from that."

"What happened?" He whispers.

"Well…"

Three years ago.

"So, when is the opening night?" You asked Seokjin over the phone. You searched inside your handbag for your key.

"Next week," he replied and then groaned. "I still haven't found the perfect hostess."

"Jinnie, everything is going to be fine. You are an amazing chef. Everyone in the city is going to love your food,” you tried to calm him. “You’ll find the perfect hostess before you know it.”

"Thank you," he replied gratefully, "You are coming, right?"

You tsked, "Of course."

You opened your front door and placed the keys over the small table near the entrance. You made your way towards the kitchen.

"Are you going to bring some of your stuff? Anna brought some boxes the last time she visited and she is going to move in next month. I found this cute apartment. It is kind of expensive, but considering we're four…"

"Yeah, about that…"

"You haven't spoken with Jimin, have you?" He interjected before you could continue. It was impressive how well he could read you even when he was a mile away.

"I will! Is just… Everything is moving so quickly. You moved to the city 6 months ago and you are going to open your restaurant in a week. Anna found a good job. What if I don't get the internship?"

You finally voiced your worries.

"You will," he assured you. "You are really talented. And if they don’t, there are other companies you can apply for."

"I know. Thank you, Jin. I really needed to hear that today," you said as you took your bag from the counter and walk to the mini-studio. "I promise I'll talk to Jimin and of course I will be on your opening night."

"Sounds good!" He chimed. "I'll call you tomorrow, okay? I left something in the oven."

And he hung up before you could say goodbye. You chuckled and placed your phone over your desk. With a sigh, you took your sketchbook out of your bag and opened it. You meant to work on your designs to finish your portfolio but your stomach suddenly growled.

"Jimin! Do you want to grab dinner?"

When it became apparent you were not going to get a reply, you left the studio and went to the bedroom. Till then, you didn't realize how quiet the apartment was. You frowned. You were 90% sure Jimin's car was at the parking lot. But then again, one of your neighbors had the same car.

The bedroom door was half-opened and you heard the faint sound of the shower. Entering the room, you were about to scroll through Uber Eats when you noticed someone lying on your bed and it was not Jimin.

"Hmmm, Who are you, and why are you lying in my bed?" The blond girl staring at you looked… worried. She opened her mouth but got interrupted by the sound of the bathroom door opening.

"Hey babe," Jimin murmured, a towel around his waist. "I think you should go. My girlfriend will arrive soon…" He stopped the moment he saw you, standing there, in your shared bedroom.

Every word felt like a dagger. Your suspicions were confirmed. Your boyfriend was cheating on you. You wanted to cry, scream, throw stuff, destroy everything around you. But you were frozen in the same spot, unable to do anything your aching heart craved to.

Maybe it was a dream. Yes. You were still sleeping and this was a nightmare. Your mind couldn't wrap around the fact of Jimin –your sweet and lovely Jimin– doing such thing as betray you.

The sound of your name brought you back to the painful reality. You gathered all the courage you could to look at him.

"What it this, Jimin?" You managed to whisper.

It was a dumb question to ask when the answer was right in front of you, but a part of you wanted to be a misunderstanding, still hoping this was a sick joke.

Jimin, the man you fell in love with, was looking at you with so much sadness that it made you sob.

"Please let me explain. I never meant to hurt you. You were not supposed to know like this."

What was he talking about?

"Know what? That you were cheating on me?" You said. "Is this the first time?"

"I wish I could say yes."

What?

Involuntarily, your eyes turned to the woman you found in your bed. At least she was dressed now, a pretty sundress hugging her body. You gulped. Did he found her prettier than you? At that moment, when you were using a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans, you definitely felt she was prettier than you. You hated to feel this way.

"Why?" You finally found the courage to ask him.

"Don't pretend you haven't felt how we've drifted apart."

Oh, you noticed. He had been weird the last couple of months. At first, you thought it was because of school. He gets really moody when it comes to exams. But he graduated and things were the same. There was less communication. He used to be your best friend… And now was like you lived with a stranger with whom you happened to have sex occasionally.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, but you didn’t want to push Jimin in to talk about something he was not ready to share. Who would know that something was him cheating on you?

“Is that enough reason?”

“My parents are getting divorced,” he confessed then, taking slow steps into your direction. Your whole body tensed. The last thing you needed was him to get closer. “My father started to drink again.” You opened your mouth to say something but Jimin raised a hand. “No, please. Let me finish.” You pursed your lips and let him continue. “I didn’t want to bother you with my problems. You were busy working at the cafe or working with your designs… They were not yours to handle, so I didn't tell you anything. Then, I met Hannah at one of my lectures. We clicked right away. I invited her for a coffee one day and it was like I could tell her anything."

"And you fell in love with her," you finished for him. You felt hot tears running down your cheeks. You couldn't hold them anymore.

"___, you need to understand…" he took another step closer. “I never meant to hurt you.”

"Well, you definitely did a great job. Why didn't you tell me when you realized that you had feelings for another woman?" You confronted him. By the look on his face, you guessed that was not a question he was expecting. Wiping your tears with the back of your hand, you looked at him expectantly.

“I-I tried… But I couldn’t find the right time…”

He was close enough to take your hands in his. You tried to pull away but he didn’t let you. “Really? In the six months, you’ve known her, you couldn’t mention something?”

“How am I supposed to tell the person who used to be the most important to me that I may have feelings for another woman?”

If you were not feeling like your whole world is crumbling down, you probably should’ve noticed the desolated expression in Jimin’s face.

“You are talking in past tense…” you murmured. “Why didn’t you tell me?” you repeated.

Fresh tears fall down cheeks. You closed your eyes. Suddenly, something warm pressed against your skin. Jimin’s fingers. Your eyes slowly fluttered open. Fixed on his face, it was the first time you realized they were tears on his cheeks. Jimin was crying too. A pair of strong arms encircled your body and pushed you against him. You resisted at first, but he was holding you with so much force. Being between his arms for the last time was the last thing you could handle and you found yourself hugging him back tightly. Three years of your life were slipping between your fingers like water and there was nothing you could do about it.

It was over…

“I’m sorry, ___,” he chanted against your hair. “I am so sorry…”

That night, you drove all the way to the city and never looked back.

When Seokjin finishes the story, Jungkook is speechless.

His heart aches for you, for what happened to you.

“She was broken. It took her a while to recover. She is strong. She just needs some time.”

“I just miss her a lot…”

“I know.”

His friend offers him a smile and continues with his handiwork in the kitchen.

Jungkook stays silent in the next 20 minutes, lost inside his mind. It takes him some time to take everything in. Now, he understands why you reacted the way you did and wishes he handled the situation better. His trail of thought is interrupted when Seokjin places a bowl of homemade noodles in front of him. It smells delicious.

“Eat up. I want your opinion.”

“Thank you.”

The sound of a door being opened catches his attention and Anna appears in the hallway.

“Oh, Kook. You are here,” she greets him. “I haven’t seen you in a while. How are you?” She sits in the stool beside him and squeezes his shoulder affectionately.

“Good. How about you?”

“Full of work but I smell Jinnie’s special noddles and I realized I was starving,” she was and takes a mouthful of noddles.

“Where can I leave ____’s sketchbook?”

“You can leave it at the studio. I’ll tell her you left it there,” Anna says.

Jungkook nods.

The rest of the meal, they talk about random stuff. Jungkook tells them the news about his possible new partnership with a museum and Seokjin talks more about the plans he has for his new restaurant. Soon, the moon sets and Jungkook is full of deserts. Before leaving, he walks to the studio and places the sketchbook on your desk. He takes a blank sheet from Anna’s desk and a pen and he starts writing:

Dear ___…

"So, in conclusion, you ran away because you are scared," she murmurs softly.

“Did you even heard what I just said?”

“I did and you are an idiot,” she stands from the couch and walks to the kitchen. “Do you want more ice cream?”

“Yeah.” You follow after her. “Do you really think I am an idiot for leaving him there?”

“Yes, I do.” She notices your panic. “Look. I know you are afraid. But this is not the same situation. The story isn’t repeating.”

She serves two more balls of chocolate ice cream into the bowls.

"I don’t want to live that hell of self-hatred again. It took me a while to understand it was not because of me and even more to realize Jimin and I were not meant to be. So yeah, I ran. I thought Jungkook would have chosen his ex if he needed to choose. They have a long story."

She squeezes your hand, "And you removed yourself from the equation so he wouldn’t have to choose." You nod. “That’s why I think you are an idiot.”

“Hey!”

“I’m serious. He can choose you. There is a possibility. But you decided to run instead to fight for him.”

She takes the bowls and returns to the living room. Then, she turns Netflix off. You stopped paying attention to the movie anyway. You lay down and place your head on her lap with your bowl of ice cream over your stomach. You feel so tired.

"Let’s get this clear. For what you have told me, it looks like he likes you a lot. You were his muse at the gala!" She starts to pet your hair softly, "Listen. I know it hurts. Sometimes, you just need to take the risk. You can't hide here forever. Whatever that happens, you'll be fine. You have me and your friends."

You shift your body to face her, "Thank you. I really needed to hear that."

She grins, "What is family for?"

You stayed with your sister the whole weekend, eating tons and tons of ice cream and watching tons and tons of movies. It was soothing and calming. It helped you get your mind off the situation. And it gave you time to think.

You were back at your apartment morning-evening after work. You are finishing unpacking when Seokjin enters your room.

“How it went?” He sits at the end of your mattress.

“Pretty good! I missed my sister a lot.”

“Maybe you should visit her more often,” he jokes.

You giggle, "She told me the same thing. How was your weekend?"

Now that all your clothes are scattered all over your bed, you throw all the dirty ones into your laundry basket.

"Good. I tried a new noodle recipe... and Jungkook came looking for you."

He is playing with one of your jeans, folding and unfolding them.

You drop what you are doing immediately, "Really? What did he want?"

You try to keep a serene face but on the inside, you were going crazy. The tiny smile on Seokjin’s lips only confirms that you are not very good at hiding your emotions. You’ve lost your touch.

"He brought your sketchbook back," Seokjin says. "Apparently, you left it at his place. It is at your desk."

"Oh… Thank you."

"I’ll have dinner ready in 20 minutes." Seokjin smiles sweetly and walks out of your room.

You finish unpacking and tidying everything up before going to the studio. You left Jungkook’s place in such a rush that you forgot that your sketchbook was even at his place. You run your fingers over the leather cover. It is one of the fewest sketchbooks that you own that doesn’t have anything to do with your work or designs. It is more like a journal were you draw anything that came to your mind. Flipping through the pages, you remember that one time when Jungkook took you to his favorite park. According to him, the sunset looked majestic from there and he wanted to take some snaps. You were supposed to draw it but Jungkook's beauty was more enticing and you end up drawing him.

You keep going through the pages for a while. The sketchbook is full of memories of him… of memories of your times together. There is this one, where you draw the two of you. But before you arrive at that page, you receive a call from Anna. Dinner is ready. With a smile, you place your sketchbook with the others you’ve finished in the box under your desk unaware of the fact that there is a letter Jungkook wrote for you.

One year later.

It is Monday morning and you are at your office. It is surprising how much work can accumulate in one weekend. The workload helps you to ignore the curious glances Taehyung sends your way since you arrived at the office. It becomes pretty annoying at the meeting you both attend to check some details about the newest collection before sending it for approval.

Around 11 am, you go to the coffee station to make yourself some tea. Taehyung is there, too, taking some coffee. And there’s the stare again. “Some say a picture lasts longer.”

He chokes on his coffee. You take your favorite mug from the countertop and purr hot water. Today is chamomile day.

"Are you okay?" You ask him. He nods like he has not been acting weirdly all morning.

"Yeah. I am okay." He leaves his now empty cup in the sink. "Do you, by any chance, have received any texts or calls today?"

"From someone in particular?"

"You know what? Forget it. I'll see you at lunch."

And he walks out of the coffee station before you could ask him what he meant.

Yep. He is definitely acting really weird.

The rest of the morning passes quickly and you don't have the opportunity to confront Taehyung about his weird behavior. He is hiding something. That much is true.

Exactly one hour before lunch, your phone buzzes, and for a split second your heart rate increases until you see the caller ID. It is your sister.

"Hello?"

"Hey, stranger!" she chimes. "How are you?"

"I'm fine! A little busy. And you?"

"Good! At what time you leave your office?"

"At 5PM. Why?"

"I have a surprise for you: I am in the city! So, I was wondering if you want to have dinner with me today."

"Wait, is everything okay?" You sit straight. If something is wrong, she would have told you, right?

"Yeah, silly. Don't worry. I came to buy some stuff and, of course, visit you. So, do you want to go to dinner or what?"

You giggle, relieved. "Sure." You start to think of possible choices. It is the third time your sister comes to the city. You want to take her to somewhere special. "Do you want to go to Seokjin's new restaurant?"

"That sounds perfect."

"Good. Let me text you the address."

You put the phone on speaker to find the message with the address Seokjin sent to you a while ago. You know how to arrive there but you don't remember the street name.

You do small talk with your sister as you do your search, but your Skype goes crazy out of nowhere.

"Hey," you interject between her story. "I will text you the address later. My boss is looking for me."

"Ok. Don't worry. I'll see you tonight."

You arrive at 7:15pm at Seokjin's restaurant.

In less than 6 months, the restaurant is now one of the most exclusive restaurants and one of the best places to eat. That's why the place is at full capacity for Monday night and there are even more people outside waiting for a table or place at the bar.

Tonight Seokjin is the host. He receives you with a heartwarming smile.

"Your usual table?" he asks.

“Yes, please.”

He nods, “You are lucky you know the owner,” he adds with a smirk and you roll your eyes.

“Thanks, Jinnie.”

You walk through the restaurant. The table you like the most is located in one of the corners, near the kitchen. It is kind of hidden but you can see the whole restaurant from there. You’ve spent hours and hours there sketching the people that come by.

Your eyes scan the menu as you wait for your sister's arrival. Jin adds new recipes to the menu every once in a while.

"Does this sit is taken?"

You raise your head to look at the newcomer and you do not expect what you see...

"Jungkook?"

For a split second, you think you might be hallucinating. But no. He is really there. It is the first time you see him in a year. He smiles sheepishly and you remember that there's a question you haven't answered yet…

"I'm waiting for my sister…"

And then, it clicks.

Do you, by any chance, have received any texts or calls today?

"You planned this with my sister," his smile widening is your confirmation. "But, you don't know her. How?"

"We have a mutual friend."

"Taehyung and Seokjin knew about this," you accuse.

Jungkook nods, "The guys helped me to plan this. So, can I sit?"

"Yeah, I guess," you reply. "Is my sister even in the city?"

"Yes. She is waiting for you with Anna at your place."

You don’t know how to reply to that, so you stay silent. You take the opportunity to look at him. He looks… different. His hair is longer. He is wearing a plain grey shirt, jeans, and a leather jacket that fits him so well. He gained weight. The sharpness of his face is gone. His lips look more full in the way they stretch into a smirk. There’s a spark shining on his eyes. He knows you are checking him out.

You clear your throat.

"So, why did you take so much trouble when you just could have called me yourself?"

Jungkook shrugs, "I thought you wouldn't have come if I was the one who contacted you."

Before you could reply, one of the waitresses approaches the table.

"Are you ready to order?"

Jungkook gazes at the menu, "I'll have the Special Noodles, please."

She nods and turns to you, "And you, ___? The usual?"

"Yes. Thank you, Eli," you reply with a smile.

"Right away," she says and walks to the kitchen.

Once she is gone, the heavy atmosphere around you returns.

"Did you broke your phone?" You finally ask him the question you were dying to since he appeared.

"I know. I'm so sorry" he takes your hand in his. It feels so good to feel his warmth again. "You don't know how much I wanted to call. Or even go to your place to see you in person. But I made a promise to myself: I wouldn't contact you until I was in peace with myself."

It is selfish to feel this way. You know it. He did the right thing, but a part of you resents him. He disappeared. For one year, you didn’t know anything about him. Now, he appears out of nowhere and expects you’d receive him with open arms.

“Jungkook, why am I here?"

He seems confused, "What do you mean? I wanted to talk to you."

"About what?"

"About us?"

"Is there really an 'us' to talk about?"

"What?"

You shift in your seat. “You left without saying goodbye. With no type of explanation.”

He shakes his head, “What do you mean? I left the letter. Did you not read it?”

You frown, more confused by the minute. “What letter?”

“The one that I hid in your sketchbook. Do you really don’t know what am I talking about?” You shrug. “Well, that explains a lot,” he chuckles awkwardly.

“So, what was in that letter?”

He smiles over his glass of water. “It explained why I left, why I did it, and what happened with Zoe.”

“Yeah, about that… What happened? Because all this time I thought you ran away with her.”

A smirk appeared on his lips. It is not the type you like. It is the smug one. It makes you want to smack him on his pretty face.

“We talked. We resolved things. We stayed as friends,” he replies nonchalantly.

“G-good,” you manage to say and his smile widens. “Where were you staying, anyway?”

“I stayed a while with Yoongi and little with Zoe and her boyfriend. He is really cool.”

“That bastard!” you yelled and sank in your seat when a few customers turned to look at you. “When I asked him if he knew where did you go, he lied.”

Jungkook smiles apologetically, “He promised not to tell you.”

“Yeah, whatever,” you huff, a little annoyed at Yoongi. He is going to hear you out the next time you see him. “You could have texted me or something. Do you know how much time is one year? That means I spent 365 days wondering if I would ever see you again." Jungkook opens his mouth but you raise your hand, "Please, let me finish."

He nods.

"One year is enough to meet new people…" You finish what you wanted to say.

Jungkook's smile falters, eyes widening, "Ohhhh… Does that mean you met someone?"

"I had a couple of dates," you confess, watching carefully his reaction. "But the two of them went really wrong."

His face illuminates at your words, "Why?"

"Because they were not you, idiot!"

He starts to laugh at your outburst. Wow, you forgot how much you liked his smile. His eyes turn into beautiful crescendos and his nose scrunched. His laugh is contagious you start to laugh back.

"I'm really glad to hear that."

A comfortable silence falls between you two. At the same time, Eli arrives with the order.

“Oh my god,” Jungkook moans after his first bite. “They are better than the last ones I ate.”

“Well, Seokjin had a year to perfect the recipe,” you mock.

While you eat, you talk about random stuff: how the recent partnership with a museum went; the brand new collection you and Taehyung are designing from scratch. Stuff like that. It almost feels like time hasn’t passed at all.

“So, you didn’t answer my question,” you say once you have ordered the desert.

He takes a sip of his water. “What question?”

“Why am I here?”

“Oh, I wanted to see you and talk to you,” he says, suddenly shy. “I know you didn’t read the letter I left for you. But I want to explain to you, in person, why I left…”

It doesn’t make sense. How can someone who looks as good as Jungkook does can be shy?

“Go on.”

“I know it was selfish to leave. But I needed to do it. I was not myself when we met. I was lost. Even when you helped me to raise my feet again, I was not entirely okay. I left because I didn’t want to be emotionally codependent of you. If we are together, is because we want to, not because we need each other to survive. The time I spent away helped me to rediscover myself. Now, I am more me than I have ever been. I hope you will give me another chance.”

His beautiful words make your heart flutter. He is looking at you with so much intensity and hopes that you feel bad for being cold with him for the past hour. You stay silent for a moment, though. You suppress the smile that tugs the corner of your lips. Maybe you enjoy a little bit much the way his expression turns in panic.

“Well,” you finally speak up. His shoulders tense in anticipation. “Taehyung and I have an important dinner next week. Some important designers are coming to see our collection. Taehyung is taking his girlfriend. So… Would you like to come with me? You know… As my date?”

The end. ♡

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts scenarios #bts angst #bts fluff #bts fanfics #jungkook x reader #bts #story: love sewn #jvnghxope

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omniswords · 3 years

Text

Chronicles of a Parisian Dumbass 16

oh gosh, i'm so sorry for the late update!! i promise i'm still working on this, little by little. i am on vacation next week, so maybe i'll get the chance to really put some work in.

in any case, enjoy today's update c:

okay, so who the hell was gonna tell me that CBG’s designed a whole-ass album cover for my favorite artist of all time?

scratch that. who was gonna tell me she designed my FAVORITE album cover for my FAVORITE artist of all time?

Bubbles, as it turns out, has known Marinette Dupain-Cheng since he was four years old. Went to school with her and everything. So that’s another scoop to the shit Luka’s landed himself in. He still isn’t sure what gave him greater whiplash: finding out about that connection, or finding her name in the fine print of Jagged stone’s album credits. He also isn’t sure whether it’s a good thing that Nino mentions little else, and especially dodges the question of if it’s even cool to actually admit to having a gigantic crush on Marinette Dupain-Cheng, or whether he’s just wasting his time.

Cool.

Cool, cool, cool.

(Luka is most definitely not cool.)

Especially for those freeze-frames of time that he wonders, to his own horror, if Bubbles has been Adrien Agreste all this time.

It takes him the better part of an hour of pacing and fidgeting with his guitar pick to realize that no, he hasn’t been casually messaging a fashion mogul’s son who also just so happened to be Marinette’s own gigantic crush. He doesn’t seem like the type to use “dude” in everyday conversation, and for another thing, it didn't exactly like up with what Marinette had said about them knowing each other in middle school.

One day, Luka swears, he’s going to take this anxiety thing out back and have it meet its maker.

Even if, maybe, he sort of is its maker.

(Okay, maybe he's going to take his brain out back, because he's definitely not responsible for that.)

But he figures, once that initial panic and urge to scream into his pillow wear off, that it might be a cool talking point between him and Marinette. One that, for once, doesn’t have much to do with either of their jobs. Or with how tongue-tied he gets around her because she just won’t stop being so pretty. Not that that’s a problem; both his sister and his mother would have his head for ever thinking that way, and even then, Rose would tell them to get in line. Something about how they didn’t raise him this way, even if two of them didn’t even raise him at all.

Luka waits a couple of days before stopping by the bakery again; it gives them both some breathing room and the time for those postcards to be finished and printed. He thinks about it a lot. The postcards. The effort. Marinette, too, but in his quietly flustered opinion, he thinks that’s a given. He doesn’t get the chance to come until close to closing time again because of his delivery shift; he just hopes they don’t mind too much. He braces himself the whole ride over for whatever may be coming: another friendly crack about napoleons and pear tarts, the beauty of the postcards, maybe even another offer of kindness if Marinette’s pattern is anything to go by.

The one thing Luka doesn’t brace himself for—which, of course, is the one thing that ends up happening—is the door propped open, and the music drifting out through the crack. And he can’t even revel in the fact that it’s one of his favorite songs playing, because…

Because Marinette is dancing. Rag in one hand, spray bottle in the other. No, it’s not like, a flawlessly choreographed routine or anything. It’s more like a mix of what Rose does during their down time when she has too much energy and nowhere to put it, and what Juleka does when she’s trying to find the rhythm of a new song. It’s blissfully unaware, and beautiful, and it feels like home, and Luka can’t stop staring.

He doesn’t mean to. He knows he shouldn’t. It’s just… he can’t remember ever seeing a moment when she was simply “Marinette, “instead of “Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Friend to Practically Everybody.” or “Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Daughter of the Owners of The Best Bakery In Paris.” or even “Marinette, the Girl Behind the Counter with the Sketchbook Full of Secrets and the connections to Jagged Fucking Stone.”

Okay, maybe he’s been watching a couple too many fantasy movies lately.

And he definitely needs to look away, like, right now, because she does this thing with her hips that makes his brain forget how to function for a second, and he needs his brain to function in every sense of the phrase, and God fucking damn it, Marinette Dupain-Cheng is hot and he’s not supposed to think that she’s hot—

And she’s looking at him. Frozen. right as he’s about to get off his bike and knock.

And, like the total idiot he can only manage to be at the worst possible times, he trips. Over his bike. And faceplants, right in front of Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

He’s somewhere between waiting for death to take him, and thanking his Ma for always getting on him about wearing a helmet, and wondering if he really was so stupid that his first instinct was to run, when the bell over the bakery door rings like mad. Someone cries out his name, and the music cuts, and there’s a skitter of footsteps on concrete. When he comes to himself and starts to sit up, he finds himself face-to-face with Marinette, who's kneeling beside him and already scanning him for any injuries.

The first thing she says, with her hand in her hair, is, “Oh, God. She’s gonna kill me.”

The first thing he says, with a wince, is, “Yikes.”

It’s then that the pain sinks in, dull and searing and throbbing all at once, as if punishing him for choosing to say that, of all things. He sits up a bit more, pain chasing up his spine and stinging his palms; his knee is badly scraped and starting to swell, he realizes once he gets a good look at the rest of him. He can’t tell yet, whether Juleka would call this karma or kismet. All he can think is that at least his jeans were already ripped.

“Can…” Marinette swallows hard, but otherwise she’s entirely unfazed. “Can you stand? Put weight on it? Oh God, oh my God, she’s actually gonna kill me.”

“I…” Cautiously, Luka tries to get to his feet, and Marinette makes space for him. All it takes is one step for a jolt of pain to shoot up his leg, and he staggers and clutches the closest streetlamp, nearly tripping over his bike again in the process. “Shit,” is all he can bite out after drawing his breath in through his teeth and holding onto it for too long. He lets it out, little by little, and his grip on the lamppost loosens. “It’s okay, I’m—I can just walk my bike to the metro station, and—”

It’s like she isn’t even listening to him; she’s looking around the bike, evidently searching for something. Finally, she finds it—his bike lock—and after it and the bakery door are secure, she coaxes his arm around her shoulder. It’s almost comical, because he’s got a good thirty centimeters on her, but it hurts too much to laugh. Or, apparently, to stammer in protest when she leads him through the side door and up the stairs to her apartment.

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. Seeing her in her pajamas was enough of an invasion of her privacy. But seeing the inside of her literal, actual home? Oh, no. No way.

“You’re hurt,” she says simply, as if she’s read his mind; her voice is trembling, the way voices do when they know they shouldn’t. “It’d be against like, everything I am as a person if I just let you leave.” She only lets go of him to unlock the door, and only then does it occur to him that, for a few moments that should have been blissful, they were side-by-side, and in some places skin-to-skin.

Mr. Dupain gives them a funny, almost unreadable look when Marinette opens the door. One look at Luka’s leg seems to answer any questions he might have had, and effortlessly he helps Luka to the couch while Marinette disappears into the bathroom. “You know,” he jokes under his breath, “When I imagined someone falling for my daughter, I didn’t mean literally.”

Luka’s face goes hot. “I didn’t—I’m not—”

Whatever he wants to say falls on deaf ears, and Mr. Dupain makes himself scarce as soon as Marinette emerges from the bathroom. Even as she lifts his leg onto the coffee table, Luka swears he can feel those kind, quietly insistent eyes burning holes into him all the way from the kitchen. He doesn’t get to think much more about what Mr. Dupain might have meant, or what he would have said to refute it, because Marinette is pressing an alcohol pad to the scrapes, and it stings like a motherfucker—which is probably a good thing for more reasons than one.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says weakly, because somewhere along the way, I don’t deserve it got stuck in his throat and refused to come out.

Marinette gives him a look. He can’t quite figure out what it means. “Yeah. I do.”

“Nah.” He readjusts, braces himself for the second sting of the ointment and the bandages. “I kinda deserved it. Jules would call it karma, I guess.”

There she goes again, wincing at the mere mention of Juleka. Or maybe… maybe it’s something else. Without a word, she gets up and disappears into the kitchen, and he spends her whole absence wondering what he said or did. He’s only relieved when she returns with a bag of frozen corn and a shrug as if to say, It’s all we had. She presses the bag to his knee, breathing deep in time with him, or maybe in hopes that his breathing will start to match hers. Then she speaks, and her voice wavers.

“Why would you ever think,” she murmurs, “that you deserve any pain?”

Luka opens his mouth. Shuts it. Opens and shuts again. This time, at least for a while, the words don’t even make it to his throat. Eventually, all he can spit out is, “I was. Watching. You.”

“I know,” Marinette says, turning as pink as her shorts. “I saw.”

That’s the one thing he can appreciate: she doesn’t try to downplay it or say it was dumb. Even now, she’s unapologetic, and direct, and God, maybe he’s just fallen a little more. “I shouldn’t have,” he says. “I was gonna knock, I was…” He shifts again, his knee still in her gentle grasp, and flinches. “I just… wanted to see your postcards.”

I just wanted to see you.

“Marinette.” His lips tingle just from saying her name, and his stomach is churning. “Who… who’s gonna kill you?”

This time, Marinette goes scarlet; it would look about as pretty as literally every other color and pattern she wears if she didn’t seem so… mortified. “I’ll go get one of—the postcards,” she says—stammers, more like—and as she’s heading upstairs she calls out, “Papa, he can’t walk. Can we drive him home?”

From the kitchen, Mr. Dupain winks.

1 Photo Attached

RIP lol

and no, i’m not talking about my jeans. those were already like that.

but also. 😬 oh boy.

#miraculous ladybug #lukanette #luka couffaine #marinette dupain cheng #fic: chronicles of a parisian dumbass #oh my dude we are in for it now.

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sisterofleatherfrog · 3 years

Text

Star Wars Kinktober day- 1

Prompt: Symbolic jewelry

Sub! Tup x Female (AFAB) OC

Hello! Willkommen to the grand opening of me doing Kinktober (even if this post is a few hours late for the actual 1st 😅)! Here is my prompt list derived from Kinktober lists by @ink-and-flame. Their prompt lists are phenomenal, but for the sake of my ADHD I had to whittle it down into a more finite list of interests that I am comfortable writing and know at least a little about it, or else I’ll just get lost in the sauce of prompts! But seriously, go check out their lists, they’re incredibly varied and have something for everyone!

And now without further ado:

Tags: some drinking, sub male, femdom, nudity, almost pussy eating (working up to it in part 2!), pussy worship, praise kink, worship kink (is that a thing?), there’s no sex in this fic it’s just the lead up (she is spoicy tho)

Words: 1609

🍑🍑🍑

Under his shirt, the chain and pendant Tup wore brushed cooly against his chest. As unpleasant as the gooseflesh it raised was, the reminder it gave him was anything but.

From the moment he’d awoke that morning, wrapped in arms as pale as the thin sunlight at that hour, he knew what he wanted and began to get ready. A few kisses pecked around his groggy girlfriend, Aurelie’s, face placated her awakening at his rising and he moved to her dressing table to grab the aforementioned necklace. If she wasn’t interested in playing, it would have been put away the night before in it’s felt case, but this morning he plucked it from it’s customary open place before the mirror.

Catching the morning bus he felt it leap and jump with the rhythm of the air vehicle as the pilot navigated Coruscant air-traffic. After the war ended and the clones were given their freedom, sentient rights, and a hell of a lot of backpay, there were questions of what was to be done with them. As it turned out, there wasn’t such a mass exodus from the GAR as previously thought there would be, though many opted to retire from combat positions. Tup chose to oversee the supply requisition and organization for the newly formed Search & Rescue Ops, a subsidiary of the Disaster Relief Squadron, helping places around the galaxy affected by natural disasters. It felt meaningful and good, and he could honestly say he didn’t miss having to carry a gun and constantly keep an eye out for clankers.

After a day of approving supply drops, running reports, and the pendant lightly caressing his chest with every slight sway, he was back on the bus home. A man scowled at him from among the crowd; some people would never see the clones as anything more than meat-droids undeserving of even the life they were given, but the pendant mocked that man’s ideas from behind Tup’s shirt. It was a gift of love freely given to him and he was worthy,

When he returned to his apartment Aurelie was still at work, not getting off until late. As he waited for water to boil he straightened up around the place, clearing dust from the nooks it always returned to settle and gathered laundry. When he came to the bed in their room he came to a spot by the bed and stopped, considered, and opened a drawer to reveal a medium sized case which he deposited neatly on Aurelie’s side of the bed. He already had the necklace, it never hurt to be proactive in terms of their play.

Half an hour later dinner was had and a portion of it was squared away in the fridge with a reminder to reheat it and enjoy and Tup was ready to meet a few of the boys at 79’s. As he changed from his work wear into something light blue and more casual, the afternoon sun caught the silver pendant resting on the tan skin of his breast bone, dying it almost the same shade of pink- before he could finish that thought a beep from his comm sounded informing him that his taxi had arrived outside.

20 minutes, a few levels down, and a familiar neon sign later, Tup was walking into a familiar bar. Nothing had changed about the place, only now armour and dress greys were a rare sight to be seen as the open opportunity for individuality to flourish among the clones led to some, interesting, experiments in style. ‘Speaking of which,’ thought Tup as a discordant but jovial chorus of his name called him over to a table in the corner. Fives, Jesse, Kix, Rex, Waxer, Boil, Cody, and even Wolffe, to his surprise, sat there having already gotten a small headstart on happy hour. It wasn’t a full reunion, others still at work or spread across the galaxy exploring life, but it was always nice to see familiar faces.

They took their time and paced themselves drinking, it was still early and they didn’t have to run off in an hour to prepare for a campaign and weren’t shotgunning a train of shots to try and forget one. Some of them had to be able to operate tomorrow morning though and they parted as the night lowered it’s curtain over day; Jesse and Kix remained however to scope out some of the ladies coming in with the party crowds.

As good as the times spent together were, Tup silently willed the air-taxi to carry him away faster through the legendary Coruscant traffic and back home. He’d worn the necklace, the empty place it would otherwise occupy obvious, if she hadn’t noticed then she would certainly see the familiar box he’d left resting by her pillow. Stars he was ready, the anticipation had built all day, the secret only he kept feeding his need. He was thrumming for whatever Aurelie had to give him.

The taxi stopped and he cursed the second it took for the payment to transfer, the minute in the elevator, the short march down the hall, and the door code he had to spend time punching in-

The entry was dark with the exception of a string of pink fairy lights strung along the wall and leading around the corner to their room. He grinned and, remembering to turn back and lock the door when he was already halfway across the room, soon came to the closed panel that marked their space. He knocked, “May I come in mistress?”

“Enter, darling.” A high, breathy voice answered.

As the door opened Tup entered the threshold and lowered himself to his knees, his hands finding their place on his lap as he gazed upon the shining woman perched on the edge of their bed (somehow, someway, his girlfriend, a part of his brain never ceased obsessing). She regarded him warmly, “Have you been a good boy today Tup? You took your necklace and I really hope it didn’t make you do anything naughty.”

“I was very good, mistress, just for you.” His voice was breathy and quiet, he had been good, and he anticipated his reward. His eyes drank in the milky skin that clothed the leopardess in repose before him, partially obscured by the long, wavy strands of pearly blonde hair.

“Oh I know Tup, you’re such a good boy. You wake me up with kisses, make sure I have food to eat when I work late, and you were so considerate to get our box of toys out for me. I don’t know where to begin, but good boys deserve to be rewarded, isn’t that right my beautiful boy?”

Aurelie’s voice caressed his every synapse as he breathed in air that still held the trace of a burn from a heavy incense and he was already in a state. Her words of praise had passed straight down from his ears to his cock, bringing him to a full erection from the half mast he’d been sailing at since walking through the front door. “Yes, please mistress, yes.” If it sounded like he was begging, Tup didn’t care. Her soft thighs were resting atop one another, hiding from him what he’d been craving all day. Just one simple shift was all it would take to reveal to him where she was no doubt already soft, sweet, and wet.

Her legs uncrossed, but she stood instead of spreading wider and came to stand before him, her curl-crowned mound a tease before him that turned his need to a desperate clamour within him. He held still, eyes glued to hers as she leaned down to him and brought her pillowy lips to kiss him, one hand coming up to cradle his cheek and the other fiddles with his collar for the necklace she’d gifted him. His hands were curled hard on his lap, restraining himself from the urge to reach out and touch; being so, so good and waiting.

Drawing the pendant along the chain away from Tup’s racing heart, Aurelie held it between them and teased: “Is this what you want Tup? Do you want to eat my pussy until you’re begging for me to fuck you, until you cum in me? Or maybe I’ll ride that handsome face of yours all night and let you cum in my mouth while you’re hard at work.” Tup could only manage a tortured moan, the pictures being painted in his head making him dizzy. She lightly laughed and graciously accepted that as her answer, gently leading him across the floor as she walked backwards with the chain still in her hand, him crawling on all fours after her. When she returned to the bed she sat as he looked up at her with lust and adoration.

Still holding the pendant, she slowly drew her legs apart, raising one to rest on the bed so her pussy and the glorious pink of her vulva were wide open on display for Tup in his current position. Aurelie considered the pendant again for a moment. “I’m glad I found that artist, it’s a wonderful likeness, isn’t it darling?” From the petal-like folds of her labia minora to the majora that protected them and the unique hood that shadowed her marvelous clit, it couldn’t belong to anyone else. The highest honour Tup felt was being lucky enough to be the one person allowed to worship it.

“Stars yes, mistress!” He agreed emphatically and Aurelie laughed lightly again and let the necklace fall back into its place from her fingers.

“Well, come and get your reward Tup.” He gladly obliged.

🍑🍑🍑

So yeah, Tup as a Sub wears a necklace of his girlfriend’s vulva when he really wants to be her good boy (; It also helps that it’s really pretty ✨👀✨

Also sorry if this is a little off, this wasn’t even alpha read, let alone beta read.

Aurelie is one of a few OC’s I’ve used in my daydreams, she may make another appearance in another story if I think she’ll fit! I may try and do some art too…

As for the boys at the bar, I came up with ideas for what they’re up to now and may either write other Kinktober stuff in this AU, or do some drabbles later (though I could include the Kinktober stuff in an AU drabble, right?). I didn’t include it in the story though because I felt like it would disturb the flow too much. I’ll probably detail the AU in another post if I do end up doing that.

Kinktober works so far

Masterlist

#kinktober #kinktober 2021 #star wars #the clone wars #sisterofleatherfrogwrites #tup #ct-5385 #clone trooper tup #minors dni #sw #tcw #sw tcw #the clone wars fic #tup x oc #please let me know if I've broken tense #I'm bad at catching that #but please be nice as I am but a delicate frög

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pacific-rimbaud · 3 years

Note

45 and narcissa x remus (recissa? black wolf? blupin?)

Drabble #45: “Tell me a secret.”

Asylum Seekers

by PacificRimbaud

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Narcissa Black Malfoy

Tags: Angst, infidelity, brief blood, suggestions of violence, swearing, mild sexual content (Rated M)

On AO3

Fall, 1978

The line to fucking another man’s wife is neither a straight nor a moral one. Would it help if I told you that of the two of us, I might be the werewolf, but the monster, unequivocally, is him?

Fucking is the furthest thing from my mind when I see her for the first time since she left school—four, maybe five years before I did. Hollow-boned and apprehensive as a hedgerow bird, she sits with one white hand splayed open on the surface of the table and the other one in her lap, like she’s waiting for one of us to serve her.

Sirius rounds the corner from Andromeda’s kitchen carrying three fingers of Ogden’s, no ice, in a cut crystal glass and sets it down, slow and noiseless, as though she’ll bolt at the sound of the contact.

She picks up the glass with the hand she’s keeping out in the open, drains it, and does it again the moment Sirius refills it.

She smells like whiskey and blood.

Arms looped around her own waist, Andromeda leans in the door frame, Moody talking close at her ear.

The sisters are representative works by the same artist, in two different moods. Andromeda is taller and more substantial: dark, warm and still, a heavy-canopied forest in an abundant summer. Narcissa is hard daylight and the sharp, mythical line of a distant peak, white-capped in perennial snow.

Her eyes are her sole submission to softness; between hers and Andromeda’s, Narcissa’s are the warmer iteration of blue.

Moody mumbles, his face erased of everything but formless intensity, and Andromeda’s vision fixes on Narcissa’s pale, restless hand, the pads of her fingers lighting on the table again, preparing themselves to take flight.

Andromeda mutters, and then she moves, palming something from Moody and taking a seat beside her sister at the scrubbed dining table.

“They’d like you to take this." Her voice comes in at a crawling crescendo, pianissimo to mezzo-piano, then retreats.

She places a vial on the table: Veritaserum, in olive green glass with a tiny cork.

Narcissa pulls in a breath, filling her belly and then her chest, and then she bends away in violent submission toward the floor, her gut belatedly rejecting what I identify as several days of nothing but booze.

Ted arrives at her elbow before she’s finished, carrying a glass of water.

Two glasses, one wet cloth to her mouth, and a full minute later, and Narcissa tips the cork from the top of the vial with her thumb, and drinks it down.

“What do you want to know?”

Her voice is scraped and austere, wounded with whiskey and sick and some other interior, mechanical insult: crying, or screaming, or both.

“Tell the rest of us what you told your sister,” says Moody, turning a chair around at the table and straddling the seat.

Narcissa’s right hand rises from her lap.

For a moment I think she’s wearing an elbow-length glove, like she’s come from a formal ball.

But she’s dressed in nothing more than a thin satin slip, lace-edged, with narrow strings for straps, skating over her unrelenting leanness, either black or dark, dark green.

It's not a glove.

She’s slicked from her fingertips to the curve of her inner elbow with dried and drying blood, a lavish, painterly layer, thick and congealed. It’s an opaque garment of gore, covering everything but a row of four lines where her weakly pigmented skin shows through, like someone has grasped her arm, then drawn their fingers away.

I don’t understand why she looks at me. Between her sister, her cousin, her brother by a hated marriage, Moody and Alice Longbottom nipping at her thumbnail by the window, she settles her wide warm eyes on me.

I watch the tide rise inside her.

I watch it breach the barrier.

I watch her flood.

She closes her glazed fist loosely, fingertips touching her thumb, in the way you would make a compassionate cage of your fingers to carry an injured bird.

“I tried to help.”

She has a flat in Muggle London that her husband knows nothing about.

It’s small, purchased with her private money in another name. She only has two rooms and a bath, but she’s cleaned it with magic, repaired it, made it sharp and neat and softened it with pale fabrics, made it private, and made it her own.

“Why me?”

It’s the first thing I say, after I’ve come through the door, and just before she closes it behind me.

She doesn’t answer straight away. Instead she pours herself a gin from a cupboard in the galley kitchen, and asks me whether I’d like one. I would, but I tell her no, thank you, and she sits on her sofa, ankles crossed underneath her thighs, and tells me why I’m here.

“Because of the way that Sirius looks at you.”

“And how is that?”

There is so little in the way of the unintentional to her that it’s unnerving.

The tilt of her head isn’t a tick or a quirk. It’s a communication.

I could press the issue, but she and I would both understand the deflection.

Call it what you will in another language, in English there’s only one word for love.

For Sirius, and for me, I believe it’s enough.

“Why not him? Andromeda?”

She’s amused by me.

I can’t help but wonder what else she delights in.

Her hair falls over her shoulder, iced gold against the fabric of her white wool jumper, while I draw a plan of Malfoy Manor to her specifications.

The entry. Staircase. Ballroom. Drawing room. The room where she sleeps. The one Lucius keeps for himself.

Where Tom Riddle lays his head down on the nights he stays.

Where else he might be found.

I don’t push for more than she gives me.

When it’s time to go, I roll the diagram, shrink it down, and shove it into the bottom of my trouser pocket next to my wand.

“Thank you,” I say. “For your honesty.”

It makes her laugh.

The next time I meet her in her flat, it’s uncomfortably close to a full moon, and I half gag on the smells of two different men clinging to her body.

She’s washed with an intensely herbal soap, but underneath that is a tinge of nervous sweat, and every unctuous, enzymatic marker of sex.

We cover things the Order already knows, and that she knows we know, but we both understand the nature and necessity of what we’re doing.

It’s safer for her, I think, to start slow, without fully understanding why I would care.

“Good luck to you,” she says while my hand finds the doorknob.

She doesn’t bite her lip. There is never a twist to her mouth.

She’s practiced to rote. Her performance of herself is without error.

I turn halfway around.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

I spend the hours of my turning in a vast, borderless desert of physical suffering.

I map it with my own blood, and by the time I wake, it’s a void I can’t recall.

“Try this next time.”

She sets a pot of ointment that I can’t afford on the table in front of me.

I leave it behind when I go.

She keeps rare and beautiful wines that I refuse to drink.

When I arrive at night on a Wednesday, two months into our regular, irregular meetings, she’s so glassy with ethanol that I nearly leave.

I don’t think about what she wears at home.

When she’s here, she dresses down, in satin trousers and jumpers that fall away from her lustrous white shoulders.

I wonder if this is home.

The surface of her wine rolls and coats the interior of her glass as she lowers herself to sit.

My gut pings with anxiety at the unnecessary closeness, but then she leans away, and rests her head on the leather arm of the sofa while her knees fold against the back.

“I’m going to tell you about death,” she says.

I hear the wine on her breath, and lick my own lips.

I take names, where she recalls them. Where she doesn’t, I make ticks beside dates and locations.

She finishes a bottle, and opens another, her thin arms flexing with the turn of a Muggle bottle opener.

Does she feel safe here? With her magical signature tucked away with her wand? It’s folded between the pages of a day-old newspaper, on the table beside a wingback chair neither of us ever sits in. She never so much as glances in its direction.

Half the new bottle disappears inside her.

“He smells like blood when he comes to my bed.” Her performance falters. “Every time.”

I realize, too late, that the curtain has lowered, and that the house lights have come on.

I’m not prepared to see her this way.

“Which one?” I ask.

She smiles, her mouth a narrow bow.

“All of them.”

I walk home in the dark, staring at my hands.

I feel an urge, sharp and angular and immediate, that can I only explain as the opposite of sexual hunger.

What I want is for my palm against her flesh to cancel and negate every other hand that arrived there before it.

I would smooth my skin against every inch of her.

Outside, and in.

I’m not angry. I don’t know what I am.

I won’t touch her for the world.

I’m desperate for her to ask me to.

“I can’t be her handler anymore.” I can’t look at Moody when I say it.

A week later, Moody glares at me over the rim of a soup spoon. “She won’t speak to anyone else.”

I emerge from my next change three kilos lighter.

I couldn’t afford one of them.

In the mirror in the bath, I run my fingertips through the bloody trenches of my ribs.

“Oh,” I say, dumbly. “You’ve cooked.”

I haven’t seen her since her last drop a month ago, and I’m grateful for the smell of garlic and onions, seeped into everything and overwhelming whatever secrets her body keeps failing to keep from me.

Standing at the Muggle range, she holds a spoon out over her cupped palm.

It’s more shocking than anything she’s ever done.

I open my mouth, and think, briefly, about the weight of a pomegranate seed.

My mouth blooms.

I don’t know what I need. I look for it inside the cunts of the women I meet in the discos of Muggle London.

They’re sweet, and warm, and smell like cocaine and strong perfume and laboratory hormones, and they feel fine.

They feel fine.

Sometimes when I’m inside them, I think about white-blonde hair and narrow hips.

I think about the time I saw her wearing a single red glove, ending at the inside of her elbow.

When I’m looking for what I need inside of other women, I think about her.

I’m looking for her.

“You’re moving too fucking much,” says Moody, never once looking up from his parchment. “Go out.”

He doesn’t make suggestions.

So I go.

The gleaming street reeks of urban petrichor, and the steady incursion of moisture tells me about a new hole in the right side of my left boot.

I’m waxing gibbous inside, something I’ve never tried to explain, but it encompasses something like an unreachable itch, and an ache in the marrow, and a skin-crawling restlessness that I’ve tried exorcising through bone-jarring movement and gallons of liquor, by screaming in train yards and flattening the cilia inside my ears with catastrophic decibels of music, through aggressive sex that turns me into someone I no longer know.

I dance, curled into the form of a brunette with silver eye shadow and no knickers under her shining nylon dress.

I’m stretching my own skin, ready to hurry up the inevitability of what I can already smell between us, when I see her.

She’s wearing a tight silver dress and a glamour that would fool nine out of ten wizards.

Dark hair, dark lips, dark eyes. She’s left her breasts unchanged. Left the unpadded divots of her ribs beneath her constricting dress. Left the perfect lines of her long, long legs.

I follow her out when she goes, and at the mouth of an alleyway I stop five paces behind her, and call out her name.

She’s already pulling at the frame of my belt buckle, but she does ask.

When I fuck her for the first time, against a brick wall behind a bin full of wet newspaper, she’s wearing a face that doesn’t belong to her.

I smooth my hands up her thighs.

I slide my fingers through the pulse of damp between her legs.

I erase anything she needs me to.

“Was it—”

I’m barely through the door.

An hour later, I wonder if I’ve ever been naked next to a woman.

I have.

I never have.

She lets me in again.

And then again.

Then again.

“Don’t come here if you smell like another man.”

I say it while I’m inside.

She takes shallow, open-mouthed breaths.

“That’s not fair.”

“I know. But I don’t care.”

I extract promises she can’t keep from her flesh while it quivers below mine.

While my bones construct a wolf from the materials of a man, I leave my body behind me, howling in a voice that isn’t mine.

I find my way into a dream about the scent of her hair, soaked through with both of our sweat.

“Tell me a secret.” Her open mouth lands against the skin of my belly and then slides closed, a gorging, formless kiss. She skirts my aching cock with a generous deliberation. “I’ve told you all of mine.”

“Not all of them,” I say.

I’m panting like a dog, sweating through sheets we ruined three hours ago.

She looks up at me, hair draped over one warm blue eye, the perfect proportions of her mouth still sliding beside my cock, her legs wrapped around my calf, her knickers slipping against my thigh.

I wrap her secrets in a bow, and pass them along to those who can use them.

I keep my hands buried in her hair.

I keep her secrets for myself.

#drabble #my fic #Remus Lupin #narcissa malfoy

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elsanna-shenanigans · 3 years

Text

April Contest Submission #3: Prism of White

Words: ca. 5,200 Setting: Modern AU Lemon: No CW: none

Light filtered through the window casting the room in a golden glow. Papers lay crumpled and torn on the coffee table and the floor beneath. Anna tossed her sketchbook on the table and threw her pencil next to it. Weeks passed and she still didn’t have another good idea for her next art piece. Her hands grasped a pillow on the couch beside her. Her freckled face buried in the soft cushion, a muffled groan joining the white-noise of the television in the background.

Art had been a passion of hers ever since her stubby toddler fingers first grasped that pack of cheap crayons. Her parents laid scrap paper out in front of her at the kitchen table. The adults left the room shortly after thinking little Anna would be occupied for a little more than five minutes. Overjoyed with all the colors in the box, now strewn over the table some rolling to the floor, little Anna picked up the green and began to scribble in swirls and loops like any child does. Her mother came back ten minutes later to check on her and grab a cup of afternoon coffee. A gasp tore from her throat and her blue eyes widened at the site. The walls had been little Anna’s first canvas.

She laughed at the memory, the sound muffled by the pillow still pressed against her face. The scolding she received after that event lost to the feeling of joy at the colors swirling around her. Back then art had been carefree and fun. Now the blank pages in her sketchbook mocked her with that textured whiteness.

Twenty-one years of sketching, painting, throwing color on canvas’ of varying degrees, making a life out of it. A dream come true. One that would have been impossible if not from the support of her friends and family. One person in particular. Elsa.

Little Elsa could light up Anna’s world by merely stepping into the room. She used to be so very timid and quiet, often opting to hide in the corner with a book than engage with the other kids her age. Anna managed to pull her into their little games anyway.

As the two grew older their interests diverged slightly. They both found joy in the arts, joining in theater at school for fun, playing and listening to music (although their tastes differed vastly at times), and studying the history behind all forms of art. A bond formed and kept them close even when one started painting and sketching while the other used words to color with.

A writer’s search history and an artist’s eye left plenty for friends to laugh and grow concerned about.

Anna lifted her head from the pillow feeling someone fiddle with her twin braids. She smiled already knowing who it was behind her.

“What are you so distressed about?” Elsa hummed out sweetly. Her eyes swept over the paper littered around and the discarded sketchbook. “Can’t think of a good idea?”

Anna groaned again and buried her head back in the pillow. Her reply came muffled and she knew Elsa wouldn’t be able to understand a word of it. This problem she had wasn’t that much of a big deal. Anna knew that. Every artist had periods where they couldn’t draw. An artblock as she so affectionately called it. But this felt different. She had ideas. The vision of what she wanted to draw sat crystal clear in her mind’s eye, but when she picked up the pencil each stroke on the page felt weighted. She knew what she wanted to put on the paper. She hated each stroke she made and the finished result. Weeks of this and the stress of not creating made her head spin. The ride she had been on had stopped with her sitting upside down unable to do anything.

The couch dipped beside her as Elsa sat down. Pale hands pulled the pillow Anna was secretly hoping would suffocate her until freckled cheeks and a pouty lip were visible. Anna whined and reached out for the cushion. Elsa held it out of reach ignoring the dark spot where Anna drooled on it.

“Ah-Ah,” Elsa wagged her finger. Anna’s shoulder slumped forward in despair. “You can get the pillow back and resume your little, um , whatever you were doing after you tell me what’s wrong.”

Sea-green eyes lowered to the open sketchbook, a frown settled on her lips. “I - I hate everything I make and it’s driving me crazy.”

Elsa set the pillow aside and shuffled closer to Anna. She gave her knee a reassuring squeeze and gently asked, “Is it one of your artblocks?”

Anna shook her head, braids swaying. “No, this is different. I know what I want to draw, I have the motivation to draw, but I can’t seem to like what I make. I hate the finished result, even if it looks how I wanted.” Her eyes glistened with frustrated tears, “It’s been like this for weeks and I’m going insane trying to fix it.”

Elsa cupped her cheek, running her thumb soothingly over the skin. Anna nuzzled into her palm, eyes fluttering shut at the coolness of her skin. “Anna,” she opened her eyes to see an amused smirk dancing on pink lips, a glint of humor dancing in blue eyes, “is this your first burnout?”

Her whole body stilled at the question. Burnout had been something she knew her artist friends over the internet talked about. How it could hit someone suddenly or slowly creep on through the years. The former could usually be seen coming and dealt with by short breaks, but the latter often crippled careers as it snuck in through the cracks undetected and infected everything slowly like a poison. Anna gasped lightly at the realization.

The ride she had been on for the majority of her adult life (granted it had only been 3 years since she graduated high school) was fast paced and constantly moving. She did not stop or get off, only urging it to move faster and faster. The need to create and improve outweighed any thought or concern the stress her body and mind were put under. She ignored all the signs, the warnings people told her to look for and now the stress had crushed her.

“What am I gonna do?” Her voice came out broken and unsure. Burnout was a completely foreign field for her. There was no map for her, no field guide to help her navigate through this problem. People mention taking breaks and stepping away from art for awhile to recharge, but that seemed impossible. How could Anna stop creating, when all she wanted to do was create?

“Is this new project for a client?” Elsa noticed the distress on Anna’s face and dropped her hand down from her cheek to grasp shaking ones.

“No, it’s one I plan to sell, or have prints made for my shop.”

Elsa nodded, “Okay. And do you have any client work lined up for the month?”

Anna answered in the negative. She had started a new system for her works where certain months she decided not to take on any client work. It was an attempt not to be too overwhelmed working on custom pieces that allowed her the freedom to work on her own as well. The system worked fairly well until this burnout happened. At least it happened now instead of when she had to work on pieces for clients.

“Okay, okay we can definitely work with this,” she breathed out a plan already forming in her mind. She knew Anna wouldn’t take a break willingly, that wasn’t her style. She would draw and paint until her hands fell off and even then she’d learn to use her feet instead. Nothing would stop her, not even the end of the world. The complete opposite of Elsa who procrastinated her own projects till motivation was high or the deadline approached. She often wondered how they never drove each other crazy doing things so differently. Instead of finding a reason she just blamed it on love. It was better not to question it anyway.

“Anna,” she turned and faced the younger woman determinedly, prepared for protestation, “do you trust me?”

Anna cocked an eyebrow and smirked. “Of course I do, silly. It’s part of why I married you.”

Elsa smiled and held her tongue to keep from commenting. That experience would be one she would never forget. She at her wife, eyes bright and said,

“Then you’ll understand what I’m about to do.”

Anna’s gut twisted in apprehension. She trusted Elsa with her life, but the twinkle in pale blue eyes told her not all of this would be a pleasant experience.

—-

“Anna, what color is the sky?”

From her position in the passenger seat of the car Anna scowled, her eyes screwed shut in a desperate attempt to fall back asleep. Elsa refused to let her in on the plan the day before, only telling her to pack a days worth of clothes and food and then promptly took all her art supplies and locked them inside a large chest. She never quite figured out why they had a large empty chest lying around and when she asked Elsa the older girl shrugged saying something about secrets.

“What.” Anna grumbled confused at the question and irritated at being woken up at three in the morning and rushed out of the house.

Elsa glanced at her from the driver’s seat. “What color is the sky?” She turned her attention back to the road, very much awake and relaxed. The half empty cup of coffee sitting in the cup holder helped.

“What kind of question is that? The sky is blue!” Anna twisted over and leaned her head on the window, arms folded across her chest. Elsa still had yet to tell her where they were going and only mentioned a three hour car ride. That left plenty of time for her to catch up on sleep if her wife would let her.

“No, not - “ Elsa laughed at herself, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I meant what color is the sky right now?”

Anna cracked one eye open and grimaced at the passing street light that blinded her. “Black,” she stated matter-of-factly. Elsa hummed a smile on her face. She let Anna sleep the rest of the way, picking up and sipping her coffee. The low songs of the radio filling the silence in a quiet peace. She didn’t care for the station, but it was one of Anna’s favorites. The little things would make the difference on this trip.

Barely any time had passed, that’s what it felt like to Anna anyway, before a hand on her shoulder gently shook her awake. “What is it now,” she sighed tiredly and shuffled further into the car door. When she agreed to whatever Elsa had planned, losing sleep hadn’t even crossed her mind. She knew she was being unfair to her wife. Elsa only wanted to help. The stress of her burnout had taken its toll without consent and Anna wanted nothing more than to curl up in a corner and sulk. Sleep was the closest she could get right now, but the woman driving had other plans.

“What color is the sky now,” she asked eagerly. Her pale hand fell away and gripped the steering wheel again.

Anna squinted at the light outside. The night had faded to be greeted by the light of the sun just peeking over the horizon. Reds and oranges bled into pale blue as the orb of yellow and white ascended slowly. Any other day the she might have appreciated seeing the sunrise, she might have stared at the way the light shone and glistened along Elsa’s skin, bathing her in rays of gold. But it only annoyed her at having the same question asked in place of sleep. Still she answered,

“Red.”

Her eyes closed again with the plan to catch more sleep. Elsa didn’t bother her after that. She sipped her fresh cup of coffee, having stopped for gas before the sunrise. Anna grumbled under her breath adjusting to get comfortable in her seat again. Pink lips turned up at the corner in amusement. Anna may be grumpy beyond belief this morning and she knew it was her doing. The outcome of this trip will be worth it. Elsa knew it, could feel it in her bones. She could only hope Anna didn’t throw her in the lake as payback when they got there.

Elsa smirked watching, pulling out a pair of sunglasses and slipping them on. The day was only beginning. The coffee singed her tongue as she took another sip.

If Anna did throw her in the lake, she made sure to have plenty of jokes ready.

Gravel crunched under the tires as the car pulled off the main road. The road itself wasn’t too bad in terms of a drive. Anna woke up quietly glancing around at the trees and greenery around them. She said nothing to tell Elsa she was awake and continued to stare out the window. The sight felt familiar, she knew this place but couldn’t quite care enough to place it. Sleep still clouded mind and even if it was Wednesday she liked to sleep in late and stay up late instead. This whole early to bed and early to rise business wasn’t for her.

A light chuckle from her left told Anna all she needed to know. “There’s hot chocolate for you since you’re not the biggest fan of coffee.” Elsa never took her eyes off the road and merely motioned to the cup holder between them.

“Thanks.” Anna took the cup nearly dropping it. No protective sleeve saved her from burning fingers, not even the paper cup itself. “Geez, why’s it so hot!” She glared at her sister.

“Didn’t know how long you were going to stay asleep so I asked them to make it extra hot.”

“Extra hot,” Anna guffawed, “This cup feels like it came straight out of Orodruin itself! You could have got me a protective sleeve for it or something!”

“I didn’t know how long you were going to sleep!” Anna folded her arms at Elsa’s response, “Besides, you always get annoyed at the sleeves opting to burn your fingers anyway.”

“Yes, but the cups are never that hot!”

Elsa only smiled.

The car slowed and stopped with a slight jolt. Anna hadn’t touched her drink again still waiting for it to cool down from Mount Doom level temperatures. She figured out why this place had seemed so familiar. Her parents used to take her camping out here toward the end of summer, always running around the lake and sometimes taking a ferry over to the small island.

“I grabbed us a backcountry permit if you wanted to stay away from the normal campsites.” Elsa held up the piece of paper before tucking it into her jacket pocket. Anna hummed her agreement and stretched in her seat.

“I’m gonna find the bathroom then we can hike to wherever.” She ducked out of the car, breathing in the fresh air. A warm feeling of nostalgia washed over her at the familiar sight. She hadn’t come back to this park in years. Anna walked across the parking lot toward the public restroom. Coming back to the lake hadn’t even crossed her mind. It’s almost sad really. To forget about a place she once loved so deeply, have it take up a corner of her mind as a memory she kept but never thought about.

She turned the faucet off and shook stray water drops from her hands, wiping the remaining wetness on her jeans. Anna never trusted the automatic air dryers.

When she arrived back to the car, Anna bit back a bark of laughter. Elsa had strapped each and every pack and bag to herself and looked overloaded, but all too eager like a puppy. She smiled broadly at Anna and handed her the much cooler cup, “Come on, let’s go! I know of the perfect spot!”

Anna took the cup, her shoulders shaking as she held in her laughter.

“Wait, Elsa. Let me carry some things.” Elsa paused mid-step and tilted her head. All the coffee had gone to her brain in the most adorable way. “How did you even manage to hold all the bags, even mine?” Anna pointedly looked at the deep green duffle bag with a bright orange patch on the side.

“I played a lot of tetris as a kid.” She shrugged but gave Anna two of the bags anyway.

Anna adjusted the strap of a bag on her shoulder. “Alright, now show me this perfect spot.”

The blonde grinned and grabbed Anna’s hand practically dragging her along toward the trail and into the bush. Anna could only keep up and pray her hot chocolate didn’t spill.

—-

Anna had to admit the spot Elsa had picked was perfect. A little spot hidden behind dense shrubbery. Well off the path and if someone did make it this far the thorn bushes were certainly a discouragement. She knew she’d be picking the sharp thorns out of her clothes for a while and if it weren’t for the view and the feeling of peace she’d make Elsa do it without a second thought. Anna’s had her second thought and is still intent on making Elsa do the work.

“Nice view, right?” Elsa wiped the dirt off her hands stepping over to Anna. She had finished setting up the tent and decided to see what was keeping her wife. The view itself looked over the entirety of the lake and the mountains surrounding it. The trees swayed in the breeze.

“It’s beautiful.” Anna tucked a piece of hair back into place. Elsa stepped up beside her. They stared at the scene in silence. A sense of peace forming around them. Anna closed her eyes listening to the birds singing in the trees and the wind rustling the branches. The smell of the air and the sun on her skin eased the tension in her shoulders she didn’t realize had been there. Anna felt free like she could step off the overlook and just fly. Elsa smiled at the content look on her face.

“Anna,” the red-head hummed and turned to face her, “what color is the sky?”

The question had her sighing exasperatedly. How many times would she ask that damned question. It didn’t make sense. She had answered it twice already. Inhaling deeply, Anna decided not to let this ruin the moment. She looked up at the sky, fluffy clouds dotting the expansive space.

“Blue. It’s blue.”

Elsa made no comment. Anna would have yelled at her but the pure love in pale blue eyes killed the thought before it formed. She found herself smiling back and shaking her head lightly. “You’re lucky I love you so much.”

Elsa chuckled, “I know. Now come on, let’s go exploring a bit.”

Anna followed eagerly. Exploring she could do.

—-

Night life in the forest seemed impossibly loud compared to the day. Anna didn’t mind much. She found the noise comforting in a way. All the little life coming out with the safety of darkness. Comfortable now that the sun has gone and they can hide in the shadows of the night. She could understand it. The night offered a sort of peace the day could not. She loved the sun, loved the hustle and bustle of day life, but the night hit differently. She closed her eyes, a soft smile on her lips. The day’s activities replayed in her mind’s eye.

After running around, revisiting old trails and memories and making some new ones, the two women sat around a little fire. Anna made Elsa pick out all the thorns and burrs while she roasted marshmallows. While Elsa didn’t agree with s’mores before dinner she let it slide this once.

They relaxed after that, Anna rigged a stick with fishing gear and went fishing. She didn’t catch anything. She came back soaking wet and Elsa only raised a brow. She changed into some dry clothes and sat by the fire to get warm. Elsa turned from her book then, a cheeky grin on her face and said,

“You know I love it when you -” Anna smacked her before she should finish.

Now they lay peacefully staring up at the stars.

“Anna,” Elsa started in the quiet. Anna hummed in acknowledgment before her mind jump started back to nearly every quiet moment previously,

“You better not ask me what color the sky is or I swear to god you will find yourself at the bottom of the lake!”

The crickets chirped.

“What hue doth the heavens above appears to thine viewing orbs?”

Anna laughed. She laughed loud and hard. She knew Elsa would find a way to rephrase the question the second she threatened her, but she never expected her to phrase it like that. She rolled onto her side and clutched her stomach from the force of her laughter. “I-I can’t -” she wheezed, tears pricking the corners of her eyes, “I can’t breath.”

“You should have let me ask the question normal then.” The cheekiness in her voice had Anna swatting blindly behind her. Her hand connected with nothing but air.

“Fine, this is the last time I’m answering that stupid question,” Anna finally said after she stopped laughing and caught her breath. She rolled back to look at the sky and exhaled deeply a smile on her face, “Black, the sky is black.”

“Wrong.”

Anna propped herself up on her elbow. Wrong. The first response back to her answers and it was to tell her, Anna, that she answered wrong.

“What, how can I be wrong? Are you seeing the same sky I’m seeing?” Anna grit her teeth ready to fully argue her point.

“No, no calm down, feisty pants. Right now you could argue it’s black, or a very deep blue.”

“Then how am I wrong?!”

Elsa kept her gaze on the sky. “I asked you three four times today what color the sky was. Only two of the answers were the same. Can you explain that?” “The sky changes colors, you numpty.”

“So what color is the sky then if it changes?”

Anna didn’t have an answer to that. Elsa turned to face her, the moonlight making her blue eyes glow in the night.

“What color do you say the sky is then,” Anna asked, moving closer to Elsa. The night breeze had a bit of a chill, but she didn’t feel like getting a jacket. Her arm brushed against her wife’s.

“If you asked me what color the sky is, anytime of day or night, I’d tell you it’s white. I know it’s crazy, but think about it. In general people say the sky is blue, but it’s not always blue. You said it yourself, the sky changes colors, so why is it blue then?” She raised a hand and traced along various constellations as she spoke. “Is it because that’s the color we see it as mostly. Blue during the day? The history behind it is actually fascinating, but I won’t go into that. But the sky can be any color depending on when you look. Black, dark blue, orange and red, yellow and pink, purple and light blue, even green. The sky isn’t just one color or one shade. It’s all of them all the time, we just only see what the light shows us. That’s why I say it’s white. White reflects all colors, the sky cycles through the colors based on a bunch of scientific stuff that I’m a bit too tired to get into. I didn’t really prepare to get into that bit anyway.” she laughed at herself.

Anna lay in silence. She never really thought about it like that.

“But why white, why not black?”

Elsa sucked in a small breath before answering, “Black is the absence of colors. If the sky was black that’s all we’d see. A black hole sucking the colors away and leaving nothing behind but darkness. That’s why it’s white and not black.”

“Geez, that took a depressing turn.”

Elsa hummed and entwined her fingers with Anna’s. “Think of it as a prism. The sun shines through and casts the colors fresh and new through the day.”

“A blank canvas.” Anna found herself mumbling aloud. A blank canvas to be painted each day in the same ways that vastly differed if you looked hard enough. The subtle hues shifting day to day, the contrast of reds and oranges against purples and blues. All of it spinning endlessly in a cycle, a prism of color splattered across a canvas of white that never is seen as white.

The two remained watching the stars for a bit longer. The little dots of color splattered across the dark sky. Almost a reverse of my freckles. Anna mused to herself. The crisp air raised goosebumps on her arms.

Anna went to sleep that night, snuggled in her wife’s arms, feeling so refreshed and full of love she thought it might overflow. And it did. Her emotions flowed over in little drops that ran down her cheeks and she whispered over and over how much she loved Elsa. In turn with each ‘I love you’ a kiss was placed on her head, her cheek, her lips, and her body squeezed a bit tighter.

The white sky, painted with the color of night, left them to rest peacefully. The moon watching over them.

The trunk slammed shut and all the bags and trash were loaded in. Not nearly as neatly as before but as long as it wasn’t falling out Anna didn’t care. She awoke buzzing with renewed energy ready and eager to get back to work. Her burnout long forgotten. The three hour car ride didn’t seem so long even though Anna sat wide awake the entire trip. Elsa would probably need a day to recover from the amount of talking Anna did in that small time. Maybe a new book and quiet day in a coffee shop or a day spent curled up in her bed with nothing but mindless games to entertain herself with. Anna made a note to thank Elsa for forcing her out for a day, whatever she wanted.

Anna went to work the moment she stepped through the doorway. Pencil marks flew across the page in hurried fashion almost as if the vision would fade before she could get it down. Supplies were strewn out over the kitchen table and counter tops as Anna fell into what Elsa called ‘The detonation zone’. It was a mess, but also the time and place where Anna seemed to get the most work done.

Guess I’m not cooking. Elsa thought and picked up the phone. She was kinda in the mood for pizza anyway.

Pale blue eyes watched from where she leaned against the wall as the blur of auburn worked in a frenzy. Her movements were both hurried and agonizingly slow to preserve the details in a way only Anna managed to do. A mesmerizing sight she could watch for hours if not for the delivery man ringing her doorbell.

She made sure Anna knew of the food sitting in the living room.

“Okay, thank you!” Came the reply from the kitchen. Elsa chuckled and shook her head taking her own slice or two of pizza. She disappeared into their shared room for the rest of the evening. The one day trip seemed to have worked in Anna’s favor. Elsa made the mental note to schedule more day trips once in a while.

Time ticked by and Anna didn’t even notice. The pizza had gone cold and the sunlight faded away. The brush in her hand was set in the water cup for the last time.

“There.” Anna sat back finished. She smiled at the creation in front of her leaving it to dry as her stomach made known it’s need for food. The clock read late into the night, or early into the morning, depending on how you look at it. Maybe setting an alarm for food and breaks would be a good idea in the future. She decided it’d be worth a shot if only to save her from a stiff back at the end of the day.

Her paint stained hands grabbed a cold slice of pizza and promptly inhaled it followed by three more. The kitchen sat in a disastrous mess and the urge to put off cleaning up until the morning hit hard. Anna considered cleaning up the worst part about doing art. Elsa would likely clean up for her in the morning since she always woke up first. Anna knew that and decided not to let that happen. As much as Elsa said she didn’t mind and that’s what she signed up for by marrying her, Anna wouldn’t have it. Not after what she’d done for her the past day, or really since they first-started dating.

Anna turned the faucet on, warm water cleaning her stained hands, and she began the cleanup.

It wasn’t until around four in the morning that she finally headed to bed. The bedroom door creaked softly. Elsa snored softly, curled on her side snuggling a pillow. The sight made Anna fall in love with her all over again. Anna would never get tired of seeing her wife in such a peaceful and vulnerable state. Gently, she climbed into bed beside her.

“I love you.” she whispered and kissed Elsa’s cheek. Elsa let go of the pillow at the contact and fully snuggled against her wife. Anna wrapped her arms around her and kissed her softly again.

“I love you so much.”

Elsa woke to gentle rays of sun dancing across her face. Untangling herself from Anna she stepped outside of the room. She paused halfway closing the door and looked on fondly at the sleeping mess of her wife.

The kitchen was spotless, save for the canvas resting on the table. Even the sink was clean, supplies neatly drying on the rack where they were supposed to be. A smile graced her lips.

The coffee pot sputtered to life as it began brewing. It was only nine o’clock and Anna likely wouldn’t be up for another few hours. Being your own bosses had their perks. The brown liquid steamed as she poured it into a plain ceramic mug. The rich scent very much welcome this morning.

Anna would always scold her for drinking too much coffee. The thought brought another smile to her face. She really loved Anna and all that came with her.

Coffee in hand Elsa approached the canvas on the kitchen table. She made sure to stay for enough back that if something drastic happened her coffee would not stain the creation. She rounded the table and the sight made her pause. The colors and detail splattered across it showed just how much that camping trip had meant to her.

“Oh Anna,” her eyes lined with overflowing emotions as she took in the painting. “You’re still full of surprises.”

#elsanna #submission #April 2021 contest #prompt: break

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thehopeofitalll · 3 years

Text

2. enchanted.

THEY MEET! THEY MEET! anyways...just a suggestion, but you should probably listen to taylor swift's "enchanted" because, well it's an amazing song, what more can i say?

read it on ao3.

“Look who’s here!” Thalia said, grinning. “My…” She drummed her fingers against the table, making up for an imaginary drum roll, as a figure walked towards Annabeth, Jason and Thalia.

“...girlfriend!” Thalia finished, a rare smile on her face that she always showed to her aforementioned girlfriend.

“Reyna!” Annabeth exclaimed, smiling as she stood up to hug her friend. “You’re back? I thought you said it’d take you a few more months!”

“As you know,” Reyna began in a horrible imitation of a British accent, struggling to hold back her grin. “I am very well versed in the art of lying.”

“One of the truest things you’ve said in, like, your entire life I think,” Thalia added, getting a playful punch from her girlfriend.

“Still know how to be a badass, Chase?” Reyna asked, raising an eyebrow.

Annabeth smirked. “You should have figured that being a badass has been in my blood since I was born,” She replied.

“Maybe I could race you,” pondered Reyna. “It’d be fun to see you lose.”

“Hey! That’s not fair,” Annabeth muttered, folding her arms. “You’ve literally got a sports scholarship based on your running, and I bet you’ve practiced a lot all the way back in Berkeley.”

Reyna shrugged. “Yeah, you'd lose either way. So, it’s been a few years since we’ve seen each other and things have certainly changed. Someone’s got a little famous.”

“All because of her wonderful manager,” Thalia said, proudly.

“Oh shush,” Annabeth said, folding her arms. “Also, Thalia, about the whole getting-away-from-the-world-for-a-few-hours thing, I’m planning on sneaking away to Coney Island.”

“Coney Island?”

“Hey, I’ve wanted to go see it for a long time now, and this might be the perfect opportunity,” Annabeth reasoned.

“But so many people there could see you!” Thalia argued. “Like, thousands! It isn’t exactly the most secluded place for someone who wants to be anonymous and all that shit.”

“Relax, you know how good I am at disguising myself. I promise not to let the paparazzi get a hold of me. Okay?” Annabeth asked.

Thalia hesitated, then sighed. “Well…” she began. “Okay, fine. But you better be careful, young lady.”

“Yes, mom,” Annabeth said, rolling her eyes in Classic Annabeth Style, her voice dry with irony.

Usually it was Annabeth who was called “The Mom Friend” of the group (though she preferred to be the one who always advises her friends to not do the dumb shit they eventually end up doing. It wasn’t her fault she was the only one who had common sense).

“So?” Annabeth asked. “What’s the schedule for today?”

“Well, I’ve managed to give you around roughly two to three hours of free time, but besides that we’ve got the usual shooting. Thankfully, I think you have only a few scenes today, and I’m guessing the other stars are shooting most of their scenes today,” Thalia said, whipping out her clipboard.

“Fun.”

—🎡—

“Late to work again, Perry Johansson?” Mr. D exclaimed, with a groan.

“Sorry, Mr. D!” Percy said, sheepishly. He’d thought it was a Sunday morning, pressed the snooze button on his alarm five times and was late to the cafe for work. “Won’t happen again!”

“That’s what you told a week back!”

“Rough morning, huh?” Percy’s best friend, Piper McLean, asked, her eyes surveying his more-dishevelled-than-usual hair.

“That would be an understatement,” Percy replied, groaning.

“Nightmares?” Piper asked.

He nodded, as she gave him a sympathetic look.

It was common knowledge to all of his friends that he had nightmares, caused by his abusive past. Sometimes he woke up, sweating, his throat sore after yelling in his sleep. When he stayed with his mom, and his stepdad, she would usually rush into the room as soon as the screaming began. But once he moved out, he learnt to calm himself down. It didn’t help though, he found himself having panic attacks while thrashing around in his bed.

“And, hm, let me guess,” Piper began, feigning to be in deep thought. “You stayed up all night painting?”

He rolled his eyes, confirming that she was correct. “The nightmares were getting too much for me,” he mumbled.

Piper nodded, staying silent. She, and all of his friends, knew about his past. It wasn’t exactly easy to hide the long scar that ran down your back, when you were the captain of your swim team back at school.

“Well,” he said, drawing out the l. “How are things with Jason? Didn’t you tell me that you started dating?”

“Yeah…” Piper smiled. “He’s amazing, Percy. He cares a lot about me. I think he’s...perfect.”

He grinned. “Well, years of screaming at both of you to date each other finally paid off,” he said.

“Yes, Jackson, I truly appreciate it,” Piper said sarcastically. She turned around to greet the customer who had just come in, with a perfect smile on her face. “Hello and welcome to Olympus!”

Percy pulled out his phone, scrolling through his nearly non-existent proof of his social life, not really paying attention. He eyed a few messages from his cousin, Thalia Grace, planning to reply to it later, when a single word caught his eyes:

Annabeth.

Wait, what about Annabeth? he typed back hurriedly, fixing the typos that came along the way.

She replied almost immediately.

Knew that would catch your eyes, Kelp Head. - Pinecone Face

He let out a soft huff, but grinning affectionately nevertheless. He could literally hear the smirk in her message.

We’ve talked about this, Thalia. But what did she say?

Don’t worry, she didn’t say anything. I just mentioned her while reminding you about how dad wants you to come to dinner. And I know you well enough to figure out that you’d never check a message the first time you see it, unless it mentioned someone like, you know, Annabeth. - Pinecone Face.

You’re an asshole, Thals.

I know right! It’s one of the many things I’m good at, thinking of adding it to my resume~ - Pinecone Face.

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. His eyes were trained on his phone as Thalia continued to be typing something more.

Don’t forget about the dinner! Dad specifically requested that you and Nico must be there, or something. - Pinecone Face.

He was going to type back a quick yeah, okay and head back to the front, where Piper was greeting customers, when another message from Thalia popped up.

Hey, if you’re lucky, we might even run into Annabeth ;) - Pinecone Face

Not the winky face, he replied, unable to stop the grin from coming on his face.

—🎡—

There I was again tonight forcing laughter, faking smiles Same old tired, lonely place Walls of insincerity Shifting eyes and vacancy vanished when I saw your face All I can say is it was enchanting to meet you. —🎡—

Percy yelled, “I’m leaving as soon as I finish three more orders, you hear me?”

“I hear you, alright!” Piper yelled back, as she picked up her phone and walked towards him.

“I honestly wonder why I’m such a good friend,” Percy said, leaning against the counter. “Why am I always the one who covers the last 15 minutes of his friend’s shift?”

“Because you love me, and think I’m the most amazing person to ever walk on earth,” Piper replied, grinning proudly, as she flicked her dark brown hair over her shoulder.

“Of course I do,” Percy said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Now, go meet Mr. Loverboy.”

“And you?” Piper asked. “What are you gonna be doing this evening?”

“Visiting the Ferris wheel in Coney Island,” Percy replied.

“Again?” Piper asked. “You were there, like, three weeks back. You need to get a social life, Perce.”

“Mm, I was just planning on spending my life with blue cookies,” he said. “And, it isn’t a waste of time. I learn more about landscapes and silhouettes, you know.”

“Ah yes, painting stuff,” Piper summed up. “Honestly, I don’t understand you at times, and we’ve been friends for so long.”

“I’m an artiste, Pipes,” Percy replied, grinning, with a terrible French accent on the artiste.

“Mhm, sure,” Piper mumbled. “Okay, don’t mess up the rest of the orders. I’ll see you soon.”

As Piper made her way out of the shop, Percy sighed. While he lazily waited for someone new to come in, he found himself bored, again.

He could blame his restlessness on his ADHD but in reality he never wanted to work here, he just needed some money while he struggled with becoming a popular artist, and he had to work here until the aquarium nearby finally accepted his resume. Then he’d be out of here.

He was tired. Tired of faking smiles, tired of seeing people bustling around in here, tired of vacant spaces. He couldn’t wait to leave this place behind him.

While he ruminated about this, another customer walked in, wearing a dark blue hoodie, with the hood pulled all the way down to their nose.

Percy stifled a groan and took his place at the counter. “Hey, welcome to Olympus Cafe. What would you like today?”

“One Chocolate Creme Frappuccino, please,” came the woman’s voice. He nodded, slightly pleased that he wasn’t the only one in the world who liked that drink off their menu.

He went inside to prepare her drink. When he came back, she was resting her head on her palm. “Name?” he asked.

“Oh? Uh, Annabe-Annabel,” she replied, stuttering a little bit.

He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t question her. Writing Annabel on the cup, he pushed a straw in her drink. “That’ll be $4.95,” he said.

She nodded, reaching to her pocket. Percy always hated this part of delivering an order: that awkward silence while the customer got out their money.

He looked at the woman before him, as she fumbled around while bringing out her wallet. He could barely see her, but she had tan skin and maybe he caught a few wisps of golden hair. A five dollar bill fell out of her wallet, floating towards the ground.

“Shit,” she muttered.

Percy tried to hide a smile at that. He didn’t know why a random woman before him mumbling profanities was amusing to him. She bent down to pick up the dollar, and when she stood up her hood had fallen. Percy looked at her, then suddenly stopped fidgeting around.

Was it…? It was.

He knew how she looked from their time in high school. Stormy grey eyes. Honey blonde hair. He definitely knew her, knew her all too well.

She quickly pushed the bill towards him, and pulled her hood back up. A faint flicker of recognition passed through those intimidating eyes, as he took the dollar.

He picked up the cup, and handed it to her. She reached out for the cup, her fingers slightly brushing against his. A little spark seemed to drive up his arm, and despite himself, he grinned goofily.

“It was enchanting to meet you,” He said, then winked at her.

She rolled her eyes in annoyance, a faint blush of red coating her cheeks nevertheless. “That’s the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard,” she said, her voice low.

He continued to grin as she looked up, sea green eyes meeting grey, then turned around to leave the shop. There was no mistake about it. It was her. Annabeth.

Annabeth Chase.

#percabeth #percabeth au #the fast times #coney island #maybe i'm just biased but enchanted is an amazing song #still horrible at tags

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gingerhulksmash · 5 years

Text

The sketchbook.

Hazel has gotten used to throwing away little scrap bits of paper bearing any marks of her boredom during senate meetings, but she’s beginning to regret it now, as she’s bundling old meeting notes into a recycling bag. They never contained anything vital to the meetings, just stickmen blowing rude speech bubbles, games of hangman and tic-tac-toe, Jason’s chicken scratch scrawl asking did she want to get donuts after the meeting? She can’t remember if she’d said yes, or if she’d smiled, or if she’d told him she had drills to run.

She hopes she’d said yes. She hopes she’d scribbled yes, I would love to get donuts with you, so he had known for sure that there was nothing else she’d rather have done that day. If she’d known what was coming, she’d have asked him, after every meeting, and stretched out what should have been a longer friendship. What should have been more time with her first friend in Camp Jupiter. What should have been more time with someone she saw as a—

As a—

She’s getting distracted, and her eyes are starting to prickle. With a shuddering sigh, Hazel goes back to gutting Jason’s old desk. Purging it of all traces of it’s former occupant, though she’s fighting the urge to have it towed towards his funeral pyre. Whoever sat at it next wouldn’t be quite so deserving, not of the title, not of the office, not of the desk so covered with the imprint of his late night work and coffee spills, she begins to wonder if they couldn’t conjure Jason’s soul from out of the grainy wood itself.

But, she reminds herself, it’s just a desk. No more a part of Jason than the office, the chair, the pages and pages of work scattered around. As she plucks the sheets from the drawers, her fingers brush the soft leather spine of an old sketchbook. She gasps quietly, fingers jarring with uncertainty — as if she’d found a diary, some private relic that Jason would have forbidden her to touch if he’d been there.

He is not there, and Hazel pulls the book from it’s hidden corner of the desk drawer, glancing around to make sure she is completely alone.

Inside is a comfortingly familiar mess of writing, and drawings. Almost every page is stained with coffee or ink — after the Giant War, Jason’s hands had developed a slight tremor, and she sees it in the unsteady lines in the details. The pages are dated, signed, almost pedantically. Habits of a boy whose life had been pulled out from under him, once, twice, thrice. An ache in her chest tells her that he was making sure he forgot nothing, that he had something to fall back on to remember himself, if no one else did. Then, as she turns the pages, loose pieces begin to fall out. The first one she picks up again knocks the wind out of her a little.

She’s looking at her own face, sketched clumsily in blue ink. He’s not the most articulate artist — the eyes are uneven, the light seems to be coming from all directions, and not a shadow or crease in the clothes visible — but the light strokes of the pen, the careful curve of her nose and every stray hair, speaks volumes. Signed, dated, and labelled with her name, he has captured a moment she can’t remember at all. More loose sheets contain faces of friends, Frank, Reyna, Gwen, Bobby, Dakota — it goes on, and on. The sketches get better the closer they get to his last visit. She makes more appearances, as do their new friends. She gets misty eyed over drawings of Leo and Piper, passages written about Festus and how to repair him, just the way Leo taught them in case he couldn’t do it himself.

The margins are full of birthdays, important dates, minute sketches of New Rome and Camp Halfblood, flashes of scenes from quests. He has not travelled far, and the places he has been allowed were chained to danger. But to anyone who had not known Jason, it read like a How To Remember Your Friends guide. Like a memoir. He’d even kept all the little notes that they had traded in senate meetings, wedged in between loose sheets and sometimes glued to the pages. He’d kept the ridiculous drawings as if they were precious photos. It’s getting harder and harder to keep a straight face.

The last piece she picks off the floor is an old drawing of Thalia. She’d recognise the face anywhere, even with Jason’s haphazard drawing; blue eyes overlined so vividly, the blue ink had seeped through to the other side of the page, the hair an inky splash, and freckles dotted across a rakish grin. It was not signed, or dated, but it had one sentence scratched across so messily, he must have written it in a fit of something.

She’s real, his writing reads. She’s real, her name is Thalia Grace. She’s not imaginary. I’m not the only one. My sister is real.

Something wet splatters on the page, and the ink bleeds blue down Thalia’s face. Hazel forgets to clean the rest of the desk, forgets she is surrounded by scraps of paper, and dust, and cobwebs. She sits on Jason’s chair, rests her head on her arms, and bawls.

——————————

Waiting for Nico to appear sends her back to her first days at Camp Jupiter. Hazel doesn’t know if she’ll see him, if he’ll warn her of an absence or a visit. Today of all days, she does not blame him for hiding a little. They grieve the same loss in different ways, but she needs her brother here, too. She needs the reassurance, and the understanding, and the presence to prove to her she’s not on her own.

Just like in old times, when her stomach is in knots about Nico not showing up, it’s a Grace who approaches her with a kind hand on her shoulder. But when Hazel turns to face Thalia, her heart leaps to her throat.

Thalia looks like she’s been quietly rusting the past few days. Pale, shoulders slack, her hair dripping down her face. She is not wearing her circlet, her eyes look bloodshot and grey. If someone told her that grief could rob a soul of it’s immortality, Hazel would have believed it from just one look at Thalia.

But there she stood, with a strained smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, looking through Hazel.

‘You wanted to see me?’

Suddenly, Hazel feels like this is the worst idea she’s ever had. Jason’s sketchbook sits heavy in her bag, weighing her thoughts down until there is no room for words to form. All she can think to say is how are you, but it is the silliest question in the world right now.

‘I did,’ she sits as she speaks, gently prompting Thalia to do the same.

Thalia remains standing for an awkward minute, wondering perhaps if Hazel has worse news for her. She seems to decide it isn’t possible, and sits, avoiding eye contact all the while.

‘Will you be leaving soon?’ ‘Don’t know. We have some business to attend to while we’re here,’ Thalia’s voice is brittle, too.

Hazel has seen every sign of crying except the tears, and she can’t help but wince internally at how similar that was to Jason. The closest she’d ever come to seeing Jason weep was the night he had told her about Mount Othrys, and even then, he had held his composure for her sake. He did not like to make others feel obligated to comfort him, and she understood. If Thalia was anything like that...

‘You can’t take a few days off?’ Thalia makes a noise that might have passed as a laugh. ‘Hunters don’t get sick days, Levesque.’

It’s eerie. He’d almost said the same. Praetors don’t take sick days.

They fall into silence. Hazel wishes Nico would appear soon, so that someone who knew Thalia better could deliver the book. So someone who knew Thalia better could handle the fallout. So someone who knew Thalia better could talk about her brother, and not make Hazel feel stupid for ever thinking of Jason as her own family, when Thalia had more right to cry and scream and break down than she did.

But that didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel fair. And the anger hits Hazel as soon as she’s thought it. If rifling through that sketchbook had shown her anything, it was that Jason had been as desperate for family all his life, as she had been desperate to not feel alone when she reached camp, too. Nico and Thalia could come and go as they pleased, but Jason and Hazel — they had been the ones left behind, they had been the ones to pick each other up again. They had been the ones to reach their hands out, with every fear of rebuke and rejection, to any other lonely soul who might be in need.

Just as she starts to think, I should keep the book myself, Thalia sighs.

‘If I don’t do my job, someone else suffers,’ she says, after a long pause. ‘What would I do with my days off, anyway?’

To this, Hazel has no answer.

‘Are you taking any days off?’ Thalia continues, finally turning to look at her. ‘No. I... I can’t,’ ‘Why not? He’s like a brother to you, too.’

Again, her eyes prickle. A lump in her throat makes it hard to speak for a few more seconds, and in lieu of an answer, Hazel reaches a shaking hand towards Thalia’s. Thalia squeezes her fingers back weakly, and sniffs.

Slowly, Hazel reaches into her bag, and draws the sketchbook out. It feels heavier than anything she’s ever held before, but she holds it tightly, for fear that a second of slack grip would send all the pages flying into the air, never to be seen again. Gingerly holding it in her lap, she pulls the hand holding Thalia’s to rest on the cover.

‘What is that?’ ‘It’s Jason’s,’ immediately, as Hazel says it, Thalia stiffens. ‘We used to draw together, now and again, when he had time. He, um. He kept a lot of the things I drew for him, and — and drew some of his own,’

Thalia is looking at the book as if it’s going to bite her, but before she can pull her fingers loose, Hazel closes her hand over them, too soft to constrain, but quick enough that Thalia might understand it as a plea to hold on.

With a shaking voice, Hazel finishes. ‘I want you t — I think you should have it.’

‘What am I going to do with it?’ The rasp in her voice tells Hazel she might cry, or yell. Maybe both. Both might be good for her, for Hazel, too. ‘Look at it. On your days off,’ Hazel offers. ‘Look at it now.’ ‘I can’t. I didn’t even know he liked to draw,’ ‘That doesn’t matter,’

She peels the cover open, blinking furiously to ward away any tears, and lets Thalia try. When she doesn’t move, when Hazel can hear her breathing become difficult and tight, she turns the pages for her, shows her the friends and adventures scribbled there, the notes, the reminders. Her hands shake as she shows Thalia all the drawings of her, her eyes begin to blur.

‘He loved you so much. It doesn’t matter if you didn’t know this about him, he’d have wanted you to have it,’ her voice cracks, at long last. ‘He barely knew me at the start and he loved me, he wouldn’t have cared if — if you didn’t —’

Thalia’s hands on her face, wiping away her tears, are what alert her to the fact she’s crying. Through her hazy vision, she can make out Thalia’s stony expression, fighting valiantly to not break. How like Jason; these are the habits of someone unaccustomed to having the space and permission to feel. She was no older than Hazel, something she remembers with another swoop of pain — Thalia had died at thirteen, too. She understood the gravity of a second chance, and now the pain of having that blessing tainted by loss, by grief, by danger.

Before she knows it, Thalia has pulled her into a hug, one arm tight around her shoulders, the other hand at the back of her head. She lets Thalia hold onto her, until it feels like she is being leaned on in turn, until she hears the quiet shudder of a sob that gets louder and more heartbroken.

The book, still in Hazel’s clutches and pressed to her front, is forgotten and unimportant for the moment. But when this is over, she knows Thalia will take it. When this is over, Nico will come home to Hazel. Tyson will go home to Percy. The cohorts and cabins in both camps will close in on their loved ones, and Thalia will vanish into the wilderness with nothing but this book, and it will be all she has of him. Paper, ink, a leather back that will slowly but surely break apart over the years as it’s yanked open to bring Jason back to life, for a moment or two.

Hazel holds Thalia until her sobs subside to a tremor, and thinks, maybe, she doesn’t have to be alone. Maybe after this, when this is all over, Thalia will visit, they’ll get donuts, and pore over the book together. Maybe she’ll teach Thalia to draw, and they’ll draw together. That would have to wait — for now, she will make do with the comfort she is being offered and has the chance to give back. She’ll hold onto Thalia, and Thalia will hold onto her, and as he should have been there in person, Jason was there between them, with his family.

#jason grace #hazel levesque #thalia grace #drabbles #This was a rush job but god was I angry #Mostly about Reyna but #I'm saving THAT rage for a better fic.#this isn't proofread at all oh gosh

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mnthpprt · 4 years

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Chapter 24: Blame It On The Juice

We finally arrive at the tavern and take a seat at a small table near the bar. Arthur is the only one to remain standing up, and he leans closer so I can hear him over the chatter.

“First round’s on me, darling. What would you like?” he asks. I ponder for a moment before answering.

“I’ve always wanted to try absinthe.” He nods, and looks over at Theo.

“Whiskey for me, half water.”

A few minutes later he returns, balancing three glasses between his hands, and proceeds to set them down on the table, careful not to spill any of them. Outside, it has begun to pour like there’s no tomorrow.

“Pernod Fils for the lady,” he says, imitating a waiter, “and whiskey for the ratbag.” Theo punches his arm, scowling, and sips his drink, making me laugh. Judging by the amount of teasing and insults between these two, they could either be good friends or truly hate each other. I know it is the former, because they seem to spend a lot of time together. They even walk their dogs at the same time every morning, and they do so willingly.

I take a small sip of the pearly green liquid, and am surprised by the sweet taste of anise and fennel in the drink.

“Yo, this is good,” I point out, satisfied. I lift my glass when I notice Arthur doing the same, and Theo begrudgingly joins in.

“To the green fairy, may she bless our dear Anaïs for the first time!” toasts the writer, holding back a laugh. I follow in with my own comedic announcement.

“To the Salon des Refusés du Salon des Refusés!” I say, jokingly, referring to Theo’s exhibition. The groundbreaking art I saw there would have been criticized even by the rejects of this time. “And to your and Vincent’s success, of course!”

“That, I can get behind,” Theo chuckles. “To you idiots.” He punctuates his covertly affectionate statement by taking a gulp of whisky, and Arthur and I follow suit. “So, hondje, you know about art. What is it like in your time?”

I am taken aback by the question. I don’t really know where to begin.

“Well... For starters, it’s incredibly different. To understand it one needs to know the history behind it, you know? Like, what happened between now and then for it to get to that point,” I explain, pausing to take another sip of absinthe. Theo leans forward on his chair, his blue eyes piercing me with interest. “I guess the main movement that started everything would be Dadaism. Do you know about World War One?” Theo shakes his head.

“One? By Jove, there are more?!” Arthur exclaims. I nod, my brows knitted together. If he lived through the first one, the Great War, I am concerned about how he might react if I continue. He seems to want to know more, so I keep talking.

“Arthur, if I remember correctly you died a few years before the second one. What was it, 1920 something?”

“1930,” he corrects me.

“Well, the Second World War started in 1939. It lasted for about six years, and it was brutal. But that’s not the point of this conversation.” I turn to Theo. “So, as you can tell by the name, the First World War was, well... massive. Pretty much all of Europe was involved and severely affected, both by the unprecedented death toll and the poverty that came after. People suffered while the rich clung to what they had, and the art world became increasingly inaccessible. You’ve seen yourself how conservative the elite can be when it comes to their precious culture.” He agrees with a nod. “So a movement emerged in response to this traditionalism, which some artists deemed unacceptable in a world where all of the rules had seemingly been broken already, and devastatingly so. I don’t know where the name came from, but Dadaism represents all the nonsense, everything that is irrational and ugly and primal. What these people were making was basically anti-art. Instead of it being aesthetically pleasing, their work strived to create a reaction in the viewer, to make them think.” I pause to drink again, and glance at Arthur. He knows what I’m talking about, he lived through it.

“And what does it look like?” Theo asks. I laugh.

“Oof, good question. It can look like anything, from sculptures made of random objects piled together to drawings and prints... More than anything, Dadaism was a concept, an ideology. It established that art should be reactionary, and not necessarily for the pleasure of the viewer. This became the basis for what in my time we call ‘conceptual art’, which is basically anything that makes a statement without it being explicit in the piece.”

“Like a riddle?” Arthur asks. He has already finished his glass of whisky.

“Something like that,” I chuckle. “But not always. One of the most outrageous ones I can remember is this man, Piero Manzoni. In the 60s... the 1960s, that is, he produced a series of cans labeled as ‘Artist’s Shit’, supposedly filled with... well, his own shit. It was meant as a critique of the art world at the time.” Theo’s eyes widen, and I hear Arthur let out a boisterous laugh. “Apparently one of his friends said that they were actually filled with plaster, but no one really knows for sure, because they’re too valuable to be opened. I think one of them was auctioned for like 300.000 euros.”

“Euros?” Theo asks after sipping his whisky, trying to recover from the surprise.

“Oh, right, that’s a new thing,” I remember. “So after that Second World War I mentioned before, a bunch of countries in Europe created a coalition, to protect the peace, and all that. And then, around the time I was born, it became a proper union and they changed the money, so we all use euros now. Well, then. Then?” I take a big sip of absinthe and savor it for a moment, frustrated with my own tangled words. “Ugh, time travel is so confusing. Anyway, one of those cans is worth, like, 100 million francs in ‘right now’ money, I think.”

Theo chokes on his drink. Arthur is just staring at me with his mouth hanging open, completely incredulous at my nonchalant statement.

“That is absolutely preposterous,” he finally says. I shrug.

“I guess that proves Manzoni’s point, doesn’t it?” I down what’s left of the absinthe and set the glass in the middle of the table. Arthur scoffs.

“No, no, she’s right.” I am surprised to hear Theo agree with me. He looks rather impressed. “Collectors will buy anything with the right name attached to it. Artist’s shit,” he laughs. “That’s brilliant.”

Maybe it’s his adorable dimples, or maybe it’s the alcohol running through my veins, but I have the sudden urge to mock him.

“Wow, who knew you had a sense of humor, knabbeltje!” I put emphasis on the word, causing him to blush, which subsequently makes me giggle. Arthur puts his fist up, laughing, and I bump it. “Ayyy, you learnt it!”

Theo gets up abruptly, and for a moment I fear I have offended him, but I relax when I see him walk towards the bar. He soon comes back with only two glasses, and leaves again to get his own. I sip my new drink, also containing the green liquor from before, and let out a little moan.

“This drink slaps,” I declare, and Arthur tilts his head in confusion.

“Slaps? Gods, Anaïs, it’s like you’re speaking an entirely different language.” I laugh and proceed to tell him about the ‘snack’ thing, how Theo called me a ‘knabbeltje’ and I took it as a compliment, so now he can’t use it on me anymore. Arthur laughs too when I finish the story. “Oh my, is that why he was blushing? Here I was thinking you two might have- Ow!”

I elbow him before he can finish the sentence, in part because I don’t need to hear it, and in part because I see Theo approaching. When he sits down, Arthur’s face lights up with an idea. I wonder what he’s plotting.

“Let’s play a game,” he says. “Bet I can deduce something about each of you. If I’m right, you drink, and if I’m wrong, I drink. Anaïs,” he turns to me. “There is something between you and Leonardo. You two have been in an awfully good mood lately.” I blush and sip my drink. “Ha! I knew it! Our sweet darling and our dear friend have been basket making in secret,” he exclaims. Judging by his face, I assume that’s an euphemism for sex.

“We have not!” I smack his arm. Although that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to. “Okay, my turn. Theo!” I choose loudly, pointing my finger at the art dealer. “You act so tough because you’re protective of Vincent and want to be taken seriously so nobody messes with him.”

Theo drinks before clearing his throat, and then turns to his friend.

“The reason you’re being so annoying lately is because you’re jealous of Leonardo,” he states. Arthur simply leans back on his chair with a smirk.

“Drink,” he commands. Theo obliges. “You have already scoured this bar for my next potential conquest, and you disapprove of all the options.” Theo drinks again.

“Is that what you do when you’re not pestering Sebastian for more coffee?” I laugh. Then a thought occurs to me. “How do they not find out about...? You know,” I ask, tapping my canine with a fingernail. I can’t risk saying it out loud in a place so crowded.

“They simply look like love bites, dear,” Arthur winks. “And they are, in a sense.”

“Huh.” I tilt my head, trying to imagine what that would be like, but I fail and move on to the game. “You sleep around so much to try to forget your guilt.”

Finally, he drinks. I don’t know what he feels guilty about, but I could recognize that emotion on anyone. However, I don’t ask any further. I do not want to pry.

He changes the topic by pulling a deck of cards from his pocket. I guess he does not like losing at his own game.

#ikemen vampire #ikevam #ikevamp #ikemen #ikemen fanfiction #ikevam fanfic #ikevamp fanfiction #ikemen vampire fanfiction #ikemen vampire theo #ikevamp theo #ikemen vampire arthur #ikevamp arthur

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wildmoonflower · 4 years

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Run For Your Love

Summary: Who would have thought that a morning run can bring You something else than just a strong urge to die or kill Your friends? You didn't expect to meet the love of Your life, that’s for sure.

A/N: This is my short addition for @kitkatd7 challenge with prompt 'Please don't make me.' Congratulation on the beautiful milestone and thank You for extending the dead-line. :) Hope You all enjoy the reading. Pairing: StevexReader Warning: none, maybe some light swearing Word count: 2749

First golden rays of sun lit up the pink sky, foretelling a sunny beautiful day. Warm breeze ruffled the leaves on the trees, their pure green colour clear indication of late spring. Despite the early hour, the park in New York already bustled with life and sounds. Pet owners chatting while their furry friends run around, more than often disturbing the peace of readers, spread on the blankets or the concentration of artist, trying to catch the beauty of the morning on the canvas and papers. Stony paths were busy with life too as runners were having their morning run, loners and couples alike.

One particular pair of runners stood out more than others. With the speed higher than some sleepy eyes could notice and movements more fluid and swift than humanly possible, it was given that two super-soldiers stood out like a sore thumb. There was a time when Bucky hated when Steve forced him to go run with him out in the open, not in the closed space of the gym with the special treadmills Tony created for their super-human speed.

"You have to get used to normal society, Buck," Steve gave him a pity smile,"show them your calm, domestic side, not only the new Avenger." Bucky understood, he really did, but it didn't mean he had to like it, nor enjoy it. So he forced himself out of the bed every morning for his sake and honestly, it was worth it seeing Steve's relieved face mixed with pride.

After running at almost full speed for an hour, finally both super-soldiers were slightly out of breath, finding their spot under the tree that casted a huge shadow, giving the shelter from the sun to several more people, including a young girl reading a medical book, an elderly man in great shape who was currently in a weird yoga pose that looked as if he broke his back and two young men who clearly finished their run too, their breath quick and short, faces red and sweaty. They were waiting for somebody, Bucky could easily tell from their bodies slightly turned to side so they could see the paved path, his sensitive ears catching something like 'slow, angry, won't go with us ever again'.

"Buck? You listening?" Flinching, Bucky looked up to Steve. He knew Bucky still hasn't lost his habit of scanning the area and people around, looking for any indication of danger, escape routes and possible weapons. But this time, Steve couldn't bring himself to say anything as he always did the same, his super senses and brain analyzing and planning, a habit he rarely tried to stop. "Sam said he can go run with us tomorrow when he comes back from the mission." "He tries too hard to keep up." Bucky grumbled but in the end, he was glad. Tower tended to be quite intense when Tony and Buck were in the same room and without Sam's constant shouting and attempts to distract Bucky, his tension grew.

"You say that but who was running backwards right next to him last time, nice and slow just to piss him off?" Steve jabbed at Bucky, laughing at his friend who doubled over and proceeded to almost slip up, sending both into another fit of laughter, succesfully ending their run as both men slid down in the shadow of a big oak tree, revelling in the comfortable buzz of life around them. Not that either of them needed the rest. It was Sam's idea, his way of lifting spirit after a bad day, night or a bad mission. Bucky had to chuckle just how much Sam-like it was, surrounding himself with life and hustle of humans.

Their peaceful silence was short-lived when huffing puffing woman suddenly stopped next to the spot where they sat, collapsing right in front of them. Before any of them could even overcome the shock, hard breathing woman raised her fist and smacked Steve in his shin, the anger and frustration clear in her voice. "Thank you for waiting for me, you two pricks!" Unknown girl hid her face in the crook of her elbow, breathy voice muted: "You promised you won't leave me behind if I will go on a run with you. And you disappeared. After. Five. Minutes!" Each of her last words were ended with a smack in Steve's shin, who was now forcing back the smile while Bucky was already trembling, his left hand pressing against his ribs.

"Uhmm, Ma'am?" Steve cleared his throat as it constricted at the sight of her eyes shooting open, burying in his soul. In his head, tens of colour combination swirled around, trying to copy the beautiful colour he was seeing but Steve knew- he knew that no matter how much practice he has in drawing, neither him nor any artist would ever be able to catch the true beauty of mysterious woman's eyes. Little, barely noticeable crow's feet in the corner of her eyes from laughing and at looking at the sun, much more prominent spark, a sign of keen mind and undeniably, Steve's breath did hitched a little at their warmth. Simply, everything about her eyes pulled Steve in, even a small mole on her right eyelid tempted Steve to kiss it. "Oh my God." Woman whispered, still lying down on the soft grass, "oh my God, you are not my two idiots!"

´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´ The moment Y'N's alarm rang in the morning, at the time when the bed just looked and felt the best, she just knew this day will test her very being. First test was Martin and Jake knocking on her doors, dressed for their run, brimming with energy that Y/N usually felt maybe two hours after waking up. Instead of normal breakfast of toast with bacon and eggs, a small bowl of hummus and banana has been thrusted in sleepy hands as Jake run to the closet, trying to find the good work-out outfit, horrified of obvious lack of presentable clothes, finding only clothes for work and clothes for sleeping while Martin ushered Y/N to bathroom, instructing her to do the morning hygiene.

Y/N still couldn't wrap her brain why did she accept their offer to morning run. She always hated running, her whole life she avoided running, of course, except the P.E. classes. She was what people called a person with two left feet. Clumsy. Inept. Running was dangerous, running was...personal Hell. So why did she suddenly accepted Martin's offer? She didn't know. It was probably the sad expression of her favourite neighbor when she refused at first, maybe the pleading eyes of his boyfriend.

With the reasons still unknown, an hour later she found herself on her knees, panting like a dog, sweating and even without a mirror, Y/N knew her face resembled a tomato juice. Kneeling in front of two men she didn't know like an idiot, after smacking their legs, like an idiot, while her real two idiot friends were in her peripherals, slapping their knees like retarded seals.

"I-I am sorve!" Y/N's face couldn't be more red as she bit her tongue. At that point, dark haired man looked like he suffered a stroke, one hand pressing deeply in his side while other arm, oddly shining in the morning sun covered his face, whole body shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. It was the other guy that officially took Y/N's last breath away as she locked eyes with most gorgeous blue she has ever seen, softest blue that seemed to burn a hole inside of her now shame-ridden soul. Handsome young face almost couldn't belong to these eyes, to these old, sad, wise eyes.

Lost in the sea of blue, Y/N didn't notice Martin and Jake approach, her focus snapping when latter crouched beside her, still wiping the tears from his eyes. "Are you okay, Y/N?" Jake handed Y/N a water bottle, turning to Steve when she just opened her mouth just to close it again, like a fish out of the water, staring at Steve and then finally looking down, shaking her head. "We're sorry, man. We underestimated her dislike for running, didn't thought it would break her." "It's okay," Steve shook the outstretched hands one by one, holding Y/N's unconsciously little longer,"I'm Steve. Nice to meet you."

"I'm James." Bucky, finally catching his breath nodded his head and looked at Y/N, eyebrow raised:"Correct me if I'm wrong but aren't you the girl that girl who was pushed into the duck pond last week, by some big dog playing fetch?" Round of laughter passed as Y/N nodded her head and sighed. "Week before that I slipped on a puddle and took down a running lady."

While Y/N's face was slowly gaining it's normal colour, she watched Steve in the corner of her eye. Now that they were standing, she could see that man was standing tall, unlike his friend who was, despite being almost same height, slightly hunched over, as if trying to be less noticeable or appear less threatening. "Y/N?" Y/N flinched as a hand appeared in front of her face, snapping her out of her bubble. "I have to go back, this took longer than I thought. Are you staying with Jake for another lap or what?" Martin asked, puffing out air at Y/N's horrified expression.

"Please don't make me." Slight tremble in her voice expressed the horror of that thought, ignoring the fake offended gasp of her friend. She could swear she saw a bling of disappointment in Steve's eyes.

"Same goes for us, Stevie." Bucky patted Steve on the back, his eyes shifting between his best friend and Y/N, who were both trying very hard to steal a glance at each other while failing miserably. "I quess we will be seeing you tomorrow?" Satisfied with hums of agreement, Bucky thrown his arm around Steve's shoulder, clicking his tongue. "Punk, You've got it bad!" "....Yeah."

´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´ "You've got to talk to him more." "Maybe invite him to that nice new coffee shop that opened nearby!" "Or just smile at him, dude looked smitten already." "Or pretend to trip and fall in his big, muscular arms like a damsel." "With the way she looked at Steve yesterday, she will not have to pretend to trip, her knees will give out by themselves!"

These were the words Jake and Martin barged in Y/N's flat with, once again with much more energy than should be be allowed in the morning. Not giving her a chance to think of reply, she was already in her running clothes, shirt a size smaller and not even hers, hugging her curves more.

"In what universe do you guys think I could possibly flirt or make a move on a hot guy?" Y/N pushed out of herself, trying her hardest to keep her breathing slow. 'Inhale with nose, hold, exhale with mouth.' That was her mantra as she ran, her friends jogging beside her with ease. Temperature was lower than yesterday, something Y/N really appreciated as cool breeze stroke her skin. Not that it helped that much when she remembered the way she acted yesterday, heat striking her face as she recalled the number of times Steve caught her staring at him. Deep in her thoughts, she didn't notice the conniving smiles Jake and Martin exchanged.

Three slips and lots of internal cursing later, a huge oak tree appeared in the distance, the sight causing Y/N's stomach to churn with both excitement and jitters, the butterflies multiplying as she spotted two familiar figures standing next to the tree while third man was sat down, obviously trying to catch his breath, raising a middle finger at Bucky in an instance. Closer they got, the more could Y/N see, realising she knew the third person, a warning sign deep in her head started to flash. A thought bounced in her head, evading her grasp, missing that one piece that would complete the puzzle. Before she could finish the thought, they were few meters away from Steve, Bucky and Sam.

"Y/N?" Sam asked, carefully standing up, his eyes full of surprise. "You know each other?" Bucky asked incredulously while Steve's attention was jumping around from Sam to Y/N. "Yeah," Y/N nodded weakly,"umm, Jake, Martin, this is Sam. Sam helped my brother when he came back from Iraq TOD." "That's right, man was lucky to have his sister with him all the time." Sam smiled at Y/N, noticing a slight furrow on Steve's face and Bucky's smirk, putting two and two together. "What did you two do to make her get up from bad at this hour. If I remember correctly, Y/N here is not a morning person." "We have our ways." Jake said with angelic smile, jabbing Martin in the side as he muttered:"Even more reasons."

Weekend has many advantages. One of the main is one do not have to hurry. Being a regular weekdays 9-5 workers, Jake, Martin and Y/N made a habit of having a coffee at nearby coffee shop. For Steve, Bucky and Sam, work depended on the bad guys. They never knew when their phones will ring with an order. They just took any free moment to enjoy life. Running, having a chat Buck, train at the Tower with other Avengers, help cook or order a lunch and dinner and end the day with a movie in the main living room.

That is how Steve's free days usually went. At the end of it, he felt as relaxed as he could, trying his hardest to push the mantle of Captain away just for a day but at times, the tightness in his body let out at the evening at best. So now, at the time when the sun just showed up, he was surprised to find himself completely relaxed, sitting beneath the tree's shade, conversing and laughing with his friends and three people he met just yesterday.

His body was relaxed but his mind was buzzing as every nerve in his body was reacting to a woman sitting beside him. Soft breeze ruffled through her hair now and then, his sensitive nose picking the fresh smell of mint shampoo and her natural scent that came out after her body calmed down from the run. He couldn't help but admire the way Y/N talked, quiet at most times but peep in with quirky comments. Steve knew this feeling. It was more than just interest. Just like with Peggy, he couldn't think straight when she looked at him with her Y/E/C eyes, words coming out of his mouth either too polite or chopped in weird sentences.

He wanted to know more. About her. Y/N Y/L/N. He wanted to know more about her likes and dislikes, about her brother she so lovingly talked about, about her relationship with her two neighbors she called 'her idiots' in most loving way. Steve wanted to know what songs she sings when she has a good mood. He wanted to know it all. The good and the bad.

"Wow. It's late again." Martin checked his phone, throwing a side-eye at his boyfriend. "Do you guys have any plans for later?" He turned to Steve,"You free around 12? How about you, Y/N? You know, after shower." Martin baraged his questions at them while Jake, Bucky and Sam stood up, smirking at the panic and confusion of their friends.

"I'm free?" Y/N looked at Steve, her heart hammering as she noticed him looking at her with a smile. "Yeah, me too." Their attention snapped back at the beaming man clapping his hand together.

"Great! Good. There is a reservation under my name Whitaker. You two enjoy the lunch! See you guys tomorrow!" A round of 'byes' filled the air as everyone run in different direction, leaving Y/N and Steve stumped in shock, still sitting on the grass.

Y/N jumped on the spot as Steve crackled up, pressing both hands on his ribs. Now he understood why Bucky had that gleeful smirk when he returned from his evening walk.

"I should have known something was off." Steve sighed and looked at Y/N, whose face returned to pink shade. "Can I invite you to a lunch totally planned by our friends?" He was worried, this is not how he would invite a girl out. So when Y/N smiled and took his hand, Steve felt the nervousness and excitement shot right up. He will have a chance to know all the good and bad. "You totally can."

THE END

#kits250challenge #avengersxreader #Avengers #steve rogers x reader #writing challenge

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reynesofcastamere · 4 years

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Thrown Gauntlet[Ω]

(A/N: Sooooo....I’ve decided to start another series of fics that I will be marking with [Ω] in the titles: To disinguish them from both the main series (which I am still working on) and the [β] drabbles (which are all over the place in terms of timeline, setting, universe, etc.). Essentially a very self-indulgent AU where Savage, Maul, and Feral all get adopted by Clan Wren. This installment takes place in 20 BBY, so Ahsoka is around 16 and Maul is about 34. However. I want to state outright that the dynamic is intended to be a verrrrry slow build and that nothing romantic and/or sexual will be occurring between Maul and Ahsoka until MUCH later. If what I’ve described does not sound like your personal cup of tea, then by all means, feel free to give this fic and/or series a pass. This is getting a bit long, so to sum up: No trigger warnings, Obi-Wan is an Incurable Flirt, Rex is Flustered, and Maul is about 100% Done With Everyone’s Nonsense. Unbeta’d) The Jedi Temple is buzzing. Not literally, of course, but Ahsoka can feel a strange vibration in the Force. Excitement, or maybe irritation? There’s definitely quite a bit more whispering amongst her fellow Jedi and the clone troopers she passes on her path to the east hangar. Master Anakin had told her to pack for a long trip, which she can only assume means they’ve been assigned another mission and he’s withholding the details so as to ‘surprise’ her appropriately. Typical Skyguy.

She spots Rex near the door, sans helmet. “Good morning, Captain.” A proper salute, quickly returned, though her tone is light. “Morning, Commander. And-er, yes, it certainly is.” He actually seems to be fidgeting a bit, and his face- “Rex, are you...blushing?” “N-no. No. Just-ah...Finished up my workout routine. Took more out of me than I expected. You know how it is; One day you’re all shiny-new and the next you feel older than General Yoda.” “Reeeeexxxx....Come on, whatever it is can’t be that bad.”

“The Clawbirds arrived about an hour ago. Captain Wren’s refusing to do much of anything until he finishes repairs on General Skywalker’s ship.” Rex caves, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Master Anakin can’t be too happy about that.” Ahsoka observes, knowing just how...particular he is about his personal projects. “Should I be worried?” “Er...maybe? It’s kind of a toss-up. Depends on whether M-” He begins, before a subtler voice cuts in. “Captain, there you are. I was hoping to speak to you.” The speaker is a male Zabrak with soft golden-yellow eyes and skin, the latter of which is liberally patterned in brown markings. Unusual enough, but he’s also clad in full Mandalorian armor, helmet tucked under one arm and carrying what looks like field medic gear along with the standard jetpack and arsenal of weapons. And he’s glowing; a defined Force signature radiating Light and positive energy like a solar lamp. How-? “Medic Sergeant Wren. They are still getting along, right?” “Oh yes. He’s in a much better mood than last time. Apologies, am I interrupting?” “Thank the Maker. And no, um. Commander Tano, this is Medic Sergeant Feral Wren.” Rex looks like he’s in danger of heatstroke with how red he’s gotten. It’s not hard to see why, especially when Feral gives a smile that could melt half the ice on Bahryn. Rather than salute her, he stretches his right hand out so that they can clasp forearms briefly, a greeting from one warrior to another. “It’s a pleasure, Medic Sergeant.” She smiles back. Ahsoka can’t help it. He’s just...She’s fighting the urge to hug him like some kind of stuffed animal toy. Which is bizarre and will most definitely not be happening anytime soon. “Tano...Oh, you must be ‘Snips’. It’s almost a shame Savage volunteered to help the younglings train, we’ve both wanted to meet you for some time now.” Wait, what? “Tranyc’vod [Sunny(star-burned) brother] Anakin hasn’t been able to call as often, but he’s very proud of your accomplishments.” Feral remarks, genuinely pleased even as her head spins with the implications. Her Master has a lot of explaining to do. “Speaking of which, I’d better not keep him waiting much longer. I look forward to talking to you again, though. See you later, Captain. Maybe you should ask the Medic Sergeant about those stamina issues you’re having?” She can’t resist ribbing Rex as she departs, watching him splutter as Feral, like any good medic, starts making inquiries about his ‘condition’ while looking him over. And placing a hand on his chestplate, apparently. Huh. Maybe her friend’s obvious crush isn’t quite as one-sided as she’d thought. Ahsoka navigates her way through the semi-organized rows of ships. Even if Anakin’s presence in the Force wasn’t abnormally strong, she doesn’t need to focus to find him. Not when he’s talking loud enough to be heard across half the hangar. “-last time, it’s fine! You’re just being paranoid, as usual.” “Every ship I have been forced to borrow from you has either crashed, suffered a critical malfunction, or was confined to the scrap heap mere hours after landing. No one is setting a foot on this poorly-constructed death trap until I am absolutely certain it won��t spontaneously combust mid-flight.” And that must be Captain Wren. He sounds...irritated, to say the least.

“My ships run perfectly, thanks. Must hurt that Mando pride, knowing a Jedi is a better pilot and mechanic than you, Captain.” She’s not quite within visual range yet, but she knows her Master is smirking. “How sad that as a Jedi, you cannot recognize your own failings, General. Perhaps you should conduct a survey of your ‘victims’ instead of this poor attempt at distraction. Mir’osik adiik be’kyorla hut’uun![Dung for brains child of (a) rotten coward!]-” “Ouch. What, did one of your horns get caught in the hydraulics?” “Hilarious. Make yourself useful by grabbing a towel, or something from Kenobi’s closet. I’m coming out.” “Ah, Captain Wren. I thought the general ambience had improved. What were you saying about my clothing?” She hadn’t been aware of Master Kenobi’s presence before this. Either he’d used a secondary entrance or had been waiting for his chance to join the exchange while the captain was busy. “Kenobi.”

“Oh come now, surely you can muster a more polite greeting than that. You’ve been away so long I’ve had to listen to recordings just to remember the sound of your lovely voice.” “Perhaps I will address you with respect when you learn to stop leering at me, besom [ill-mannered lout].” “Busted. Again.” “You’re not helping, Anakin.” Ahsoka rounds a corner and-Oh. Wow. How far down do those-? She blinks a few times, just to be sure of what she’s seeing. Yep, there is a very shirtless Zabrak with the kind of muscle definition that would make scores of artists weep standing with his back to her and wiping his face off with a towel. She desperately hopes that her jaw is not hanging open as he turns his head to survey her with one vibrant yellow tourmaline eye. She honestly doesn’t know if she wants to draw closer or back away in that moment. His presence in the Force is not a benevolent, harmless light, but rather a controlled fire that sparks and issues dark threads of smoke. This...Ahsoka doesn’t understand what is going on, and it’s starting to make her uncomfortable. “The spy finally shows herself.” He remarks, assessing and dismissing her as a non-threat within the span of a few seconds, continuing to wipe off whatever type of mess had been spattered on him. “Don’t mind him, Snips. Someone shoved a shock baton up his ass years ago and the medics never found a way to pull it out. Tragic, really.” Anakin Skywalker grins, arms loosely folded across his chest and leaning against the outside of his ship. “Ahsoka, this is Maul. We’ll be working with him and his people for the forseeable future.” It clicks suddenly where she’s heard both his name and that of his group before: Captain Maul of Clan Wren and his company are the only Mandalorian supercommandos who will actually work with the Jedi Council. At least, when they’re not busy with bodyguard or mercenary jobs. Part of that involves what is referred to -with some awe and a lot of fear- as ‘running the gauntlet’, a mandatory training course for any Padawans or Knights posted to or intending to spend a considerable amount of time in the barely-civilized regions of space. It’s been suspended since the war started in earnest, but if they’re going to be sticking around for a while...Well, the implications are pretty serious. And Ahsoka has somehow managed to ogle one of the most infamous hardasses this side of the Mid Rim. Fantastic. Really. Maul disposes of the stained towel and turns to face her properly, Ahsoka’s gaze staying determinedly on his face as they grip each other’s right forearms. He doesn’t pull back after a few seconds as Feral had, hand locking in place as he seems to peer into her soul. “I will say this once. We are not like our evaar’la vod’e[young brothers]. We are not subservient to you, and I do not accept excuses or blatant disrespect.” A pause and a slight increase in pressure, just below the threshold of inflicting pain. “Are you ready, Ahsoka Tano?” “Yes, Captain.” She answers with a certainty that she can feel in her very bones, and is rewarded with the hint of a wry smile when he lets go. Well that’s...something. Master Kenobi clears his throat pointedly. Right. Mission briefing first. Sort out her feelings later. Still, she can’t help but look forward to whatever comes next. (A/N: *cracks knuckles* Well, that’s the first installment. A little vague on the details, but I’m hoping to elaborate on what’s been hinted at here relatively soon. The name of the supercommando company comes from the Legends novel Maul:Lockdown by Joe Schreiber. And yes, for fellow Rebels fans who are reading this thing: In this AU, Sabine and Tristan get three badass Zabrak-hybrid uncles and a fair amount of adopted cousins. (Which is entirely Savage’s doing.) I do believe that Anakin is a gifted mechanic, but also couldn’t resist the running joke of ‘Skywalker’s ships/anything he tinkers with only work for him and Artoo’. Cheers!)

#maulsoka #eventually #tbh this one is pretty gen aside from minor feral/rex and obi-wan failing his seduction roll #for like the hundredth time

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havenoffandoms · 4 years

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Running With the Wolves - Part III

Sorry for the late post, and for the short(ish) chapter. With finishing my dissertation (yay) and moving house, I’ve had a lot on my plate. I hope you enjoy this chapter anyway! Thanks for the support, as always much appreciated. Much love, Rose_SK. (Also Tumblr is sooo slow, so I won’t add any gifs to this chapter. At least not just now).

Part I; Part II

Jaskier was lost.

That should not have come as a surprise to him, and yet his frustration was merely amplified as that realisation hit him. The sound of his empty stomach growling in complaint startled Jaskier as it echoed through the otherwise silent forest. His tongue darted out to lick his cracked lips soothingly, but the action brought him little relief. Jaskier was not convinced that he could carry on much longer without a break, exhaustion evident in the way he dragged his feet and stumbled over imaginary obstacles. Not before long, the sun would disappear behind the tall mountains and Jaskier truly wished to be out of the woods before nightfall. He would have to make good use of the daylight to find a shelter for the night or risk roaming the forest in the dark, at the mercy of whatever creature found him first. Jaskier had no doubt that other beasts would not be as lenient as the two wolves he had come across in the cave. The thought sent a shiver down his spine. Willing these thoughts away, Jaskier pushed past the pain in his muscles as he cut across protruding roots and prickly bushes until he saw rays of light filtering through the row of trees. A clearing, most likely. As fast as the hazardous terrain allowed, Jaskier made his way towards the light, cursing loudly every time his clothes got caught in wayward branches barring his way. When he finally reached the edge of the forest, Jaskier was momentarily blinded by the sun. It took his eyes several seconds to adjust to the brightness of his surroundings. Jaskier’s artistic soul could not help the reverential gasp that pushed past his lips as he took in the scenery. Despite his circumstances, Jaskier paused to admire the way the sun inundated the clearing with its warm light. The lusciously green grass was bespeckled with dots of white and purple which Jaskier recognised from his botany lessons as white daffodils and mountain lupines. Jaskier closed his eyes and breathed in their unique fragrances, letting the smell soothe his troubled soul. Jaskier suddenly wished he had his notebook to jot down all the emotions the scene stirred in him. This picturesque tableau could inspire any artist.

In the distance, Jaskier could make out the gentle splashing of water against the streambed as it followed its course. The sound caused his heart to leap in his chest as Jaskier realised what it implied. Instantly he became aware of just how parched he felt. His feet seemed to move of their own volition as Jaskier followed the noise to its source. When he finally spotted the stream, the bard was so relieved that he felt like bursting into tears as he dropped to his knees and greedily drank the fresh water out of his cupped hands. Jaskier blessed all the gods he knew for guiding him towards this stream, and for a moment he was able to forget that he was lost and still had no idea which direction to walk in. After a while, Jaskier wiped his wet lips with the back of his hand as he inspected his surroundings more closely. He spied some bushes on his right bearing dark blue berries which Jaskier knew to be bilberries; not the hot meal Jaskier had been fantasising about, but they would most certainly do the job. Jaskier ate as many berries as he could stomach and washed them down with more fresh water. Sooner than anticipated, Jaskier felt the air grow colder as the sun disappeared behind the mountain and cast a long shadow over the clearing. The momentary peace Jaskier felt was quickly replaced by dread at the thought of spending the night in this unknown wilderness. Jaskier briefly considered following the stream and hope that it would lead him to civilisation eventually, but that would mean re-entering the dark forest and Jaskier wanted to avoid this at all cost. The other option was to remain in the clearing until morning, which was not necessarily more attractive than the former. Jaskier felt stuck between a rock and a hard place as he weighted the possibilities before settling for staying in the clearing for the time being, where he could replenish his energy by eating wild berries and drinking fresh water. He could worry about finding his way back home in the morning.

Jaskier lay down on the soft grass and rested the back of his head on his right arm. Before long, he succumbed to his own exhaustion and fell asleep to sound of crickets chirping and owls hooting.

OoO

Jaskier woke up with a start well after the sun had set and the world around him was nothing but eerie darkness. His skin was covered in a fine sheen of sweat as he willed his racing heart to slow down. Jaskier guessed that something must have spooked him in his sleep to occasion such a reaction from him. Suddenly hyperaware of his surroundings, his eyes frantically scanned the area for any signs of danger. It was a moonless night and the dim light emanating from the stars inadequately lit the clearing. Jaskier’s eyes had yet to adapt to the darkness, but in his state of panic his ears picked up the faintest sound coming from the rows of trees encircling the exposed glade. The screeching of owls, the squeaking of bats, crunching twigs, and the creaking of rigid branches stubbornly refusing to move with the wind all added to the cacophony of spine-tingling noises that sent Jaskier’s fight or flight instincts into overdrive. Unlike other poets he had met at Oxenfurt, Jaskier had never given his own death much thought. He much rather preferred to focus on the present than dwell on the past or worry about the future. Truth be told, there were not many pleasant memories in his past that Jaskier wished to hold onto. Jaskier kept the few mementos which sparked joy under lock and key. Preoccupying himself with the future was a waste of precious time in his opinion. There was nothing like living in the present and taking each day as it came. Now that Jaskier was faced with the inevitability of his own demise, his carefree attitude regarding death was called into question as every decision suddenly became about survival. There was nothing like spending a night in the forest to become painfully aware on one’s own mortality.

Snap.

Jaskier instantly froze at the sound. He dared not move for fear to attract the attention of whatever was lurking in the forest in such close proximity to his current position. Jaskier remained perfectly still, even going as far as to hold his breath to make as little noise as humanly possible. The only sound that could be heard was that of his own heartbeat thumping incessantly in his ears. Jaskier swallowed dryly past the lump in his throat. Cold sweat trickled down his forehead and along the nape of his neck as an overwhelming sense of panic overtook him. Any wild animal would be able to smell his fear from miles away. Jaskier’s fear kept him rooted to the spot, yet every fibre of his being urged him to run, run, run… as far away and as fast as his human legs could carry him.

Snap. Crack.

Whispers. Jaskier could make out whispers arising from the bushes. Unless the animals in these parts had developed the ability to speak, these whispers could only have been produced by humans. Jaskier thought he could weep for joy as he scrambled to his feet and followed the sound of the murmurs to its source. Unsurprisingly, the hushed chatter instantly ceased. Jaskier took slow tentative steps towards the bushes as he licked his dry lips. Those humans were arguably just as terrified of being attacked by wild animals than he was, so Jaskier should probably let them know that he posed them no threat.

“Hello? Anybody out there?” Jaskier’s question was met with silence, as was to be expected. “I promise I mean you no harm. I got lost in the forest and ended up here, thought I’d sleep in the open rather than risk getting caught in the forest at night. All I want is to go home. Can you help me?”

Silence. Jaskier sighed.

“Please, whoever you are… have mercy on a lost traveller. I only need directions to the nearest town. I don’t have much coin to speak of, but I’m sure we can find an arrangement. Please, I don’t even know how I got here, or where I am. I just – “

Jaskier did not get the chance to finish his sentence before something emerged from the bushes and pounced at him. For the second time in the past twenty-four hours, Jaskier found himself pinned to the ground and unable to escape the clutches of his attacker. He sensed a pattern forming… only this time, he felt the sharp edge of a blade press against the tender skin of his throat.

“Who are you?” a distinctly male voice asked him as the attacker tightened his grip on the hilt of his knife. Jaskier could not make out the other man’s features in the dark, but there was no mistaking the way the stranger’s eyes flashed yellow as he stared intently at Jaskier.

“Answer me, human!” the man urged him, the blade of his knife cutting into Jaskier’s throat deep enough to draw blood but not so much as to cause any serious harm… yet. Jaskier was confident that this stranger could kill him in a blink of an eye with a hand tied around his back.

“I… My name is Jaskier… please sir, I mean no harm. I have nothing valuable on me. I just want to leave this place,” Jaskier told his attacker in a pleading tone.

“How did you get here?”

“I don’t know!”

“Don’t lie to me, human! It won’t end well for you…” the man threatened him, his knife digging more earnestly into his throat this time and pulling a pained yelp from Jaskier.

“Lambert! That’s enough!” a second voice shouted, causing Jaskier to flinch.

“Oh goody, another one!” Jaskier commented sarcastically before he could stop the words from leaving his mouth.

“Shut up!” the man known as Lambert snapped at him, “or I’ll slit your throat quicker than you can say your own name.”

“Lambert, stop,” the second man ordered in a much firmer tone which left no room for arguments.

“He’s a human, Eskel! For all we know he’s the reason Geralt and Ciri sounded the alarm. What if he hurt them?” Lambert argued, allowing anger to get the better of him. Before Jaskier could deny the accusations thrown at him, he felt Lambert’s hand tighten around his throat and squeeze the area until Jaskier was visibly struggling for breath. He vaguely heard the other man, Eskel, bellowing at Lambert to let go of him, but all it did was encourage Lambert to apply more pressure on Jaskier’s throat.

Death through asphyxiation it was, then. Not as peaceful as Jaskier would have liked, but he was not exactly in any position to argue.

“STOP!” a third voice called, although it sounded so faint and distant Jaskier might as well have hallucinated the entire thing. Jaskier’s eyes fluttered shut as he became lightheaded from the lack of air in his lungs. He had lost all sensation in his limbs and extremities. At this point, Jaskier figured that there was no point in struggling, and resented himself to welcome death with open arms.

Destiny clearly had other plans in store for him.

Jaskier unexpectedly felt a weight being lifted from his chest as Lambert was forcibly removed from him. With the hand which had been strangling him now gone, Jaskier was able to breathe easily again. He gasped loudly as he desperately tried to fill his lungs with much needed air. A considerably softer hand patted his back soothingly, and only once Jaskier had somewhat steading his breath did he realise that someone was whispering words of encouragement in his ear.

“It’s okay, you’re safe. Take it easy, that’s it…”

A girl’s voice, Jaskier realised.

“Get the fuck off me!” Lambert roared, an action which caught Jaskier’s attention. His eyes widened at the sight he was met with. In a formidable turn of events, Lambert was now being tackled to the ground by a wolf so large Jaskier almost mistook it for a small horse. His heart dropped in his chest when he identified the beast as the same wolf who had pounced on him in the cave several hours earlier.

What the fuck is going on?

“Geralt, Ciri! You’re alive!” Eskel exclaimed with genuine relief noticeable in his tone.

“Oh happy days,” Lambert drawled facetiously, earning himself a warning snarl from the wolf pinning him to the ground.

“Lambert, this human saved my life,” the girl, Ciri, declared with such assurance that Jaskier was almost inclined to believe her, even though he was positively certain he had never met the girl before. Lambert, on the other hand, looked a lot less convinced that Jaskier was capable of anything of the sort.

“Him?” Lambert scoffed incredulously, “But… but he’s…”

“He saved me, Lambert,” Ciri repeated, emphasising every word while she stared intently at a baffled Lambert. Jaskier shot Ciri a confused look, but she paid him no heed.

“Let’s all calm down,” Eskel said in a calm, composed way, “Lambert, you especially.”

“But this is a human, brother,” Lambert argued, his voice betraying his hurt and bitterness, “do I need to remind you what happened the last time humans got to close to the keep? The last time they got too close to us? Carnage, that’s what. Ask the elves, as the sorceresses of Aretuza, ask any race that has been obliterated as a result of humans’ greed for power and wealth. Wherever humans go, carnage and bloodbaths follow. What makes you think this human is any different than the rest of them? He could be a spy of Nilfgaard.”

“Lambert, just look at him,” Eskel pointed at Jaskier demonstratively, “do you really think that guy looks like spy-material to you?”

“While I appreciate you defending me, I – “

“He would make for a piss-poor spy if he looked the part, brother,” Lambert interrupted Jaskier without as much as a second glance.

“If I may say something here,” Jaskier piped up, his voice hoarse from having his throat and vocal cords manhandled by Lambert earlier. Jaskier cleared his throat and used the opportunity to rise to his feet, “I don’t know what you, sir Lambert, are referring to, but I can assure you that I am no assassin, no hired spy from Nilfgaard and I am most certainly not out looking for trouble. My name is Jaskier, I am a travelling bard who apparently wandered too far into the mountains and got lost. All I want is to go back to my life and forget all about this horrible place. Please, you have to believe me. I am no adventurer, I am also not a hero despite what this young lady claims. In fact, as nice as you were to wedge that in to save me from being choked to death, miss, I have never seen you in my life. The only life I saved in the past twelve hours was that of a – “

“Wolf?” Ciri supplied, a small amused smile appearing on her young features, “flaxen coat, suffering from a festering wound, travelling with that grumpy silver wolf?” Ciri pointed at Geralt, who merely let out a nonplussed huff at the rather unflattering description provided by the young girl. Ciri ignored his reaction as she turned her focus back to Jaskier. “You healed my festering wound with some kind of magic ointment.”

“Magic ointment?” Eskel reiterated, almost to confirm that he heard Ciri right. Even Lambert seemed at loss for words. In the meantime, Jaskier was nothing short of bewildered. He pinched himself discreetly, hoping to soon wake up from this messed up dream. Magic ointments? Wolves the size of small horses, who can conveniently turn into humans. While that would make for an entertaining, albeit blasphemous story, Jaskier could not understand how any of it could possibly be real. Shapeshifting wolves and hidden brotherhoods were concepts that belonged to the legends of old, and –

Hold the fuck up!

“Jaskier? Are you okay?” Ciri asked, concern evident in her voice and reflected in her cerulean blue eyes. Jaskier ignored her, unable to tear his gaze away from the silver wolf who was staring at him with piercing yellow eyes. A large scar marred the left side of his long face, probably one of many. There was intelligence reflected in those orbs, as well as recognition and understanding. Everything suddenly seemed to click into place.

Witchers.

Shapeshifting witchers.

The legends were all true.

Melitele be damned!

“He knows too much,” Lambert decreed as he rose effortlessly to his feet. Jaskier was grateful that he showed no sign of attacking him again. “Even if he’s not a spy, even if he’s as innocent as he claims he is, he has been let in on our secret. We can’t risk sending him back to the humans and have our identity and location revealed. We would be opening ourselves to a new attack, a new massacre. We must kill him.”

“Absolutely not!” Ciri cried out, positioning herself in front of Jaskier so that she was shielding him from harm. An endearing gesture, but admittedly not one that filled Jaskier with much confidence. Even though they seemed just as hot-headed as each other, Ciri was physically no match for Lambert. Not that this would discourage the young girl, Jaskier could tell. “That human did not deserve to die. He saved my life, he was kind! I won’t let you harm him.”

“And what will you do to stop me, princess?”

Jaskier noticed the way the silver wolf – Geralt, if his memory served him right – curled his upper lip to reveal sharp canines. No sound escaped his mouth, and none was needed to get his message across. Threaten Ciri, and he would make it a personal affair. Jaskier swallowed thickly, his nervousness getting the better of him. Lambert, despite seeming confident, was evidently all-bark-no-bite. Geralt’s warning seemed to have the desire effect, and Jaskier watched with awe as his attacker stepped away from him and Ciri without another word. Satisfied, Geralt turned his head back to Jaskier and fixated him with those piercing eyes again. To say that Jaskier felt unsettled by their intensity was an understatement.

“Let him go,” Ciri demanded, “as repayment for saving my life. We can give him a potion that will make him forget ever meeting us.”

“Well, I don’t think I would like that very – “

Jaskier’s complaint was shut down by the silver wolf producing a low rumble which started at the bottom of his chest and travelled all the way up his throat. It was not aggressive, but it was enough of a warning for Jaskier to bite his tongue.

“He was carrying a magic ointment. He clearly understands how magic works, perhaps even knows how to control his inner chaos, too. What is to say he won’t find a way to reverse the spell?” Lambert argued, making Jaskier scoff in disbelief.

“Why I’ll say, I have never heard such ridiculous notion...”

“Shut up!” Eskel admonished him, but Jaskier was growing more confident knowing he had Ciri’s support and that the silver wolf would potentially intervene if anyone tried to kill him, even if just for Ciri’s sake.

“No, I won’t shut up! I would very much appreciate it if you stopped treating me like I was invisible. First of all, I have a name and I very much like you to use it rather than refer to me as ‘the human’. Second, as for my political views, I don’t tend to share them and I cannot say that I am much of a political connoisseur, but I am most definitely not in Nilfgaard’s pockets, much less do I agree with their values or their practices. Finally, I just want to get back to my own life. I will take your secret to my grave, you have my word. Please, I just want to go home.”

Ciri shot him a compassionate look, while Lambert focused so hard on keeping his mouth shut his face turned bright red and his nostrils flared, giving him the airs of an enraged animal. Eskel looked contemplative as he pondered Jaskier’s words, and Geralt… well, he looked calm for a wolf. It was hard to gauge his thoughts when he was in animal form. Jaskier wondered what the silver wolf looked like in his human form. Judging by the white and silver fur, Jaskier could only imagine him as an old man sporting a long beard and making wise statements that ended every feud. He also appeared to be the most senior member of the group, which only reinforced Jaskier’s theory. Then again, appearances could be deceiving. Ciri was the living proof of that.

“I agree with you Ciri,” Eskel declared after several minutes of silent reflection, “the hu – Jaskier deserves at least the benefit of the doubt for saving you. I also agree with Eskel, however, that we cannot let him go free with how much he knows about us.”

“What do you suggest we do?” Lambert enquired, clearly unhappy with the outcome. Eskel did not instantly reply, instead seeking Geralt’s yellow eyes. Jaskier wondered if they could communicate through some magical bond, but he figured his questions could wait.

“Let’s take him to Vesemir.”

“Back to the keep?” Lambert cried out indignantly, “a human at Kaer Morhen? Are you out of your fucking mind, brother? I can’t believe you’re suggesting this.”

Kaer Morhen. The witchers’ keep that was destroyed over a century ago. If Jaskier was not convinced that he was dealing with the witchers of old before, there was no denying their identity now. He had to remember to cash in his reward from those peasants, provided he made it out of the forest alive.

“Vesemir will decide what to do with the human. Lambert, unless you have a better idea other than killing the human, I suggest you pipe the fuck down.”

“But – “

“You are not in charge, brother. This is a group decision, and you are outnumbered. Either you get on with it, or you suck it up. You can argue your case before Vesemir, but until then you keep your mouth shut and your murderous tendencies to yourself. Have I made myself clear?” Lambert looked about to argue, but to Jaskier’s surprise he nodded his understanding stiffly. “Good, that’s settled. Let’s head back to the keep before we get caught in the snow.”

Jaskier felt anxiety take a hold of him again, and were it not for Ciri’s comforting hand on his bicep and the knowledge that Geralt could outrun him even on a bad day with a broken leg, Jaskier would have probably attempted to run for his life. There was nowhere to run to, though. And he had a greater chance of survival by travelling with those… witchers… than by running around in circles like a headless chicken in the forest all day and night.

Reluctantly, Jaskier followed the others as they made their way to Kaer Morhen.

TBC.

Taglist: @wintekit-1221 @littleredhotsridinghood

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #dandelion x geralt #geralt x dandelion #ciri #eskel #lambert #wip #wolf geralt

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forehead-enthusiast · 5 years

Text

Muse

Pairing: Rowoon x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1.9k

Summary: An artist and their model- both too attracted to each other to admit it.

Rowoon sat a few feet away from you, as still as he could, which wasn’t very still at all, but you appreciated his effort. You had a sketchbook propped against your knees and a pencil in hand, and were doing your best to trace the contours of his face against the page.

“How’s it going so far?”

“It’s okay.” You hadn’t gotten much completed yet, and if you were entirely honest, it was difficult to capture how beautiful he was. Still, it wasn’t altogether awful. He fidgeted as you looked up to take him in once more before returning your gaze downward. Without you knowing, he gazed at your figure, bowed over itself, infatuated with your focused expression.

It was fairly easy for him to sneak glances. You were always so engrossed in art that you barely noticed anything around you, which was lucky for him. This wasn’t news to you, of course. You knew how focused you could get as you watched graphite grind onto paper, trying to pull the dreams from your mind and trap them in the form of rough sketches and pictures. You got so focused, you almost forgot how attractive your usual model was.

Almost.

It was rather distracting to have a model of such caliber. Every angle on his face was breathtaking. Every shade of brown in his glossy hair was stunning. Every time he breathed in, you felt the urge to illustrate the way he looked when his chest rose and the way he looked when it subsequently fell. If only your hand could keep up with your brain, you’d have filled the room from floor to ceiling with stacks upon stacks of drawings, but alas- you had to focus on one moment of him at a time.

“Am I sitting still enough?”

“Hm? Yeah, yeah, you’re fine. I’m just grateful you’re willing to do this for me.”

I’d do anything you asked. Especially if it means I get to spend hours with you alone. The words floated around Rowoon’s head, taunting him with their straightforwardness. He waved them away with a swing of his large hand before he noticed you looking and flashed a totally natural smile. He sighed discreetly as you looked up every so often, each time your eyes alight with inspiration and flecks of sunshine.

Sometimes he liked to close his eyes and take in the world that seemed to only exist for you two: the scratching of a pencil, the smell of aging wood and dust that was suspended in time, and the warmth of the setting sun on his skin.

Time seemed to fade as he sat there. The world stopped turning, nighttime stopped falling, the ice in your water bottle ceased to melt. The air moved like honey, thick and sweet and slow, and he’d let himself drown in your drawing sessions if he could.

He hoped you felt similarly, even if only a bit.

You did.

You wondered if he ever noticed you drawing extra slowly on some days, longing to extend the minutes and prolong the inevitable goodbyes and goodnights. You wondered if he thought you looked at him too long or too often, or with too much softness in your eyes. He’d be right. You wondered how you managed to get into such a wonderful predicament. So gently tortuous in its opportunities.

“Is my pose okay?”

You chuckled. “Yes, Rowoon, it’s fine.” It was a silly question. No matter what he did, he’d look like a masterpiece anyway. That’s the beauty of being beautiful. Every movement, every instinct, every flick of a finger and every sidewards glance was lovely.

“Alright, just checking. My shirt isn’t on backwards or anything?”

“No, it’s not. You know models don’t usually talk this much, right?”

He grinned sheepishly, swinging his legs gently through the air. He looked so young and boyish sitting there, like a grade schooler waiting to get his picture taken for the yearbook. It was such a contrast from his tall and imposing stature it made you smile without realizing.

Rowoon watched your eyes crease with affection, and prayed the glow of the sunset would mask the warmth on his cheeks.

He let the silence stretch on, only occasionally tapping his fingers on the underside of his stool when he couldn’t resist. He thought about how your eyes draped over him, taking in his minute details. He thought about your hands tracing over his silhouette, sliding across his jawline and shoulders, and flushed at his own imagination. He pictured what it would feel like if you were to actually get up from where you sat and touch him, your gray-stained fingers threatening to smear their imprint on his skin.

You looked at Rowoon, and wondered what could lead him to make that expression. How would you describe it? Tender? Bashful? It almost seemed scandalized by itself, as though it was trying and failing to restrain impulsive thoughts. It was both hard to look at and hard to tear your eyes away from.

Your flush matched his. Your hearts pounded in tandem with each other, and you could almost hear their rhythm reverberating off the walls if you only listened closely enough.

Rowoon couldn’t stop his imagination from blooming with scenarios of you and him, and, worried they’d begin to overflow out of him in petals of confessions, broke the silence.

“S-so what are you drawing right now?”

You found yourself snapped out of the trance that peculiar expression of his had trapped you in, and took a moment to compose yourself and answer.

“Ah, the lips. My favorite part.”

There was a long pause, and you realized the implications of your answer as Rowoon pressed a hand to his chest, desperate to keep his heart contained within.

“Of me-”

“T-to draw! My favorite part to draw.”

“Right, of course!” He forced a laugh, and couldn’t even convince himself it sounded organic.

You tried to return to drawing, but your pencil hovered above the image of his lips, and you found yourself clutching the thing too tightly to draw properly. You hoped it wouldn’t snap in your grip- you only had the one. What, you didn’t claim to be some professional artist who could afford more than one decent pencil at a time.

“…Why aren’t you drawing?”

Rowoon’s low voice seemed to fill the space around you, rich in its tone.

“It’s your favorite part, after all.”

He gulped. You imitated him unintentionally. His mind was going even more wild than before, practically exploding with thoughts of you. He bit the lip you were struggling to draw, teetering on the edge of no return. You were just a few feet away. The distance seemed to widen as he watched it, and it seemed to threaten that if he waited much longer, it would become too great a gap to close.

“Do you need a closer look?”

He got up from his stool, and took a step towards you. His feet felt glued to the floor, in the space where the model was meant to stay. He pried them up.

You stiffened as you watched him come closer, the expression on his face mesmerizing yet somehow terrifying. While you could never admit it, never assume it, you understood what that expression meant. Who it was for. You covered your face with your sketchbook, but even with it blocking your vision, you could picture the way he looked vividly, and grew frustrated at its inability to shield you.

Long fingers tapped on top of the sketchbook, pushing it down and away from your face. No matter how many drawings you must have of this face, nothing could prepare you for it at this distance.

He was crouched down on the floor, looking up at you. You’d never seen him from this angle. Your heart raced at the sight, sometimes forgetting to pause between beats.

He took hold of your wrist gently, guiding it towards his face.

“Touch me.”

Your fingers reached out despite yourself, and pressed gently against his lips. Your thumb slid across his bottom lip, and while you weren’t sure if you could really be considered conscious, you took note of how soft it felt.

Your sketchbook and pencil slid off your lap and clattered onto the floor as he kissed you.

His jaw was tilted upwards in your hands. His palm was large enough that it completely covered yours. You could taste the sunlight on his lips, warm and gentle like summer rain. They fit so perfectly against your own, it was a pity to separate them, even to kiss again a moment later. In those pauses, his murmurs would fill your mouth, your lungs, his mumbled words would dance on your tongue. He murmured your name. Your name, over and over, as if reciting an incantation. The way his voice sounded when he said it was soft and smooth and dark, and felt like velvet when it touched you.

It felt dangerous to kiss him. It was addictive, all too pleasant to be permitted. He grew sweeter each time you lingered. At some point you had slid off your chair to join him on the floor carpeted with eraser shavings. His hands had discovered your lower back, and embraced you like there was no other purpose for them in life. Meanwhile, your hands had found his neck and the collar of his shirt, and left the smudges of silver he’d been fantasizing about. You could feel his racing pulse against your fingers.

The sun had finished setting. Cool shadows were strewn about the room, coating you in shades of gray and blue, but his hands on you were warmth enough. He looked at you, breathless in his arms, and wished he had the ability to draw, to immortalize this moment. He let his fingers run themselves through your hair, and smiled softly.

You couldn’t even meet his eyes. You could feel the flush that had spread to the tips of your ears, the back of your neck. You figured if you were to face him directly now, you might simply melt.

He lifted your chin, and grinned when your eyes widened, then tightly shut.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think I love you too much.”

You scrunched your face up tighter at the words that spilled out uncontrollably, far too honest to be intentional. His low laugh floated around your ears. You opened one eye cautiously, only to find him staring at you adoringly. He leaned in to kiss your cheek, then the other, then all across your nose and chin and forehead. He kissed your fingers, your palms, his lips exploring the hands that knew him well.

“It’s the same for me.” He spoke into the curves of your hands. “I love you more than you can imagine.”

He cupped your face in his hands, and pulled you suddenly into another kiss, as if to memorize how it felt when your lips melted into his. You practically fell onto him, with his arms supporting you as you pressed against his broad chest. He leaned back onto the ground, gently taking you with him, and began to smile too widely to kiss you properly.

“Yes!”

He positively beamed in celebration, his soft hair splayed on the floor. He looked like an angel with a coffee-colored halo framing his face.

He really was a masterpiece.

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keigoloveminty · 4 years

Text

Sweet Angel

Bnha Night club AU

I have a suddenly urge to write this x3 Please enjoy it!

Everyones aged up for this !

Chapter 1: Something new to try

You slammed your head down as you tried not to cry, you were just kicked out of your previous office work, even though it barely paid you,’This is so bad.. ... what am I going to do now!?’,you internally screamed as you scratched your head with both of your hands. You tried to hold back a sob on the papers that screamed ‘You are being relieved from your work, we thank you for your services. Please receive this generous amount of 400,000 yen as thanks’ the money is great an all but you didn’t want to be a burden to your roommates for paying the rent.

You sniffed has you tired to wipe off your tears off while clutching the already wet papers that are now drenched in your tears,”I don't get this! One day they’re are telling me I'm doing great the now I’m being asked to gather all my stuff to cause I’m getting fired. ...”, You placed the papers on the table and walked to the couch and flopped your whole body on it and screamed at a cushion. You friend Ryukyu walked out from the kitchen and gave you a worried expression, she knew you were suddenly fired because you came home crying your eyes out and went straight to your room closing the door quietly. Your roommates including her, Nemuri, Uwabami were quick to try and comfort you, you told them after hours of convincing you to come out and explain but you ended up crying your eyes out while eating your favourite ice cream.

Ryukyu walks to where you were and pats your head,”Maybe this is a sign that you need to try something new, how about that little side Job you do as an artist that takes commissions?”, she says with a soft voice. You looked up form the cushion while sniffling,”I don’t mind that but I don't want to stay cooped up in my room drawing for at least 100+ hours just for commissions, the pays great but mostly all of them are rush orders which is really tiring for me...”, you say. ”Hmmm..Oh! how about streaming?”, She says you tilted your head to the right with a questioning face,”I’m quite shy Ryu-chan and besides it takes awhile to even have a huge fanbase but either way I’m way to shy to even let people see my face anyways...”, this time it was Uwabami’s turn.

“How about working as a model for me? All my models are cool and all but they all have trash attitudes and zero cooperation on shoots”, she huffs as she walks in with two mugs. She hands you a mug,”Its nice and sweet, just how you like your tea”, she smiles. You sat up putting the cushion on you lap and reached for the mug taking a small sip form the tea,”Plus I think you’ll do well as a model with that great body of yours! I’d say you’d do well as a lingerie model”,you almost spit out your tea. You pouted as you looked at her,”I get the ‘Try new things’ but I don’t think putting my body out in billboards or advertisements is too much for me! I’ve done it twice now for you and my coworkers kept asking me if I was working as a part-time model”, you squeaked as you quietly thanked Ryukyu handing a tissue.

“Whaaat? You should flaunt that cute body of yours, besides you're already wearing some of my trial clothings and you look super cute in them already”, she squeals while Ryukyu laughs nervously. Ryukyu was a film director as well as streamer for fun, Uwabami is a fashion designer as well as an online celebrity, and you used to work as a full-time artist that does commissions but decided to try something new and tried to work at a office as someone who basically works their butt off of dozens of papers.

Everyone was user nice and you did considered that you didn't mind working full-time there but after 3 years of serving them you got fired for no specific reason, you were damn sure that you did everything right, learned from your co-workers. You had a suspicion going on that someone who hated you had spread false rumours about you and managed to get to the president which lead you into to being fired. Lastly, is your friend Nemuri, you went sure what her job is, you tired to ask Ryukyu and Uwabami about it but they always say ‘I don’t think you should know..’ or ‘Her work is... something else its like a form of art? But if I tell you it’ll be too much on your soul’ or any answer to redirect your attention.

After 5 years of living together you still didnt know what Nemuri’s job is,”How about working at my job? You should try something wild!”, speak of devil- your friend Nemuri walks out of her room with a towel on her shoulders drying her hair. Ryukyu coughed at her suggestion while Uwabami rolls her eyes at Nemuri,”Nemu I think that work is too much for Y/n, besides thats too wild I don't think y/n will even consider working there even for a week”, she huffs out. Nemuri laughs at this and smirks,”Wanna bet?”, she cheekily says. Before Uwabami could reply to that Ryukyu was kind enough to step in-between the two,”Stop it you two, we are supposed to be comforting y/n and help her find a job. A job that SHE likes working at”, Ryukyu says while gesturing you to face away for her so she could braid your hair as that clams you down a bit.

Uwabami quickly agrees with Ryukyu,”Yeah! Which means she could work with me as a model for my clothes!”, Ryukyu looks at her a straight face,”A job that y/n doesn't MIND working at for awhile or if your’re lucky she likes the job as your model then she’ll your there full-time”, she says as she returns to braiding your hair. Uwabami sighs sadly grumbling ‘She has a small experience for last time and I think she would do well!’ Nemuri laughs at her friends demise and looks back you,”Theres an open spot for waiters/waitress at my job and plus we have a new rule of no touching the waiters/waitress since that incident. Aaanndd we also have a tight security now! five in every floor, room and in the bar as well!”, she walks in the kitchen to grab a beer.

“Isn't is a bit too early for you to start drinking? Don’t you have work later on?”, Uwabami looks at her with a pout on her face. Nemuri waves her off as she take a huge gulp of her favourite beer,”I could take her there to day for an interview plus! y/n already has great experience cause she works at a cafe before! But I wouldn't force you to do it but then again your always open to trying something new and I think--”, before she could finish her sentence Ryukyu cuts her off,”--its y/n decision to either go with you or work with Uwabami or she looks for other jobs that are open to her or continue doing commissions. It up to y/n to figure out what she wants to do next, also I wouldn't mind letting you work as a graphic designer or be my assistant”, Ryukyu says as she now finishes braiding your hair, she leans back to admire her work.

“Thank you Ryu-chan, I think that calm me down a bit. I'll think about your offers”, you say as you look at your roommates, Uwabami silently celebrates and squeals, ‘What ever you pick I'll respect it’ Ryukyu says softly while patting your head. Nemuri rolls her eye at Uwabami,”You haven’t won anything yet Medusa”, she sneers. Medusa is a name that she uses to insult to Uwabami’s hair but Uwabami doesn't care about but rather likes it cause it suits her,”Like your one to talk, what makes you think y/n would work where you work?! You’ll scare her to death”, Uwabami rolls her eyes and scoff at this,”She’s working as a waitress, Uwabami and the pays actually good since its a really popular place and I wouldn't let her go near ‘That’ place, the no touching the waiters or waitresses rule is basically non existent there since its VIP only”, Nemuri reasons out.

The two went back and worth with reasons and all while silently insulting each other, Ryukyu sighs heavily as she looks at you who was silently watching them roast each other,”Well I’m really curious about where Nemuri works at and she did say there's a spot for a waitress and Ive got some experience when I worked at a cafe before, so I guess its not that different, besides I can't stay cooped up in here working on commissions all day everyday. I wanna try something new!”, you stood up with a determined face as he looked at Nemuri.

Ryukyu laughs nervously at your enthusiasm,’I don’t think thats the right expression your wearing, y/n’,she sweat drops at this Uwabami drops her jaw and lets out a loud groan saddened that you didn’t choose her, Nemuri squeals in excitement and quickly runs to your side and grabbed both of your hands,”You won't regret it, I swear on it! I have to call the Prez. to secure a spot for you”, she lets go of your hands and reaches for her back pocket for her phone.

“Now hold on just a second! Y/n hasn't technically agreed AGREED to fully work there anyway!”,Uwabami shouts clearly annoyed that Nemuri is celebrating early, Nemuri sticks her tongue out like a child. Ryukyu deadpans at their childish behaviour,”As long y/n is safe in working-- like you promised, Nemuri-- then I have no problems with y/n working there-- as a waitress--”, Ryukyu says with s strict voice as she puts emphasis on Nemuri’s name and you working as a server there.

Nemuri visibly shakes in her place clearly excited for you to come with her later and check out the place before it opens, her phone rang a few times till the call comes through,”HEY PREZ.!! I finally found someone that could fill in the spot if the previous waiter who decided to quit... ..Yes... Could she check out the place later before the place opens? OH don’t worry use the door from the back.. okay..SHE CAN!! OKAY I’ll tell her right away!!”, she quickly ends the call and turns to face you with a grin.

“Wear your most comfortable outfit y/n!! Im taking you to my work place in 2 hours!!”, Nemuri quickly run back to her room and slams her door close. She opens it again and looks at Uwabami,”Aaanndd if you want her to still test out your cute clothes my work allows waiter and waitresses to wear what ever they want as long as they have thier server badge around them”, she then closes her door again. Uwabami huffs in complete defeat but grumbles out ‘I guess that kind of a win for me, I’ll make sure to have something she could wear-- super cute too!!’ and goes to her room to scavenge and continue her cute designs for you wear.

Ryukyu looks at you with a serious expression,”Well... . seeing as you've decided on going to that work, I guess I can tell you that this job no regular job sure there's some aspects of serving a person their orders or drinks but it goes sometimes goes beyond that, y/n”, you looked at her with a confused look. “How is it different Ryu-chan? OH! Will you finally tell me what kind of work Nemuri has now?”, you asked excited flapping your arms with excitement, Ryukyu cough nervously and looks at your with her eyebrows furrowed and a small smile,”Erm I think you have to seat down for this one Y/n”.

---

Its currently 3:26 pm and Nemuri’s work starts at 6:30 pm, you were squirming in your seat as Nemuri drives you both there. You were wearing your most comfortable clothes you could wear a huge jacket that reaches halfway to your knees, leggings and running shoes while Nemuri was wearing a tight fitting dark purple dress that was way to high up her thighs. You already knew what you chose to work at as Ryukyu explained to you back at the house, but then again you have to be accepted into working here but knowing Nemuri she wouldn't hesitate to pull some strings to make them accept you applying there.

‘A stripper club?! I though Nemuri works for a lingerie model... BUT A STRIPPER?! I would've never guess that if Ryukyu did not tell me this..’,you rubbed your arms as you looked at the road ahead of you. Nemuri looks at you through the rear mirror seeing you were feeling unsure,”Hey, were just checking out the place I'm not actually letting you work there right away, we’ll basically give you a tour of the building and at the end of that tour you have to make a decision that your either want to work there full-time or just keep it as an option. But you have like less than a week to decided cause Prez says that there are a lot of people coming in seeing if they could work there, I'm friends with everyone in the building so if anyone tries to get to touchy with you they have to get through me first, got all that?”.

You looked at Nemuri with a small smile not feeling nervous anymore,”So um.. whats it like being a stripper?”, you asked feeling curious. Nemuri grins at your question,”Weellll its kinda fun and art in a way, it also lets me be myself, let out my true self-- not that I cant outside but this place allows me to get down and get wild! And the crowds cheering as well get me going and I do get down and dirty when someone offers it--- cant say no to that and the money as well”, she laughs.

You sat there laughing nervously and looked at the window,’I don't mind working here well not forever but I'd like to just try it out, after all I still have to look for an actual job. Maybe I should just work for an animation studio?’, your mind began to wonder what jobs you should apply at next since the office life just wasn't for you. You were kind of sad cause the people that surrounded you were super sweet and kind-- except that one person-- you’ll miss Shino, Ryuko, Tomoko as well as Yawara (The Pussy cats real names)

But you could always keep in touch with them after all they literally asked you on a hangout this weekend to comfort you, you agreed to it and can't wait to meet them once this week it over and you finally have a grasp of the job you’ll now be working in which in your case you were quite excited as you don’t know how big of a difference being a waitress in a stripper clubs differs from a waitress in cafe. Your legs were jumping in excitement as you pass the third stop light, you could see a building that has all kinds of lights and expensive--like hella expensive-- a few cars parks in the front as well as moving lights,’I-is this how stripper clubs look like?! This place is almost packed and its not even 6:30 pm yet.. .’,You looked at Nemuri with a confused expression.

Nemuri laughs at you as she turns her car to the back part of the building-- that has three floors??-- where workers could park there car there,”We’re here y/n, try not stay close to me this place is quite big and I don’t really want to lose sight of you”, Nemuri easy has she turns off the engine and got out the car and you followed as well. You pulled on your jacket sleeve as you wait for Nemuri while she get her gym bag where she had all her clothes and all her other stuff. She closed her trunk and walked to my side with her gym bag slung on her left arm,”You ready? You know once you walk inside its a whole new world and scene for you, I’m just giving you a tour along with the prez. as well as the rules. You won't start working here unless you sign the papers”, she says as she walks beside you to the back entrance.

You gave her a soft nod as she opens the door to you, as soon as she opened the door a blast of sexy music can be heard-- but a bit muffled-- and the lighting was so dark you could barely see anything if it wasn't for the floor lightings that could guide you,’What the heck-- why is it so DARK HERE?! To be honest Nemuri I'm not sure if I'm in the right place’, you internally cried as you walked right behind her. You made sure to grab the lose sling of her gym bag as to not get lost as waiters and waitresses scamper around to make sure the place was spotless before it opens its doors to the rich people, each of them had this two things around their thighs--wait a second is that ARE THEY CARRYING TWO HUGE ALCHOL BOTTLES?!-- and are those the uniforms you’ll be wearing- this is getting too much.

Your whole body quivered,’Not only this whole place is super- and I mean super expensive looking-- all the people serving here are wearing those kinds or clothes’,You observed the servers running around trying to get ready some were even strong enough to get change at the corner, your guessing they came in late and didn't want their manager to scold them. From what you’ve observed there were some that decided to wear their own outfit with their server badge of course but majority wore the clubs uniforms. “Hey.. Nemuri are we almost there yet?”, you looked at her as you guys were going up the huge stairs to the second floor.

Th structure of the building was honestly new to you, from what you could observe, it has three floors counting the ground floor-- which had a Two small pole stages levelled on each side of the huge pole stage that had a DJ stationed just behind the huge stage. Surrounding the stages had lounges and seating areas for people to watch the performers from, there were railings on the 2nd and 3rd floors to watch the stages on the first floor from above, there were also seats that curved around a super small stage in the center of it,”We’re almost their no need to be nervous! Everyones super nice here”, you laughed nervously,’I’m basically the odd one out here in this place-- Oh please tell me I can wear legging and not shorts to work, PLEASE’,you prayed silently.

You finally reached the managers room at last, you shuffled nervously on you spot as you looked at Nemuri,”Go inside, I'll meet you in her in a second I have to change into my outfit”, she pats your head softly as she walks to the opposite direction. You looked at the sign on top of door ‘Dancers only’ you sighed heavily,”Figures... well here goes nothing.. ..”, you knocked on the door trice and you heard a faint ‘Come in!’, you slowly turned the knob and peaked at the door meekly.

---

You poked your head out as look inside the room, before you were three people and two of them were in stripper outfits,’I interrupted something didn’t I... GWAHH NEMURI SAVE ME!!!’, you cried internally as the man gestured for you to come inside. You swallowed and stepped inside and closed the door behind you and walked in front of the table,’Don’t look at them, don’t look at them, dont look at them-- will he start or do I have to’, luckily you didn’t have to start the conversation as the-- cute small bear?-- started it for you. “A pleasure to meet you! I’m guessing your’re the new waitress that Nemuri told over the phone, I was just talking to this two about something but I will continue that later seeing that you are here now!”, the manager? jumped down the chair and walked around the huge table to you.

‘Oh my god-- SO CUTE!!! THIS IS THE MANAGER THAT OWNS THE PLACE?!’, you blushed at this, you were cooing how cute the manager was. You held both of your hands on you chest,“N-nice to meet-- YOUUuu?!”, you flinched when someone blew on your left ear. You covered your left ear as you looked the person,”Hello, precious listener”, the person grinned as he looked at you with a playful expression. The person has long silky yellow hair that framed his looks and is wearing a black mesh crop top, yellow tinted glasses, some necklaces, yellow shorts and black boots. You walked backwards only to land against someones chest, the said person held your shoulders softy with his large calloused hands which might be from dancing on the pole.

“Don’t scare her too much Hizashi..”, you flinched at the husky voice behind you--you didn’t know you’d be would be working with a bunch of handsome men-- ‘I don’t know if I should be happy or scared at this.. Nemuri please save me huhuh’, the man that was behind you was wearing a grey mesh top, black leather fingerless gloves, black cargo pants thats tucked in his black combat boots, a few ear piercings and silver chains around his neck. You quickly muttered a ‘Sorry’ and pulled onto your hoodie to hide your flustered state,’NEMURI WHERE ARE YOU HUHUHUHUHUH’, you internally cried. The prez laughed at your flustered self,”Sorry about them! The one who blew on your ear is Hizashi, his stage name is Present Mic and this other fellow here is Aizawa, Eraserhead is his stage name”, the prez says as he taps your leg.

You peaked out from your hoodie to look down at him, he smiles softy,”Your quite shy but thats okay!I can tell your’re going to be a breath of fresh air here at the UA club!”, he laughs softly and all you could do was nod softly, the two strippers in room the can agree to that.

#sweetangel

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