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f1nalboys · 1 year

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You're Mine - Bo Sinclair x Self Insert

Bo Sinclair x Self Insert

PLEASE READ WARNINGS!

WORD COUNT: 2661

WARNINGS: SELF INSERT GUYS. this is NOT x reader. my name is mentioned legit once and i dont think i described myself physically very much but its not x reader!!!!, nsfw, yandere!bo, canon typical violence, canon typical murder, slight dub-con elements (i wrote it with full consent but considering the circumstances and certain things bo says, using that tag as a safety thing), degradation, creampie, unprotected sex, knife play, blood play, outdoor sex, evil yucky bo :3, self harm scars mentioned, bo cuts over pre-existing scar, bo makes SI lick blade clean, predator/prey dynamics, uhhh i think thats it, not proofread,

“And thanks again, Bo, for letting us stay here for the night while you fix the car up! We really appreciate it!” She says with a smile and for a second it’s enough to make Bo forget that Nick was just behind her, sitting on the edge of the bed and kicking his shoes off. She was smiling for him, for Bo, and just him. He knew that. He knew since he saw her get out of Lesters shitty truck that she was meant to be his.

“No problem, sugar. I feel much better having you under my roof.” She blushes at the nickname, at the clear declaration of love, and he nods his head at her, flashing a grin. “You have a nice night, alright, sweetheart?”

“You too, Bo.” She shuts the door and Bo makes his way into his bedroom, closing the door tightly, kicking his shoes off, and shutting the light off. He can feel his way around the house completely blind so making his way to his bed, sitting in front of the two-way mirror, it was almost second nature. Bo sits on the edge of his bed and watches with bated breath.

Nick had finally gotten into the bed, shirt off and thrown into a heap on the floor. She, however, was taking her time to carefully undress, folding and placing each item on top of each other. She was undressing like this for Bo. She had to have known that the mirror was two-way, that he could see every curve and fold and scar on her body with how close she was to it.

With a soft sigh he grinds his palm onto his lap, hissing at the friction and at the sight of her ass as she bends over, slipping her pants off. “C’mon, get into bed,” Nick says and Bo scowls; he had forgotten he was there. Nick was covering his eyes, per her request, and she scoffs, pulling on a pair of thin leggings and slipping her bra off. God, her tits, Bo thinks, head tilting to the side slightly.

She had shown up in a tank top and jacket zipped all the way up but the Louisiana heat got to her in the garage and, in what felt like slow fucking motion for him, unzipped her hoodie. Bo dropped the god damn wrench he was holding, the tool clanging against the concrete floor, and for the first time he felt himself blush as he bent down to grab it. She had laughed, covering her mouth with her hand, but she wasn’t laughing at him, he knew that. She wouldn’t do that.

Bo tunes back into the present and sees that the other bedroom is dark now, though he can still make out their bodies in the bed from the light pouring in from under the door. “C’mon, don’t you want to?” He hears Nick say, can see the man's silhouette reaching a hand towards her. She giggles. “We can be quiet.”

“You can be quiet,” She retorts quietly but Bo can hear her sigh and he knows that Nick is touching her. “I have a hard time doing that, remember?”

“Mhm, it’s cute, though. Besides, that creep totally has a thing for you. Why don’t you put a show on for him? Bet he’s watching us right now or some shit.” Bo’s mouth goes dry at the mention of him. Nick had been giving him the stink eye every time he would try to make conversation with her, but he had casually asked if the two of them were together, not that he cared. ‘Nope,’ she had said with a blush and that’s when Bo knew he had her.

“Oh, stop! He’s being nice, lettin’ us stay here; he’s not a creep.” She sighs again and, now that his eyes have adjusted to the darkness more, he can make out her hips moving underneath the blanket. “But we can screw around a bit if you want, j-just, shit! Just need to keep your hand over my mouth.”

Nick laughs and Bo removes his hand from his lap, anger rising in his chest. He was touching his property right in front of him. Knew he was watching and was trying to prove something. Bo stands quietly, eyes trained on her, and can hear her barely muffled moans. She was his. He was supposed to be the one drawing those noises from her, to feel her tighten around his fingers, to hear the wet squelch of his cock plunging inside her. Not Nick. And he wouldn’t, Bo decides as he slips his shoes on and grabs the knife placed onto his dresser. Not anymore.

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

The woods were a maze. She ran as fast as she could, trees and shrubbery cutting into her bare arms. The thin top and leggings she wore were doing nothing to help protect her from the temperature - which had dropped considerably - or the foliage which seemed to reach out and scratch and cut and slow her down on purpose. Her shoes were covered in mud as were her knees and hands when she had gone sprawling just moments ago.

He was chasing her.

Bo loved the chase. He loved running after the victim, hunting them not unlike a predator in the wild, letting them think they had finally escaped him only to crush their hopes in an instant. But she wasn’t a victim. Didn’t she understand that? He runs after her, far more graceful, jumping and dodging over fallen branches and prickly bushes, always right on her heel.

Nick was dead, bleeding out on the streets of Ambrose. She was covered in his blood. After Bo had stabbed him once, twice, three times in the chest and he had crumpled to the ground, she had attempted to stop the bleeding with her hands, screaming and crying, begging him not to die. Bo let her grieve, though he found himself getting annoyed fairly quickly. He had gotten rid of the only other thing keeping her away from him and she wasn’t acting grateful. And then she looked up, looked at him with tear-filled eyes, fear coursing through her veins, and ran.

Her foot catches on a large gnarled root and she falls, holding her hands out to catch herself. The wind is knocked out of her when she lands, slamming into the rock-covered ground, one stabbing into her stomach. She already can’t breathe and now it feels like there’s no oxygen left around her and she can hear the sound of Bo’s approaching footsteps. She knows it’s over.

Forcing herself to flip over she sucks in a raspy breath, eyes widening at the sight of the man approaching. He towers over her, his coveralls darkened with blood, the knife still in his hand. She watches a single drop of blood fall from the tip. Nick’s blood. “Please,” She says, cringing at the way her voice cracks. She was terrified, completely at the mercy of some lunatic she had thought was safe. She had even defended him when Nick called him a creep and now Nick was dead in the streets of an abandoned town and she was stuck in the woods with the man looming over her with a sick sadistic grin plastered onto his face.

But underneath the fear, underneath the disgust, lies something else, something not quite dormant. She can’t tell what it is.

“Please what, sugar? Use your words.”

“Please don’t kill me.” Please make it quick if you do, she almost adds, but then he laughs. He laughs at her and takes three large steps forwards until he's directly over top of her and she does nothing to stop him or to keep him away. “I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” He repeats with a raised eyebrow and her thighs squeeze together subconsciously and she can suddenly pinpoint the feeling she was having. Want. She wanted him, even after everything he had done, even as Nick's blood dried onto her skin. Nodding she bites her lip, swallowing heavily. “Pull your pants down.”

Bo watches completely enamored as she does what he asks, yanking her leggings down, her eyes on him. She doesn’t blink, she doesn’t move, she barely breathes as she waits. She was uncomfortable on the forest floor but she knew better than to complain. Putting the blade of the knife in between his teeth he shoves his coveralls off of his shoulders, the white shirt underneath stained red.

“Heard him touchin’ you,” Bo says, shoving the coveralls down past his hips just enough to pull his already hardening cock out and grabbing the knife from his mouth. His grip tightens around himself as he stares down at her, so helpless. “Heard all those fuckin’ noises you were making. Teasin’ me like a whore, knew I was watching and listenin’ and had to act up, didn’t you?”

“You… you were watching? How?”

“Mirror. Don’t act like you weren’t doing it for me.” He spits and she flinches, hands grabbing at the bottom of her shirt to pull it down over herself. “Don’t you fuckin’ dare.” Bo snaps and her hands let go instantly, balling into fists at her side. They were at the edge of the woods somehow, streetlights from Ambrose illuminating her body on the ground. She thought she had been further away from town but she must have gotten confused, fallen and jumped back up ust to run in the wrong direction.

Still stroking himself, Bo bends down, dragging the blood-soaked knife up her bare legs gently. She whimpers and Bo grins at the noise; He knows she will be making more noises like that soon. “What are you going to do to me?” She whispers, her sobs silent now but the tears still streaming down her face. Bo tsks.

“Better question is what ain’t I gonna do to you, sugar.” She closes her eyes, lips pursing. “You do this to yourself?” Her eyes open and she sees him staring at her thighs and she swallows heavily; she had forgotten about her scars. They were littering her right thigh, pale, almost gone from how long it’s been. She hadn’t even thought about them.

“Yeah, a while ago, though.”

“I see.” Bo’s striking eyes catching hers. For a moment she wonders if he feels sorry for her but then he’s digging the tip of the knife into her flesh, right over one of the existing scars, dragging it across all while never flinching. She hisses, tears pricking at her eyes but she tries her best not to move, worried about how much deeper the knife would go if she did. “Good girl, Brooklyn,” Bo purrs, removing the knife and bringing the blade to her mouth. Nick’s blood was still covering the metal, now mixed with her own. He places it against her lips. “Clean the knife up, wouldn’t you?”

His voice was thick with desire and his tongue swipes across his bottom lip, wetting it just as hers tentatively pokes out, swiping across the blade. Her face screws up at the metallic taste but she continues licking, keeping her eyes on him. The blood pouring from her thigh was warm and she shivers. Bo moves the knife away, finally, and she waits with bated breath to see what else he was going to do, to see how else he was going to touch her.

Why was she excited? Why did she want to see what he was going to do to her? She should be trying to run off, whether he killed her or not no longer mattering; he was dangerous. She knew that, saw it with her own eyes, but yet there she lay. Patiently. Obediently. “Spread your legs.” Bo commands and she does so, a blush crawling up her neck when he whistles. She can see his cock twitch, the streetlight bouncing off of the precum collecting at his tip and she wants to sit up and taste him. “Fuck, so wet. Can’t even deny how bad you want my cock in you, can you, sugar?”

“N-no, I can't...” He grins wildly, clearly having expected a fight. Bo was used to a fight, but he didn’t want her to give him one. “I…” She squeezes her eyes shut, mind reeling over the fact she was really about to say this to him. “I want you to fuck me.” No sooner are the words out of her mouth than he is slotting himself in between her spread thighs, knife held at her throat.

Bo doesn’t say anything, just pulls her underwear, which were thoroughly soaked through, to the side, lines his cock up, and shoves himself inside. She howls in pain at the stretch, grabbing at his biceps with her nails digging into his flesh. “Fuck, so god damn tight-” Bo groans, his hips pressed against her ass, fully seated inside her. “Pretty fuckin’ pussy, just let me right in, though, didn’t it?”

She curses as he begins to move, the knife digging into the soft flesh of her neck ever so slightly, the sting of pain making her feel dizzy. There were so many sensations that it was beginning to be overwhelming; the rocks digging into her back with each thrust that sent her body jolting, the blood cool on her thigh, the sting of the cuts and bruises that littered her body, the ache in her cunt from the lack of time to adjust to Bo’s size, and Bo himself.

He was all over her, tossing the knife to the side, just out of her reach, in favor of wrapping a hand around her throat. His other hand was moving up and down her body, slipping up her shirt and pawing at her tits roughly, dragging his nails down her flesh, grabbing her hips to slam her down onto him harder. Bo was kissing her roughly, too - it seems everything he did was rough - lips dragging against her own and littering her face, hot breath and curse words covering her skin.

“Cl-close,” She groans, shocked at how quickly she had been brought to the edge. It never happened this fast, not once in her life and yet she was quickly approaching - no, more like barreling towards - the hardest and fastest orgasm of her life in the woods, being fucked by a murderer. “Fuck, Bo, I’m gonna-”

“Do it,” He says, hips snapping forwards harshly, his grip on her throat tightening ever so slightly. He moves his head back, lips swollen from kissing her, and Bo stares at her with such an intensity she can feel herself being dragged even closer to the edge. “Fucking cum for me, slut. Show me how bad you want me to fuckin’ fill your tight little cunt up. Go on, bitch, milk my cock.”

Her mouth opens and she cums, the wind knocked out of her completely. Without even meaning too she wraps her legs around Bo’s hips, forcing him deeper inside her, his pelvis flush against her. He barely has enough room to flex his hips and fuck he could die like this, buried to the hilt inside her while she came, her arms wrapping around his neck and tugging at his hair.

Bo cums soon after, head buried in her shoulder, letting go of her neck in favor of holding her hips as tight as he could. “Fuck, there we go,” He says, laughing against her sweaty skin. Bo stays inside her as he looks down at her, surveying her face. She was bruised and a little bloody, his hand covered in the blood from her thigh which trailed up her body, covering her throat and was smeared across her face, but she looked beautiful. “You’re mine.”

“What?” “I said,” Bo’s hips flex and she gasps, overstimulated and exhausted. She can feel him getting hard inside her again and she realizes with both fear and arousal that the two of them weren’t done here. “You’re mine.”

#f1nalboys masterlist #f1nalboys writing #f1nalboys works #house of wax 2005 #house of wax #bo sinclair #bo sinclair x self insert #teehee #nick jones #nick jones house of wax #nick jones x self insert #for like 2 mins #horror #:3

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yeojaa · 4 years

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( NEVER LET YOU GO. )

You do things without thought, making impulse decisions that’d make Freud proud. Sometimes they pay off, sometimes they don’t.

(or: Jeon Jungkook’s just as impulsive as you.)

pairing. tattoo artist!jjk x f!reader.

genre + rating. slice of life fluff, light smut. explicit (but only at the end).

tags / warnings. mentions of heavily tattooed!JK, casual drinking, tender lovemakin’, JK with the bad jokes, honestly just him being funny and chill like that one guy you never get over...

wc. 7.6k.

beta reader(s). @hobi-gif, @papillonsgf, and @yeoldontknow 💛 ty for always indulging me and most importantly, supporting me when i begin to spiral. 🤠

author note. i got this idea into my head one evening in the shower and now... it is this. it’s not your usual bad boy tattoooist!JK fic but i hope you enjoy regardless. as always, feedback means a lot!

You and forethought aren’t close friends. You really aren’t even distant cousins, or part of the same family tree. You consider it a stranger, wave loftily as it passes you by, squinting like you can’t properly make out what it is. Careful consideration? Thoughtful patience? None of that exists for you. At least, not when you really, really want something.

It’s what has you here now, bumbling your way into the tattoo shop like a newborn baby bird.

You wonder how it must look, whether the shop assistant is used to this. Random girl shows up on a Sunday afternoon looking like a fish out of water, eager yet afraid. By how she greets you - with a curious stare and not quite a smile - you’re sure she is.

“Do you take walk-ins?”

You’d meant to make an appointment. Had sat for hours on the shop’s Instagram page, combing through the residents’ portfolios, trying to decide who to reach out to. When you’d finally decided, you’d realised books were a thing and most of them were closed. (Just your luck.)

Still, it never hurt to try, right?

“Everyone’s fully booked.” The girl sounds bored, apathetic yet genial. (You don’t blame her.) By the way her stare swings over you, it feels like a dismissal. You’re ready to admit defeat - head half-bowed, words draped over your tongue. “But our apprentice might be able to squeeze you in.”

An apprentice? Well— that’s not exactly what you’d been hoping for, but this shop is reputable. Well-known. Considered one of the best in the city. Surely their apprentice would be fine. Just less seasoned, not as experienced.

You all but snap your neck nodding along, gratitude tumbling out in the form of awkward laughter. “That’d be great!”

The girl passes you off with a nod of her head, gesturing down the hall. “Last room on the left. His name’s Jungkook. His schedule says he’s all clear, but maybe knock before you go in.” It’s not the sunniest smile you’ve ever received, but the small thing she offers helps with the nerves. Stills them beneath your skin as you do as you’re told.

“Jungkook?” There’s not really anywhere to knock, every wall neatly frosted glass and no doors in sight. (You had passed a few folding screens but otherwise, it’s open concept, each room offering a glimpse into the artist who works inside.) It feels too disruptive to tap your knuckles on one glass pane, lest it interrupt someone else.

(His studio is minimally decorated but inviting: one big cabinet; two of those typical IKEA shelves in the 4x4 grid that every new homeowner and their mother have; and a shop table, upon which a black backpack sits. Various plants dress the room - both hanging from the ceiling and along the window - and Polaroids string over walls, held aloft by twine. A Roomba sits by itself in a corner and the tattoo bed dominates most of the space, positioned closer to the dividing wall; one teeny tiny rolling chair sits beside it. There’s a bench on your left, with a pair of Birkenstocks tucked beneath. All in all, very homey. Reminiscent of your own apartment.)

Hidden behind the bed, crouched low to the ground beside the cabinet, is a head of dark hair that speaks, drawing your attention from studying the cozy space. “Oh?”

You’re not expecting the face that turns to you, all big doe eyes and the sweetest dimples.

For a moment, you forget what you’re here for. Why you’re standing in the empty door frame, staring down at the guy like you’ve spent your entire life secluded and have no idea how to speak.

The longer you’re quiet, the more his concern seems to grow, single brow disappearing into his inky fringe. It hangs in his vision at certain angles, shields the brightness of his stare with each turn of his chin. “Are you okay?” He’s even risen - stopped what he was doing - so he can see you more clearly, without any obstruction in the way. Good for him, but worse for you.

He’s so cute. Were you prepared to look like an uncertain idiot in front of this… angel?

“Y-yeah.” You manage after what feels like forever, sweeping your nerves under the rug that sits on the floor, separates the sole of his sneakers from hard concrete. “Um— I was told you might have some time? For, uh, a walk-in?”

(Why’re you stuttering? You’re never shy. Or rather, you’re not this nervous mess. People have always called you an extrovert, outgoing as hell, a social butterfly.)

(You aren’t those things but you appreciate the sentiment nonetheless.)

“Oh!” Realisation dawns across his features, throws his kind smile into greater relief, and you have to actively tell yourself not to stare, tearing your gaze away to focus on the wall of stencils past his shoulder. He moves into motion then, stepping around the bed to meet you still rooted in the doorway. “Yeah, I’ve got time. Come in.” Up close like this - there’s only maybe two feet between you - you can make out the little scar on his cheek; the tiny beauty mark below his bottom lip; each individual lash that frames his Bambi eyes and flutters when he blinks. ��I probably can’t draw you anything new right now but I’ve got some flash, if you’re interested?”

Even if you weren’t interested, you don’t think you’d say no. You were always a sucker for a cute boy and this Jungkook? He was that. In spades.

“Sure.”

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” He’s retreating back into the room, moving to grab his iPad off the far table. It’s balanced on his arm when he swivels to you, prominent front teeth on full display. “I’ve got a pretty big selection.”

When he drops onto the bench - a wayward vine above his head tickling his cheek - he gestures to the spot beside him. This time, you don’t stare for a stupid amount of time, instead taking up the seat without hesitation.

“So—” He’s swiping through the photo library with his Apple Pen. You’re sure there are pretty sketches on the screen - you just can’t focus on them, too preoccupied by the artwork that crawls across his hand and into the sleeve of his oversized, well-worn shirt. It’s an intricate chrysanthemum, impossibly well-shaded with bold colours that demand attention and stand out over his fair complexion; it creeps halfway up the back of his hand to tickle over his knuckles. He notes your attention with a quiet chuckle, fingers wiggling. The ink moves, flows, ripples with the motion, before his hand relaxes, knuckles unravelling as he offers the limb to you and your curiosity. “Do you like it?”

“It’s incredible.” It really is. You’ve never seen anything like it, as if a painting has been done across his skin, laid in watercolour rather than tattoo ink. “Did it hurt?”

(You almost want to hit yourself for the stupid question. Of course it did. It’s a hand tattoo.)

Jungkook only laughs again, doesn’t hold it against you despite the verbal barrage you’re faced with internally. “Like crazy, but it was worth it. This was my first tattoo and all the rest have just sort of been—” He shrugs, fabric of his shirt bunching around his collar.

“A piece of cake?” You can only imagine.

“Exactly.”

You nod thoughtfully, as if that means anything to you. (It doesn’t. You’re bare as a baby’s bottom, blemish free save for the occasional hellish pimple and the scar you have from surgery on your hand when you broke parts of it in sixth grade.)

If he can tell you’re talking out of your ass, he says nothing, redirecting your attention back to the iPad propped on his lap. “Do any of these interest you?” He’s resumed scrolling, swiping carefully through pages of flash. There are assorted floral pieces (plum stems, lily stalks, fully bloomed mums) and various skeletons (what looks like a deer, a dragon, a wolf). They’re mostly blackwork with fine lines and heavy contrast, so wonderfully detailed you spend too much time studying one piece before he’s flipping to the next.

“That one.” It catches your eye more than the others have. Likely because it’s one of the few pieces in colour, soft hues spilling over neat lines. A pretty little cat with a braided collar, big golden bell centered beneath its head, unravelling petals sweeping around it.

“You like cats?”

You do. “She looks like mine.”

“It’s settled.” He beams then, rising so quickly you’re startled; you watch as he moves around the space with decisive steps, putting your plan into motion. A paper is pulled seemingly out of nowhere, laid on a wooden clipboard and offered with a blue ballpoint pen. “If you can fill all of this out, I can get the stencil ready.”

Well, that was easy. Somehow, you’d thought it’d be more complicated, a ton of back and forth and yes and no. You can’t deny you’re nervous, staring down at the consent form.

(It doesn’t mean you read it any more than you normally would, though. You gloss over all the points, making note of what you’re agreeing to without really considering any of it. You’ve wanted a tattoo for most of your life. There’s really no going back now.)

(You just hope it turns out like you want - that you’re not just being blindsided by a sudden superficial crush and a lack of critical thought.)

“I think I’m done,” you mumble, slashing the date into the paper with gusto.

“Do you have your ID?” You’ve got it ready for him when he returns to take both it and the form. “I’m just going to make copies and then we can discuss more.”

He’s gone with that same smile, disappearing back the way you’d come.

Alone, the nerves set in. You’re actually doing this. Getting a tattoo. Putting something permanent on your body. It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once, shaking your hands in your lap. Maybe you should’ve eaten more before you’d come. (You’d woken up late - had only shoved two pieces of raisin pinwheel bread into your mouth before you’d made up your mind about this.)

(But had you really made up your mind? Was this going to be it? It feels mostly like yes, though the repetitive thud of your toe against concrete seems to indicate otherwise. It’s as if you’re tapping out something in morse, telling yourself—)

“Okay!” Jungkook’s back before you know it, driver’s license returned to you along with an unsealed envelope. You eye it curiously. “A copy of your form and an aftercare sheet.”

He’s really thought of everything. Or the shop has. Either way, you appreciate that when you’re not so sure, caught somewhere between giddily excited and vaguely worried, as if someone’s pulled a weight off your shoulders, taken on some of the burden of this spontaneous choice.

“So, where do you want it?” It’s like he has a one track mind, utterly focused on the task at hand. (Probably a good thing, given you’re about to voluntarily let him needle your poor skin.)

You hadn’t thought about that. You’d always liked the idea of a back of the arm tattoo, positioned somewhere along your tricep so it could be seen while turned away. “My arm?”

“Upper? Forearm?” There’s not an ounce of annoyance or exasperation or anything else negative. He’s just genuinely curious, peering over his shoulder at you.

“Tricep area, I think? Would that look good?”

“If you like it, it will.” Then he grins - beams so bright you half expect the sun to come zooming out of his mouth - and laughs, a funny little cackle that makes you do the same. “I’m kidding. That was cheesy. But I’m sure it’ll look fine. We can try laying it down first, so you get an idea?”

“That sounds good.” A lot better than endless years of regret for poor placement.

“You’ll, uh— need to take your shirt off though.”

It’s then you realise your mistake: wearing a turtleneck. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence passes, then another, and he smiles so kindly you wonder what your expression must look like. Sour, like you’d sucked fresh lemon? Awkward, as if you’d never worn anything less than double layers before (a proud Never Nude)?

“If you’re uncomfortable, we can reschedule. Or I can put a divider up so you don’t have to worry about being seen from outside. Whatever you’d prefer.”

The longer you stay quiet - a seemingly common occurrence today - the closer his brows furrow, preparations coming to a standstill. You can tell he’s not trying to rush you, politely waiting for an answer with transfer paper in one hand and scissors in the other.

(If only he could peek into your brain, see the whole reason you’re hesitating is because you can’t quite remember which bra you’re wearing, whether it’s the slinky black one that offers absolutely zero support or the lacy blue one with the cute detailing and practically see-through cups.)

(Did it really matter either way? He was probably desensitized.)

“It’s fine.” You find the confidence somehow, nodding firmly. Jungkook’s still studying you carefully, though. Waiting as you strip your purse off your shoulder and reach for the hem of your sweater. It feels funny in your fingers, more like steel wool than sheep’s.

One breath. Two.

You fold your turtleneck neatly, laying it beside your bag and turning back to face him. “All right. Let’s do this.”

“So, which arm?” He’s close now - crossed to you in two strides of his long legs - and holds up the stencil.

Your right rises, fingers wiggling as if to say hello.

He lays the design down, pats it into place with deft fingers. You don’t realise the breath you’re holding until he pulls the sticky paper away, leaving neat line work in its wake.

“Oh.” It slips out of its own accord, almost a whisper as you stare at the design in the mirror. “It’s so pretty.”

There’s pride in his eyes as he stares with you, bounces his gaze between it and your face. “Thanks.” He lets you linger, peering thoughtfully at your reflection before speaking, casually hopeful. “What do you think?”

“This is it. Right here.”

Maybe he’d fist pump, if he were any less cool. As it stands, he simply nods, cheeks round like fresh baked bread, nose scrunched with glee.

“All right. We’ll shave you down and get started. You like the colours, right?” Once again, he’s buzzing around the room, gathering up all his materials and snapping black gloves on once everything is laid out upon his cart. It’s heavily stickered, covered in video game vinyls and anime mattes. (You recognise a handful of them, make a note to ask him where he got them from.) He pats the tissue papered bed top when you make no movement toward him. “Hop on up. Face down, if that’s okay.”

You do as he says, climbing atop with minimal grace. It takes you a bit of adjusting to get comfortable, folding your left arm under your head and allowing your right to simply dangle, uncertain of where it should be.

“You’re sparkly.”

“What?” You’d misheard that, right?

“Your skin. You’re sparkling.” He sounds a little in awe, surprised as wetness spills across your arm, the edge of a razor following closely thereafter.

“Oh.” Heat creeps over your cheeks, slinks all the way up into your roots and has you chuckling awkwardly. “It’s my soap.”

“Sparkle soap?” Whether he’s just making conversation or genuinely curious, you’re not sure. He does seem delighted by the fact, though, as if he’s never seen a girl covered in glitter before. (Which, fair.)

“It’s this specialty holiday soap. It has pigment in it.”

“That’s cool.” He’s laying the stencil down again, smoothing it over your now-hairless arm. “It smells nice.”

Obviously, you agree. It’s honey and citrus, brightly fragrant but not overpowering, lingering on your clothes like the subtle golden glitter does. Still, you flush, heat crossing from a casual day under the sun to burning-on-the-stove hot. “Thanks.”

“Was that weird? I hope not.”

“No, you’re fine.”

He hums a tiny noise, something that sounds like understanding and appreciation all at once.

Then the buzzing starts - a steady, inescapable brrrrrrrrr - and he’s gripping your arm, steady yet gentle. “Ready?”

Honestly, you’re not sure. Hearing the noise makes it seem scary, has your entire body tensing up like Pavlov’s dog. Your honesty can’t be helped, a nervous giggle chased off your tongue. “I think so.”

“I think so too.”

By the time you’re done - a good almost five hours later, your arm stinging so bad you wonder why you’d ever sat down in the first place - you’d fallen asleep twice, started drooling on your other arm once, and really, really have to pee.

“All right—”“ The incessant buzzing stops. Liquid spills where the pain centres, followed by rougher paper towel. “You are finished.”

(You might be imagining it, but he sounds about as relieved as you. Maybe because you’d been sitting for hours on hours, turning down his offer for a break because you just wanted to get it done and therefore forcing him to do the same.)

“Can I see?” You don’t want to leap to your feet - feel a bit too lightheaded for that - but you’re bouncing with excitement, the thrumming in your arm intensified when you shift to catch a better look at Jungkook’s face.

“Yeah, go ahead. Just be careful - you might be a bit—”

He’s right. You nearly topple over the moment you stand, none-too-gently rolling off the edge of the bed and barely landing safely on your feet. It’s only his close proximity that prevents you from falling to your knees, one degloved hand darting out to steady you.

“Careful!” It’s politely reproachful, coloured soft with worry.

“Sorry, sorry.” You seize the edge of the bed, gripping tight as you wait for everything to settle, the lightheadedness to recede. Everything straightens out quickly enough. “Got up too quickly.”

“Do you need a snack?” He’s already up, moving faster than you, rummaging through the cabinet against the far wall. “I’ve got seaweed and Choco Boys and shrimp chips and—”

You can’t help but laugh, hobbling to the mirror to inspect your new piece of art. “I’m fine.” That, and you’re too occupied with the ink that now sits embedded beneath your skin, a flurry of lovely colour and impressive line work.

“Choco Boys it is then.” The familiar yellow package is thrust toward you, a pack of his own already ripped open. Mushroom-shaped treats are tossed into his open mouth, lips curling around chocolate and his next words, “it’ll help with your sugar levels.”

A thank you comes, fingers curling around the snacks, but you’re still in deep, so focused on the lovely hue that bleeds over your skin, marks up previously unblemished flesh and holds your attention. It’s better than you could’ve possibly imagined, a piece of artwork forever yours. It makes you giddy as you stare at it - almost reach for it, but stop when you catch the alarmed widening of Jungkook’s eyes.

“You like?”

“I love.” You’d stare at it for hours, if you could. Likely will, once you get home, sitting in front of the mirror like a zombie. “Thank you so, so much.”

The brunet beams as he polishes off the last of his Choco Boys, tossing his dark hair back with a flick of his head. Triumph rolls off him in palpable waves, sitting pretty in the lines by his eyes, the scrunching around his nose. Seeing how it blooms in his stare is like a straight endorphin shot, as if you’ve done more than just be the canvas he’s laid all his hard work into. “It was a pleasure.”

It’s a whole month later - enough time for the piece to heal - before you decide you want another one. It’s not as spontaneous as the first time, instead led with an Instagram direct message to @jeonink. (You half expect him not to answer; you’re utterly delighted when he responds not five minutes later.)

Maybe it’s fate or maybe it’s luck that has him with availability the same day you reach out, bringing you back to the studio three hours after you’ve messaged him.

He’s just as cute as before, black baseball cap pulled low over his ears, silver-lined ears twinkling beneath the shop lights.

“So, what’re you thinking?”

Truthfully, you hadn’t done much thinking. Just like before, you’d decided you wanted a tattoo and, well, the rest had been history. You figured you’d let him have free reign, given how happy you were with your first piece. “A sleeve?”

That surprises him. His whole face lights up, eyes wide, mouth rounding curiously. “Like, a full sleeve?” It’s not necessarily a no - more of an are you sure? he hides between the syllables.

“I think so.”

He nods slowly, knowingly, arms folded over his chest, expression suddenly unreadable. “You caught the itch.”

Your own features twist, brows shooting high. “The what?”

“The tattoo itch,” he clarifies with a laugh, the sound sweeping your concern away like the sea. “People say once you get one, you get addicted to the feeling.” He’s extending both arms to you now, hands palm up. For a moment, you’re note sure what he’s doing. (In actuality, you’re distracted by the fact that he’s in a tee, muscle cording his limbs, undulating as he turns his arms over.) “I got bit by it when I lived in Japan. It’s actually what got me into tattooing myself.”

You remember what he’d said last time - how he’d spent a handful of years overseas, working in restaurants after having followed his last partner there. He’d shared lots about his life, giving you the Sparknotes version while you’d ground enamel to fine dust.

“I guess I have the itch then.”

“Guess you do.”

Your dream comes to life in four excruciating sessions. It’s some of the worst pain you’ve ever endured (you’re never going to get an elbow tattoo ever again) but you’d do it all again in a heartbeat, utterly in love with the mural that now lives on your skin. A peony caps your shoulder while one runs halfway up your bicep. Another takes up the entirety of your forearm. There’s a darling little bird and delicately inked koi. It’s breathtaking, greater than anything you could have dreamt up.

You’ve been staring at it for at least three minutes now, tracing over the freshly laid colour with a tender touch. You’re grateful for the SecondSkin, the clear bandage that wraps everything up and keeps it safe from your over eager hands.

“You did it.” Jungkook’s grinning at you, feet kicked up where he sits, his usual bag of Choco Boys balanced in his lap. “Big girl.”

From anyone else, it might sound condescending - might rub you the wrong way and have you glaring daggers. Instead, you take it in stride, beaming at him from your seat. He’s been there with you every step of the way, been there for every hour (seventeen over three months, to be exact) you’ve dedicated to finishing this beauty up. Tease you as he might, you know he really is proud of you.

“You mean we did it,” you return, giddy like a child.

“Ah, right.” The chocolate-covered snack he’s devouring goes crunch crunch crunch before he speaks, mouth still full, eyes crinkled. “I guess I did do all the work.”

“Hey! Screw you!” You’re glowering at him, middle finger raised in defiance.

(How curious that your relationship has grown like this, turned from tattoo artist and client to what feels like more. It probably makes sense, given the long hours you’ve spent together, the support he’s had to offer each time the pain has gotten this side of too much, chattering your teeth and dizzying your head. Solidarity in pain and all that.)

(You really had tapped out once, when he’d crept his gun into the ditch of your elbow. You’d asked him whether it’d hurt beforehand and he’d only laughed, shrugged off the question and continued with the careful shading to your inner arm. That in itself had hurt like a biiitch; you hadn’t thought it could get worse.)

(You’d been mistaken.)

“Am I wrong?” He drawls, full of laughter and that big dumb smile of his you’ve grown accustomed to. It eats up his cheeks and disappears his eyes, makes it hard to be mad at him when he looks so sweet.

“Yes, you are.” You’ve got absolutely nothing to back it up, but who cares. This is the sort of banter the two of you have developed, like two old friends forced to spend too much time together. (Not that you’d complain. You’ve loved hearing his stories, all the tales he regales you with whenever you’re in his chair.)

A snort is his answer, the full roll of his eyes over-exaggerated and playful. “You’re lucky we’re all finished or I’d sneak in an ugly fish somewhere on your arm.”

You think he’s kidding - know he takes too much pride in his work to do that.

Still, you stick your tongue out, hopping down from the bed with your freshly inked arm, hands clapping together in celebration. “You wouldn’t dare.” You’re confident, crossing to the bench to tug your flannel on, careful of the dull pain that throbs beneath the thin medical dressing.

“Wouldn’t I? I’m leaving anyway.”

You’re ready to call him out for it, insist he would never ruin the sanctity of his profession in such a way, when you realise the words he’s spoken, the casual tidbit he’s just dropped like it’s nothing.

“Leaving?”

(Is it you or do you sound disappointed? You can’t dwell on it for long, worried you’ll miss his explanation. Had he mentioned it previously? Slipped it in when you’d been delirious from pain? No, you would’ve remembered that. You swear you would’ve.)

“I’m moving to Tokyo.” How he’s so casual, you have absolutely no idea. You suppose it’s not a big deal for him - he’s not from here anyway. Home is back in Korea, the place he’d spent most of his life before moving to Japan and then here, just two years ago. (God, your memory is good. If only you’d retained knowledge like this when you were in school.) “My flight’s next weekend.”

Your face must be hilarious because Jungkook’s laughing, cackling like the evil villain in an anime.

“Gonna miss me?”

Would it be inappropriate to say yes? Because you will, you realise the moment he’s posed the question. You’ve grown to consider him a friend, someone who you send random memes to on Instagram (usually pertaining to #tattooartistproblems or one of your shared hobbies, like video games and finding the best noodle soup restaurant in the city).

You go for the safe bet, answering with a question of your own. “Are you gonna miss me?”

“I’ll miss your restaurant recs,” he answers, offering honesty to your reticence. “You can still send me funny photos though.”

You can’t help your laugh, the tiny quirk of your mouth into a smile. “I guess you’re right. Will you still be tattooing?” It’s an innocent enough question - you really do want to know. You can’t imagine going to anyone else, even if it means you’ll be shelling out an absurd amount of money for a plane ticket.

“Yep, new shop.” Something twinkles in his stare, has him giddy as he rises to his feet, tossing his empty packet of snacks into the trash bin. “Actually, where I got most of mine done.” You understand it then - that it’s a move of faith. He’s finally come full circle. You’re unbelievably happy for him, brimming with delight to mirror his pride.

But you’re still going to give him a little bit of a hard time because you have to. It wouldn’t feel right otherwise. “Whoa, big shot.”

“I am actually,” he sniffs, raking an ink-strewn hand through his hair. It’s longer now than it was when you met him, curling over the tops of his ears, hanging in his eyes at every turn. “You’ll be lucky if I remember you when I’m famous.”

“Famously lame, maybe,” you tease, slipping your bag over your shoulder. You busy yourself pulling your keys from the interior pocket, checking your phone as if you’re ready to go. It’s only when you’re standing in the hallway - you have no real intention of departing like this and he knows that, considering you haven’t paid yet - when you level him with a half-formed smirk. “But I guess I should take you for a drink?”

His hoodie is on before you know it, yanked over his head and tugged into place as he joins you. It’s become your regular routine - leaving together after your sessions, a perk of always booking the last slot he has available. (Not that you relied on that, but simply because your work schedule didn’t really allow for anything else.) “Obviously.”

Jeon Jungkook is a talented artist, a dedicated snacker, a lover of the colour black. You discover, sitting on the patio of the nearby bar, that he’s also really, really good at holding his liquor.

(Not that he’d ever indicated otherwise.)

“Do you think you’ll get anything else done?” He’s on his sixth pint, casually leaned back in his chair as he picks at the fries you’d ordered but that he seems perfectly happy to help himself to. (Payback for all the times he’s forced snacks on you maybe?) “Like, a face tattoo?”

You scoff at the question as if greatly offended. “You think I’d get a face tattoo?”

While a little glazed in the eyes, you can tell he’s altogether coherent, grinning across the table at you. “Hey, I don’t judge. You like making surprise decisions, so I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Okay, so he’s got you there. Used your own impulsive history against you. “I would never.”

“If you change your mind, do I get first dibs?”

“Dibs on what? Tattooing me?”

He nods as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “Duh.”

You can only roll your eyes, tossing a wayward burnt fry end at him. “Yes, Kook, you get first dibs on ruining my face.”

His expression twists, mouth shaping around words he’s keeping caged behind his teeth. There’s something he isn’t saying, a comeback he’s chosen to lock up. You wonder what it is.

“Hey - nothing wrong with face tattoos.”

“Really?” You’re leaning forward, a clear challenge written across your face. “Then why don’t you have one?” He has a million others as it is: a hand, nearly the entirety of both arms, his chest, his shoulders, one of his legs. (You haven’t seen them all in person but you have seen them online, memorialised on his Instagram feed.)

“And hide all this?” One inked hand is gesturing toward his own face, gesticulating wildly as if that’ll drive his point further home. “I would never.”

“That’s what I said!”

It doesn’t matter to him, not when he’s fully sober and most certainly not now, when he’s slightly buzzed, eyes glossier than usual. “But I’m cuter. It’d be a shame if it were me. You…” The way he trails off is suggestive, indicative of something mocking and mean. (Except it’s never cruel - far too friendly and soft to ever hurt your feelings.) “—not so much.”

Another fry hits him right between the eyes and then another disappears into the hood of his sweater, lost to the black fabric that bunches up around his neck and hides the flush he’s been battling since you two got to the bar an hour ago.

“Don’t be rude!”

He beams at you then, so unnecessarily endearing you can only throw one more piece at him.

“I’m kidding.” You knew that already but pretend to ignore the pseudo-apology, choosing instead to polish off the last of your now-cold fries. A bad choice, you realise when he continues, surprising you with the words that come out of his liquor-laden mouth so much so that you almost choke. “You’re actually pretty cute.”

(So what if you’ve sort of maybe been waiting to hear them? Wondering if the tiny crush you’d developed was in some way reciprocated?)

(Not that this meant it was. Only that you perhaps weren’t alone in thinking he was the most lovable - and somehow simultaneously hot - person you’d ever met. It’s almost rewarding to know the long hours together hadn’t left him unscathed.)

“You all good?” The look on his face is worse than that smile he usually offers, instead a devilish smirk that makes him look like Satan himself.

Were you? You’re not sure.

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Really? You can’t?” You’re not sure what that means, whether you’re simply reading too far into it. But then he’s dragging his bottom lip through his teeth, head cocked curiously. It’s a bait, you realise—and one you’ll gladly take.

“Should I have expected it?”

Shoulders hike, rising up around his ears. “I thought I made it sort of obvious.”

Had he? Thinking back on it, you can’t really recall. Of course, he’d always been friendly, indulging you in your pursuit of body art, sketching up the loveliest things you’d never even think to dream of; accepting your distracting Instagram messages without complaint, always tossing you a like or some sort of acknowledgement no matter what you’d send (and you’d send some random, random stuff). Chatting with him daily had just become the norm, conversation flowing freely whenever you’d pop in for your next session.

But that was just because he was a nice guy - or so you’d thought. You realise now how wrong you’d been, too occupied with your own crush to notice his (if it could be called that).

“You like me,” you hum, surprisingly nonchalant despite the little pitter patter in your chest, the flutter of your heart within your ribcage.

“I think you’re cute,” he retorts, though there’s no real weight to his rebuff. The two statements are really one and the same and you’re giddy with the knowledge, absolutely tickled pink.

Except for the fact that he’s leaving, fully prepared to start a new life in another city in just one week. The irony isn’t lost on you, like fate’s laughing even as she offers you this little crumb. (You feel like Oliver Twist, frankly.)

“Same difference.”

He huffs - you’re reminded of how adorable he is when he does that - and downs the lukewarm remainder of his beer. “I take it back.”

“No, you don’t.” Where the confidence comes from, who knows. You grip it tight with both hands though, hold it snugly as you level him with a stare that has his own unwavering. It’s almost as if you’re caught in a staring match, a battle of unspoken wits.

It drags on longer than it should, just the two of you locked to each other with nowhere to go.

Then he does the last thing you expect: shoves his chair aside and leans across the table, stealing a kiss and returning to his seat, all in the span of time it takes you to blink.

(His lips are so soft. A little chapped, a tiny bit dry, but soft - deceptively delicate. Bitter, touched with sea salt and something else distinctly him. French fries and beer and his Chapstick.)

(For the briefest moment, you wonder whether you’d just imagined it - if your imagination had truly gotten the best of you and you’ve absolutely lost your mind.)

“You just kissed me.” It seems like you’ve found your new favourite hobby of just repeating things, giving live play-by-plays like an awkward narrator in a romcom.

“Yeah, so?”

“You’re leaving.” Speaking the words into existence feels bad; you see the way his eyes tighten, the subtle sobering of his expression even while he tries to keep his cool.

“I am.” At least he’s realistic. It saves you from any uncertainty, keeping the what-ifs at bay.

You suppose it means you have nothing to lose.

“Do it again.”

And Jungkook does - over and over, sinking the taste of him almost as deeply as ink, offering a piece of himself you want to keep for just as long.

It takes you longer to add to your collection of art, nearly four whole years before you decide what you want next. (It’s a back piece this time - a full body suit from your shoulders down past your ass. Another cat, dressed in traditional Japanese clothing and surrounded by flowers. An ode to your first tattoo, to the one that had started it all.)

(You’re not sure you’re ready for the pain, though.)

“Lay down,” the artist instructs, back turned to you, busy preparing his materials. You’d stripped down while he was occupied, discarded all your clothes to the allocated basket and stood quietly in anticipation.

You do as he says, dropping atop the tattoo bed with a quiet oof. The stencil has already been laid, the entire outline ready to be inked into your skin. You can’t deny you’re more than a little nervous. It’s been years since you’d last gotten anything done, uninterested in finding a new artist since Jungkook had left.

(Which he had, exactly as he’d intended, gone on a 6 AM flight that you’d driven him to, teary-eyed and embarrassed. He’d laughed at you standing outside of the departure gate, his suitcase at his side, arms wrapped around your shoulders. You’d refused to show your face, burying it instead into the warmth of his neck, into the familiar scent of him that was going away for who knows how long.

“Stop being a baby,” he’d said, smothering you in kisses, the full weight of his laughter palpable through your close proximity. It'd rumbled out of his chest all the way into yours, finding a home behind your ribcage, right alongside where your heart fluttered, shaded blue and sad.

“Stop being mean,” you’d countered, petulant like a child.

It couldn’t be helped. You’d had only one week with him - one glorious, chaotic week filled with eating too much junk, rewatching your favourite animes, and generally making up for all the lost time you’d never even known there was. As amazing as it’d been, it still hadn’t prepared you for the goodbye.

That was your fault, though. You’d wrongly entertained the idea that maybe things would work out, that he’d change his mind or ask to take it - whatever you had, that is - with him, keep it going somehow. He hadn’t.)

“Do you have a preference where I start?” You’re unbothered, hair loosely knotted over your shoulder. Ready for the session to start - ready to feel the familiar sting again. (You’re proud of that. It might have taken you years and years but here you were, tackling something huge.)

“Nope.”

“Sounds good.”

The buzzing begins and pressure lands upon the small of your back, a gloved hand laid over the centre of your spine. You remind yourself to breathe in, out, focus on something other than the pain that fizzles over your skin and then ebbs into tenderness. Where he’s started - just above the fattiest part of your butt - isn’t too bad. Tolerable and yielding.

You can do this.

Your back aches in a different way than you’d anticipated, soreness buzzing beneath inflamed skin and making it uncomfortable to move around. It’s not any worse than your arm had been - the lines along your spine had felt comparable to that of your elbow - but it’s fresh, not dulled by years like your sleeve now was.

The artist is stripping his gloves off, your back neatly covered and the bed stripped of its original tissue paper. He’s leaned against the sink, onigiri held in his now-free hands, nibbling at the edge of the rice ball as you turn this way and that in the mirror. “You did good.”

You’re still undressed, admiring the linework from different angles, shimmying closer to your reflection to catch the lighter inking that makes up the undefined edges of the various florals. Something tells you that you should be shy - eager to redress after spending nearly five hours naked in the secluded studio - but you don’t care. Your back is quickly becoming a masterpiece, something that might as well be hung in the halls of the Louvre. You’re in love with it.

“Thanks.”

You mean thank you for his compliment but also for all his hard work, the long hours he’s put into bringing this beauty to life. It means so much - like progressing to the next level.

Which, you suppose it is. This is a fresh start for you. A new beginning in a new city.

“Proud of you,” he hums, suddenly close, broad palms searing heat over your hips. He’s careful to avoid the edge of the bandage that wraps your back and holds you delicately, like fine china or the most precious jewel in the world, lips sweet against your temple.

You meet his eyes in the mirror - the same sweet doe-eyed stare from five years ago. A little darker now, aged by the hand of time but endlessly kind, shining beneath the overhead lights.

“Proud of you,” you chirp, identical smiles spreading over your faces.

Jungkook’s having none of it though, bratty as usual. “Proud of us.”

You suppose you can settle for that. You really are proud of the two of you - for how far you’ve made it and all the obstacles you’ve overcome. From the first few weeks of sadness, all the melancholy that’d set in when he’d left, to exactly one month after, when he’d called you in the middle of the night, drunk and stumbling home.

(It’d been infuriating at the time - incoherent and foolish as he was - but it’d bloomed something between you, something neither of you could ignore.)

Four years of miserable long distance had become this: a love that's brought you back to his side, to a city you’re unfamiliar with but that he calls home; to a city that never sleeps, loud with pachinko machines and some of the best food you’ve ever had; to the place you’ve been missing every minute you were apart.

You’d never thought you would move for someone, uproot your entire life for a relationship, but he’d changed that. Made it worth it in ways you had never considered. Convinced you more and more with each trip you’d taken, two visits twice a year, for a measly two weeks at a time.

“Should we head home?” He means your physical home - the apartment the two of you had decided on in Roppongi, the one you haven’t seen yet, that he’s had to move into all by himself. It’s not quite as nice as the home in his arms.

You say yes anyway.

“I’m so talented.” The words come entirely too whole for your liking, loud somewhere above your head.

“Are you serious?” You’re levelling your boyfriend with the most incredulous look, whole face scrunched up, hands fisted into his dark sheets. It’s uncomfortable at this angle - kinking your neck as you look over your shoulder - but you really can’t believe he’s just said that. He’s knelt between your legs, knees spread wide around his own, his hand halfway up your back and tracking heat over your spine.

Somehow, he has the audacity to look surprised. “What?”

“You’re really patting yourself on the back right now?” Now, when he should be pounding you into oblivion, working that big fat cock of his through your fluttering walls, making you moan his name into his pillows like it’s his only job?

(It truthfully could be. You’d rank his skills in the bedroom on par with his skills in the studio.)

“Oh.” All at once, he’s the devil - sin personified. Or would be, if he didn’t somehow still look infuriatingly cute.

The gentle touch turns bruising, heel of his palm pressed hard into the tender notches of your spine. “You don’t like when I admire my own work?” Asked as he shifts behind you, length dragging out of your dripping cunt to gently tap against your aching clit. The head of it glides through your folds, mercilessly teasing but never slipping back in, never filling you whole like you need. (Because you really do need it. You haven’t seen him in six months, left to your own devices - literally.) It feels like heaven and hell, too good and not nearly enough all at once.

“Kook,” you snap. Try to, anyway, his name far too whiny and breathless to hold any real weight.

“I’m just admiring you, sweetheart.” He’s dragging the hand over your back, tracing all the lines he’s embedded into your skin. They make up his favourite piece, inked permanently into his favourite canvas. A testament to his hard work, his dedication, his love.

Any other time, you might not care. Here and now, after not having felt his touch in what feels like forever, you’re burning from the inside out, a million volts of electricity tripping your circuits. When you speak, it’s more a plea than a reprimand, uttered so sweetly you know he can’t deny you. “Admire me later.”

“I’ve missed you” is his only answer, punctuated by a fluid roll of his hips, the heavy press of his cock back into your dripping cunt. “I’ve missed this,” he breathes out, sinking all the way in, so slow you can feel every ridge and vein as he fills you.

“Missed you too,” you parrot back, a little delirious now that you’ve gotten what you want.

Now that he’s right where he should be - with you.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle @xjoonchildx

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fallinfl0wers · 3 years

Text

love stories with some genshin boys i thought of while listening to my playlists

includes: aether (210 words), xiao (261 words), scaramouche (277 words) and albedo (307)

warnings (?): spoilers of ‘we will be reunited’, english is not my native language and uhh idk what else, idk really know what these are, headcanons ?? snippets ?? also not beta read and not edited.

it’s long so uhhh i’ll add a cut somewhere

anyway enjoy!! ...whatever this is i guess

Aether

Falling in love with Aether is like a fun adventure. He, being always the center of attention and the protagonist no matter where he goes, is a free spirited, kind and hardworking man.

Throughout your time travelling and being in a relationship together, you’ll find that your relationship with the Honorary Knight is one of sweet kisses under the sunlight; innocent handholding while thinking up of what to make for dinner tonight; of easily talked out arguments and finding ways to compromise; of softly pushing each other to become a better version of themselves and, most of all, of supporting and having each other’s backs no matter what.

And when Aether confronts the Abyss Princess face to face for the first time and his world comes crashing down on him, this trait of your relationship shines like no other, as you hold him in your arms after everything was over during the night, Paimon sleeping soundly next to the both of you inside your improvised campsite.

“Even though I’m not sure what -or who- I should believe anymore, I... I know I want to see this journey to the end, and I want you to be there with me for it. Let’s be together until the last moment and beyond.”

Songs:

Snow Fairy - Funkist

Snowing, be honest with yourself and smile When two people are getting closer, time overlaps Fairy, where are you going I will gather all the light and shine it on your tomorrow

Still Lonely - SEVENTEEN

This cursed popularity. Why won’t it leave me? But why am I getting lonelier The early morning chill makes me feel Even lonelier today I feel completely empty, as if I’m empty

Kanpeki Gu~ no ne - Watarirouka Hashiritai

I'm at a loss for words, with this and that, I'm totally in love with you Someday, I want do the same to you: Watch you flounder, At a loss for words right back to me!

Side by Side - The8 from SEVENTEEN

I want to hold hands with you but I don't know what to do what to do oh baby I want to give all my heart to you but You still don't know what's in my heart

Hope - Namie Amuro

At the end of this blue, wide world there's a place I want to aim at with you We chose this long ago for eternity

Xiao

Falling in love with Xiao is like living a bittersweet dream. The Vigilant Yaksha is far from human, or so he says, and thus is out of touch with the way we mortals experience feelings, both the negative and positive ones.

Your relationship with him is one of compassion, mutual understanding, appreciation and patience. So, so much patience. Of intertwined pinkies and soft stolen glances, of shy smiles and comfortable silence sometimes filled with your voice chatting time away and his short responses to your talks.

I mentioned patience. He knows you’re making an enormous effort to try and understand him and be patient with him and his slow learning process of how relationships work, so it’s only fair that he makes a true effort to understand you and your feelings.

Xiao is well aware that he could hurt you without wanting to, be it with his blunt phrasing of his thoughts or his Karmic Debt, as much as he is aware that you will eventually pass away and leave him behind to go somewhere he can’t follow, and that undeniable truth haunts him every second of every day he gets to spend with you. And still, he wishes and wants and does cherish each and every warm, kind feeling he gets every single second you’re together nonetheless.

“I might not know what to make of these new feelings you gave me. But I’ll learn. I promise I’ll learn, so please... don’t go, not yet. Let me treasure you and carve you into my memory for as long as I can.”

Songs:

Euphoria - BTS

I don't know what this emotion is Perhaps this is also the inside of a dream A dream is the blue mirage of the desert Deep inside of me, a priori I become happy to the point of being unable to breathe The surroundings, bit by bit, become clearer

Fallin’ Flower - SEVENTEEN

While flower blooms and falls, scars cure and buds shoot We are living our first and last moment So I won’t take you for granted Because you loved me as I am

Fear - SEVENTEEN

Get out my mind I can't handle it, I'm afraid of myself The truth has me tied up My heart is tainted I'm afraid it'll eventually change you too

The Truth Untold - BTS, Steve Aoki

It’s my fate Don’t smile to me Light on me Because I can’t get closer to you There’s no name you can call me

You know that I can’t Show you me Give you me I can’t show you a ruined part of myself Once again I put a mask on and go to see you But I still want you

Tiny Light - Akari Kitō

Because you colored my unchanging monochromatic days Even the blurred darkness gained meaning

Still, hidden in this heart, these feelings of preciousness so strong that they hurt I just want to convey these feelings to only you before they disappear someday

Scaramouche

Falling in love with Scaramouche is like constantly playing a game. He’s strict, demanding, disagreeable, and widely disliked by enemies and allies alike. Still, he has a heart too; and he holds desires and hopes deep inside of it, although most of them are fueled by the unchanging curiosity he has towards the world around him, curiosity to know what he can get out of whatever the world wants to throw at him.

You were no exception to that rule, at first.

When he met you he wanted to get something from you. And you knew it from the start, just as he knew that you knew. And that didn’t change anything, at first.

Your relationship with him is one of dangerously playful, yet still light-hearted games of seduction, teasing and deceit; of secret kisses exchanged in expensive private rooms in restaurants or the cozy warmth of your home, of an unspoken shared respect and, most of all, complete, mutual devotion.

You know Scaramouche is not a good man. He has done many, many unspeakable things in his life as one of the Eleven, and he knows he’s far from being the perfect charming prince you could aim for, but he will never let you go. Because behind those hardened walls of egocentrism and pride, you saw what no one else bothered to see. You saw him, not the role he was playing, you saw him and fell in love with him.

“To be honest, I don’t think I could find anyone else who understands me as much as you do. And no, I’m not saying this because I want something, give me some more credit, geez...”

Songs:

soldier game - µ’s

You'll come with me, yes? You've grown curious about my touch, yes? Then it's already love Since you're someone I must meet in battle someday, That might just be your reason It's soldier game Though we've met again, I'm soldier heart

Kowareyasuki - Guilty Kiss

Just stop it already and show your heart only to me I love your eyes that are about to cry And your defenseless, clumsy way of living too (...) The hesitation you convey makes my chest hurt Some people just don't know what such kindness is But then I discover the truth When we got together, you don't have to endure anymore Right now, show your grief only to me I like that you think too much The complete opposite of me

Shhh - SEVENTEEN

Don't think of all these as your mere illusion They're not lies that follow the moment No one can underestimate it, my feelings are an ignition 'Cause I'm always the same Me and you, we got hurt by the lies that we won't ever work But it's fate

(...)

So I can cover you from danger A consented dedication

(...)

It's as natural as breathing An everlasting dedication

Good to me - SEVENTEEN

Yeah, when you were making that sign in my heart It was a long time since my firewall broke down Pass with the password What in the world do you know about me? Are my deep feelings seen by you?

Hiraishin - Keyakizaka46

(To trust is to be betrayed, to open one’s heart is to get hurt So to avoid being struck by lightning-like sorrow…)

Which side am I picking? Ah, these values are hard to handle That’s why I won’t stop watching over you Positive positive positive You should just be yourself… I can forgive whatever absurdities you pull off I’ll support you without being noticed Even when you get nitpicked I’ll be your companion Let us now promise to live an unremarkable life hereafter What we have here is the lightning rod of love

Albedo

Falling in love with Albedo is a fairy tale-like experience for both of you. His attention had always been focused on his research, everything else fading into the background save for a few exceptions, until you came around. You, who stole all his attention by just existing.

As an alchemist, he’s naturally the curious type. He wanted to know what about it had caught his attention, what was so special about you that had him clinging to your every word and movement every time you interacted with him. Still, human relationships are hard for him, and he figured you might go away the second he started to feel burnt out from your interactions. But you didn’t. Instead, you stayed. You stayed and took interest on what he did, asked questions, gave your insight, and dragged him to sleep when he needed a break. In exchange, he did the same for you.

Your relationship with Albedo is like one of those awkwardly sweet first time crushes. Of carefully calculated movements, dates and compliments, of soft kisses on lips, hands and cheeks, of mutual support, understanding and mature compromising and commitment.

The Kreideprinz, like everyone else, has his own fears and insecurities, especially regarding his... nature, but he does his best not to let them affect the relationship he has with you. Each moment spent by your side, even when he’s not actively doing any research, is considered perfectly spent, meaningful time.

“A long time ago, I was tasked with finding out the meaning of this world. Though I have directed my efforts and resources to looking for the answer through alchemy, ever since we met I... think, I’ve found an unexpected conclusion to said issue. While it’s likely that this is not the answer expected from me, I’m positive that, at least personally, I finally have the answer.”

Songs:

Futari Saison - Keyakizaka46

In the wind blowing through the city’s streets, even though I caught whiff of something’s scent, I had no interest in looking back

In a 1m radius around me, I formed an invisible barrier to another world And yet, you took someone like me out of it

What made you do that?

Home - SEVENTEEN

What can I do? Without you I’m just an old robot, my heart stops and it’s always cold What can we do? Without me You’ll struggle just as much, so what can we do?

Baby, I want to cherish our warmth So no one can come between us

Flower - SEVENTEEN

You taught me, you showed me You’re my only reason If you can forever remember me I can get hurt, I can get hurt

My heart that’s engraved with your light Makes me stronger Give me your sharp thorns Cause you’re my flower

Oh my! - SEVENTEEN

Sorry for repeating the same thing But this is all I can try using hard words But my true feeling is this, every everything

(...)

How about you? Is it hard for you to sleep because of me too? If you keep making my heart flutter What do I do?

Naze koi wo shite konakattan darou? - Sakurazaka46

Why hadn't I fallen in love? I've been making fun of it all this time I mean everyone keeps saying 'I love you' just like cats in heat But after falling in love I realized what people live for To meet, to love, to the point of nothing but... I'm not myself, I want to find my true self.

#xiao x reader #aether x reader #scaramouche x reader #albedo x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x y/n #genshin impact headcanon #genshin imagines #genshin impact imagines #first post yay #why is albedo's so long tho he's not even my favorite out of them lol #melodywritings #fluff #genshin impact x reader #melwritesgenshin

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astheroid · 3 years

Text

A Friend’s Confession

Randomly generated stories: in which Honi attempts to cure her writer’s block with a random word generator and character wheel.

Plot words: escape, platform, negotiation, trivial, public

Character: Oikawa Tooru

Genre: Fluff (enemies to kind-of lovers)

Word count (not including texts): 2,420

You sighed, head down on your desk. School was a nightmare, and there was a dull throb forming in between your eyes. The asshole behind you wasn’t helping, either.

“Y/N! Y/N, hey.”

You buried your head further into your arms. Luckily, your teacher was too busy playing Candy Crush at his desk to pay attention, so you could get away with slacking off. As of right now, you attempted to escape the hellhole that is 7th period social studies.

“Y/N, I’m being serious. Please.” You lifted your head to glare at the boy behind you.

“Not the right time, Trashykawa.” He grinned.

“When is the right time, considering you’ve told me that every single day since our first year?”

“Never.” You were back to resting your head on your desk, too tired to deal with him.

“Like actually. I talk to one of your friends once and you’re dead-set on hating me.” He said, tapping your desk with his pencil.

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re an ass.” He let out a soft huff and you swear you can hear his frown.

“That’s not very nice.”

“Mhm, I don’t care. Please shut up.” His chair creaked.

“Fine.”

You were rudely awoken by the shrill screaming of the school bell. As you sluggishly zipped up your backpack, shoving your half-finished notes into your binder, you felt an irritating presence loom over your shoulder.

“My day’s been shitty already, I don’t need you bothering me right now.” His shadow wilted a bit.

“Kind of rude, don’t you think?” He replied snarkily. “I’m just trying to talk to you.”

“Why do you need to talk to me?” You were packed and ready to go, but Oikawa was blocking your way.

“I want you to watch our practice. The Aoba Johsai Volleyball Club hasn’t had enough spectators recently.” He grinned. You scoffed.

“Yeah, no. Now get out of my way.” He shook his head. After a few seconds of wondering whether you should punch him or not, you decided to shove him out of the way and continue walking. Right before you could, however, he sighed.

“Look, I really need you to be there. It’s important.” You grimaced.

“Why? I don’t want to watch sweaty man-children hitting a ball back and forth.”

He snorted. “I don’t need to tell you.”

“Ok, then I’m not going.” You tried to side-step him, but he blocked your path once again. You pushed your hair behind your ear with a frustrated sigh.

“Let’s make a deal. Have a negotiation, if you will.” You raised your eyebrows as he continued speaking. “Someone on the team likes you, and I-” he ran a hand through his hair, “am the one assigned to be their wingman. Come to this practice and I’ll tell you who afterwards.”

You considered it. “Are you sure they like me?”

He held up a peace sign. “I wouldn’t be here if they didn’t.”

You shook your head lightly. “Fine. Fine, I’ll go with you.”

He beamed. “Great! You won’t regret it.”

Following him out the door, you grumbled “Of course I won’t…”

As soon as you entered the gym, Oikawa pulled a flustered Iwaizumi to the side and whispered something in his ear. Iwaizumi nodded and shot you a wide-eyed glance before turning to address the rest of the team.

‘Oh. So it’s probably Iwaizumi then, huh. This is… good, actually. Not what I expected, but good.’

You had a few classes with Iwaizumi, but you’d never really spoken to him (save for a few times he’d dropped his pencil under your desk in Language Arts). Sitting on one of the lower bleachers, you examined the boys on the team.

There was Oikawa, of course, with his side-swept hair that looked kind of like a walnut. Despite his snobbish attitude and annoying persistence, he was kind of attractive and his volleyball skills were impressive. You smiled when Iwaizumi hit him in the back with a volleyball. Iwaizumi. In your opinion, he was the best out of all of them. Short, dark hair and muscular arms with a stern attitude. You especially appreciated how he made fun of Oikawa.

Hanamaki and Matsukawa were cool too. You’d seen them around and always thought they were pretty funny. Kyotani was a bit scary, but not too bad-looking. Yahaba was hard to judge, but he seemed pretty nice. You wouldn’t mind if any of them had a crush on you. Except for Oikawa, of course. He was the only one you couldn’t stand.

Time passed quickly with very few interruptions. The most interaction you got with the team was a few side glances and some waves (and Oikawa winking at you, but you returned the favor by glaring at him).

You made idle conversation with the team manager as you waited for them to leave the locker room.

The Great King™ and his entourage arrived shortly, chattering away as they approached. Oikawa smiled and you made a noise of disgust.

“Heyo! Are you down to take a walk around town later?”

“Absolutely not. If you’re not gonna tell me what you promised you would,” you emphasized, “I’m leaving your bitch ass and never talking to you again.” Makki and Mattsun burst out laughing at Oikawa’s offended face.

“Dude-” Makki hiccuped, “you just got completely shut down.” They doubled over wheezing, and Iwaizumi shook his head in disappointment.

Oikawa narrowed his eyes at you. “Well I can’t tell you here,” he said, waving at the gym, “said person is present. If it makes you feel better, Iwa-chan can come too.”

“I never agreed to that.” Iwaizumi said, eyebrows furrowed.

“Oh come on, it’s just for like two hours!” Oikawa pleaded, turning to look at his friend. “If you come I’ll do your clean-up two turns in a row..”

Iwaizumi looked at you and then Oikawa, contemplating his options. “Fine.” he grumbled. “You better not make me late for dinner, though.”

You stared at them. “I still haven’t agreed, you know.”

“If you go with us, I’ll tell you and even maybe set you up.” Oikawa wiggled his eyebrows and you groaned.

“Let me think about this first, I need to decide if it’s worth it or not.”

He nodded and you walked out of the gym, glad to be free of the stuffy air.

Sitting down on a bench, you weighed your options carefully.

Agree to go with them and find out who has a crush on you, but be forced to spend time with the one person you genuinely dislike

Deny the offer and have wasted your time at his practice

Your thoughts were interrupted by Oikawa, who was tapping his foot impatiently next to you. “Are you done now?”

You stood up. “Yeah. I guess I’m going with you, but if you cheat me out of my answer or pull anything, I’m punching you and leaving.”

“I won’t, I swear on Iwa-chan’s inevitable beating-of-my-ass.” Oikawa promised, putting his hand over his heart.

“You still haven’t told me what this deal is about…” Iwaizumi muttered, trailing behind you as Oikawa excitedly led the way into town.

It took 30 minutes and an awkward bus ride before you arrived at your desired location. It was a part of town you usually avoided due to the mass amounts of schoolgirls (in your experience, every teenager attracted to men simped for the guy you were currently standing next to). Although quite populated, you had to admit it was nice.

The trees swayed gently in the breeze, and the murmuring of shoppers drowned out Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s trivial bickering. You were led into multiple stores by the boys, trying in vain to switch the topic to your secret admirer. Oikawa dodged the questions and Iwaizumi tuned out of the conversation before disappearing entirely.

You looked around, suddenly all-too aware of Iwaizumi’s lack of presence as Oikawa dragged you into another shop. “Where’s Iwaizumi?”

Oikawa looked at you, and then at your surrounding area. His eyes widened. “Uhhh… I don’t know?” He offered sheepishly. You grimaced.

“We need to look for him.”

“Why? We’re having so much fun.” Oikawa teased. “Iwa-chan’s responsible, he probably just went home.”

“It couldn’t hurt to at least text him. I don’t want to watch Iwaizumi yell at you for losing him in public.”

He shrugged and pulled out his phone. “That would be quite embarrassing.”

He scrolled for a bit and then showed you texts Iwaizumi had sent around fifteen minutes ago, explaining that he was getting bored and went home. “See? Told ya so.” You rolled your eyes.

“Ok, so now that that’s out of the way, can you tell me who has a crush on me?”

“Hmm… maybe later. Let’s keep shopping.” He said with a smile. You weren’t so amused.

“You literally promised to do it after your practice, but you dragged me on an hour-long shopping trip and refuse to tell me. You haven’t even bought anything!”

“All things come with time.” His tone was serious, but the mischievous smile on his face was not. You shook your head and decided to walk away.

“Wait!!” He called after you, speed-walking to catch up. “I’ll tell you, I swear. Just be patient.” You didn’t take this well.

“I’ve been patient for three hours. Tell me or I’m leaving.” You don’t know why you haven’t left already.

“Just do one thing for me, and I’ll tell you, alright?” You glared at him suspiciously.

“What do you want me to do?”

He waved at the shelf behind him, populated with plushies of all kinds. “Pick one!”

You stood there, confusion and suspicion mixing in the pit of your stomach. “What?”

“I said pick one. I’ll pay.”

“Why?”

“It’ll be a nice gift for your secret admirer, don’t ya think?” He beamed, prodding at one that vaguely resembled a duck.

You nodded, still suspicious. After around a minute of browsing, you picked up a small stuffie. He hummed in approval, plucking it from your hands.

“Off to the cash register! Don’t get lost now, you’ve almost discovered my secret.”

You waited in silence as he talked to the cashier cheerily. Despite his demeanor, you noticed his hands shaking when he took the bagged animal. He must have check-out anxiety.

Oikawa reached out to you, looking at you for approval. You shrugged your consent and he patted you on the head while slipping the bag into your hands. “C’mon, let’s get out of the store. I can’t properly confess someone else’s feelings to you in a place with so many people.” You followed him out, noting how he fidgeted with the edge of his shirt.

He led you through an intricate maze of pathways, adorned with soft pink trees and flowering bushes. You made a few snide remarks about how far he was going for someone else’s confession and he replied with teasing gestures of his own. The air, now slightly colder, carried the smell of spring.

At the end of the many paths he had led you down was a small pavilion made of old (slightly musty) wood. The raised platform had a border of carefully carved patterns and a few potted plants on the side. The trees filtered light in an intricate pattern, highlighting the natural themes. There were a few benches near the outside, moss-covered and looking like they had been popped out of a storybook. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it), there was no one there but you two. It was the ideal place for a confession.

You stood in the center as Oikawa brushed his hands through his hair and fumbled for words.

“So… you’re probably wondering who’s crushing on you.”

“Yeah, duh. That’s why I’m here.”

“Right.” He muttered meekly. “Anyways, uh… you know what? I’m just gon- I’m just gonna go for it.” He took a deep breath. “It’s me. I like you. I know you kinda hate me and that kinda sucks, but I wanted to prove that maybe I can be okay sometimes. It’s like totally fine if you don’t feel the same way and everything, but do you maybe want to get to know each other better? And you can keep the stuffed animal. That was for you anyways.” He paused at the end of his rant, blushing profusely. “So, yeah. Um. That’s it.” You just stared at him, mouth slightly parted in shock.

This was the last thing you’d expected. Before, when Iwaizumi left, you thought it would be weird for him to avoid the person he liked. Because of that, you figured it was someone else on the team. Or Oikawa was lying to you as some sort of cruel joke. Never in your 18 years of living did you ever think Oikawa Tooru could be attracted to you. And you didn’t think you could ever bring yourself to like him, either.

He was annoying and stubborn and pushed all the wrong buttons, but during his practice you couldn’t help but notice how he gave such specific praise and advice. You’d heard of his infamous rejections, due to him having tons of confessions daily, but he never left his fangirls crying. Despite his playboy attitude, he took the time to let them down easy and encourage them to go for someone else. His sarcasm and jokes were well-planned and rarely had sinister intentions (save for when Ushijima or Kageyama came around, his disdain for them was barely concealed).

All in all, he wasn’t the worst. And he was most definitely the prettiest guy to ever show interest in you. You couldn’t be completely sure of anything, though.

“Do you actually like me?” You asked.

He gasped. “How dare you assume I don’t! Of course I like you, I wouldn’t lie about something this important.” Behind his joking, you could see the glimmers of sincerity peeking through.

“Okay then. Uh, I don’t really know you all that well because… y’know I’ve hated you for a long time, but maybe we could be friends. I want to know you before we like, date and all that stuff.” He nodded eagerly.

“Sure! I kind of expected that, to be honest.” His eyes were lighting up and he bounced back on his heels a little. “Thanks for tolerating me today.” He winked and you sighed, but you couldn’t stop a small smile from making its way onto your face.

“Yeah, yeah. Want to exchange phone numbers so you can convince me you’re not the worst person I’ve ever met?”

“Gladly.”

This was actually really fun OvO my original plan was to write an enemies-to-lovers Oikawa story for my close friend @calicocatwrites (who coincidentally hates Oikawa lmao), but I got stuck on the plot so I used random words to form one :D I think I’ll write some more stories like this eventually. And this is my 100th post, woo!!

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maruzzewrites · 3 years

Note

For your yandere prompts, can I have 5 and Giorno please?

5. “This world doesn’t deserve an angel like you.”

Content warnings: yandere content, implied obsessive behavior, emotional manipulation, controlling behavior, threats and Mafia stuff.

There was a time, at the start of your relationship, that Giorno’s finger curling your hair would bring you joy, then shivers. It was a slow, deliberate, languid motion; the strands that caught between his fingers, around each phalange, lighting up your nerves.

You understood, after a while, that he did this when you were angry, when you were trying to talk about something important, when you were talking about someone else. The pleasant sensation would make your brain pause in its track, shutter to a sudden stop, just to enjoy the goodness it brought you. The affection you craved, rarely got – and that was when it clicked into place.

Giorno, for a plethora of reasons, was hardly able to give too much love. At least physically, he was stiff, and only with the threat of separating he would show what he felt. Always, always, with a twirl of your hair. With that first clue, you noticed more: how he wouldn’t kiss you in public, but ask you to stay close and not talk to others; how he didn’t wear most things you picked for him, but wanted both of your locations shared at all times; how you couldn’t do anything, not if it wasn’t with him – but his possession stopped with demands, never with concessions.

When you first understood this, you were somewhat sympathetic. He was head of an empire, a criminal one, and showing any sort of weakness would be potentially lethal for him, for you, for all his companions. That was, eventually, the next step into your relationship’s collapse. You finally considered the nature of your romance with a man so dangerous, so influential, so divine in his power, that he could order your death for the smallest of slights.

It was frightening, but Giorno had always been nothing but kind to you – despite the tendency to be so reserved. After the initial shock, you attempted to test the waters with opening communications, and that failed. Then you attempted to be more direct, coming out empty handed once again. After weeks of efforts, as veiled or as blunt as possible, you couldn’t bear the thought anymore.

You informed Giorno that your relationship was over, and he had your hair between his fingers. This time around, it was his plan to stop working, no matter how you kept your head low. You didn’t concede when he asked, smooth as silk, if you wanted to talk further before such a decision. Such a life-changing choice.

You confirmed your intentions, and his fingers combed through your hair for the first time. Delicately, at first, when he still thought he could have the possibility to convince your otherwise. A bit more forceful after a moment, until he sighed lightly and left you alone. Stepped back, and looked down at your face; he looked melancholic, a bit lost, but his green eyes didn’t lose their shine.

He bid his farewell and hoped you would be happy, but asked to give you one last gift in the form of a house. If anything, he explained, he felt the duty to provide you with a future abode since you lived with him for so long, gave up your job long ago. Despite you having savings that you never touched because of Giorno’s generosity during your relationship, you admitted to yourself the need for a new house, and accepted after some resistance.

You started your new life as soon as all your things where out of your shared home, and you chose a modest apartment in a quiet part of the city as your starting point. You didn’t want any type of huge debt with Giorno or his organization, and nothing came after you transferred – even days, weeks, after your departure.

Adjusting to life after the breakup wasn’t as easy as you imagined, with the doubts about being able to do things you couldn’t before: going out with friends or people in general, talking freely at the phone, dressing down when going for a simple errand. It felt alien, but welcome with each passing day.

Somehow, Giorno’s memory took a bitter taste after your separation and he wasn’t as angelic as you remembered him; with time, his smile became a bit more crooked, his eyes more dull, his composure more rigid. Like a master more than a lover, no matter how gentle he would treat you.

Yet, you couldn’t help appreciating the fact he respected your decision. The most powerful criminal in Italy, and he was letting you go as if it was nothing, as if it was normal – and you didn’t really wrap your head around how vile that perception was. Despite all the grime on his image, in your mind, his gold was still shining like the sun, distracting you from the filth.

Distracting you from danger, too. It was only after two months that you started to notice someone following you around. You feared it would be someone hired by Giorno. Your answer would come a week into your discovery, when a man cornered you in an alley as you were returning home. He asked you about your life, about your love life, about Giorno himself; his veiled threats about how he needed to know where the big man was, and maybe you could be the key to open the gate.

You knew Giorno had enemies, people who wanted him dead, but you failed to consider how you were easily a target to him because of your bond. You shuttered how you were separated, how he did have nothing to do with you anymore, but the man was only angered. You managed to run away, somehow, and lock yourself into your apartment.

Breath caught in your throat, eyes watering. Your thumb hovering over the keys of your phone, Giorno’s number on the screen. You shook your head, and opted to avoid his involvement. You would try to handle it as well as you could, with help from authorities.

However, the police wouldn’t do anything. The simple recruits could only sigh and shrug, offering their condolences, while the higher-ups were on the verge of laughing in your face – their smug grins were enough mockery, though. You found yourself with daily threats on your doorstep, urging you to help this mysterious organization reach their goal and that no harm would be done to you if you collaborated.

At some point, your mind broke. You were on the phone, listening to it ring. Giorno answered with his name, and asked who it was. It felt like a thorn in your heart, but you ignored it. You started to sob your request for help, which turned into a wail. Giorno was silent, listening.

“Do you want me to send someone?” His voice was so placid, so warm, a calm river flowing while a storm was raging elsewhere. You could hear fondness in his tone, almost a restrain in letting it spill; and you hoped he was still feeling the same sense of relief you were, now that you felt like he was there with you.

“Can I come there?” You asked. There was a pause, and you feared his rejection. Maybe he found someone else, maybe he was ready to move on while you were ready to sink. A sigh carrying your name was heard, and you felt more tears falling, more whimpers coming out of your mouth.

You feared you would be alone in this. You would have to face the terror, the dread, all on your own while Giorno would swallow the grief and go on. You felt your muscles tremble, you felt your skin not fit you, and your breath didn’t belong to you anymore.

“Darling,” his voice came like a promise from heaven. You waited for something, anything, and another sigh ringed in your ears, “I’m sorry I left you to your devices. This world doesn’t deserve an angel like you.”

You shivered, but it felt better this time. Like you could actually sense every nerve, not as if you were experiencing something other than yourself. You asked, tentative, if you could come, again. His consent felt like water after the desert, and you listened carefully to his instructions about how to return. You thanked him and waited for him to hung up.

Once he was sure you weren’t listening anymore, he smiled as usual. He dialed another number, the man on the other end asking what he wanted. Giorno wasn’t in the mood for getting angry at some lowly thug, “You can stop bothering her. I will send your payment in your mail.”

He didn’t leave the man time to answer, and his phone was out of his hands immediately. He called for one of the maids, requested that they dusted the portion of wardrobe you left empty months prior and redecorate the bathroom with your favorite items again, those he stored in wait.

All he had to do, now, was arrange the return.

#jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #giorno giovanna #giorno x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #reader insert #hello i'm here with new content have fun lovelies!#Anonymous

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brain-jarred · 3 years

Text

Chapter one. Marriage problems

In the dank bowels of New York, it was a normal day of extracting brains from dubiously consenting test subjects, and Dr. Hal was bored. Bored with his life, he knew he was smart, he knew he had a brilliant mind. In theory this job was in fact nurturing his mind, and putting it to good use in bettering mankind, and-

Yeah yeah whatever. He knew that this was for a good cause, as he carefully cut open the patient's skull, revealing the squishy and oozing brain. He sighed, and his colleague finally took notice of his dour mood. “Dr. Hal? What's wrong? You don't seem very enthusiastic about this.” Dr. Param asked, looking up from their clipboard which they were doodling in the margins of. Dr. Param was very much like Dr. Hal, in the sense that both of them had similar backgrounds. Though despite this similarity, the two were as different as could be. “Come on, Hal! Put some pep into that neuro-needle!” They said cheerfully, pumping their metal arm in the air, much like a cheerleader. In response, Dr. Hal just rolled his eyes and took the neuro-needle out of the tray, and did what you do with a needle.

Once he was done with it, he returned it to the tray, and the doctor began the process of removing the brain from the skull. He sighed again, and turned to Dr. Param. “Hey Dr. Param? Do you ever feel like… I don't know, that we could be doing literally anything else with our lives?” He questioned as he lifted the brain with one hand, and cut the spinal cord with the other. “Like, I know that this is to improve mankind and everything, but… this is just so…” He plopped the brain into a jar, staring at it for a bit. “Boring.” He said flatly. Dr. Param looked shocked. “What?! No way!” They retorted, limping their metal wrist joint in at Dr. Hal. They put down their clipboard and slid a pan containing a brain across the counter. Then, they sat their elbow where it had been. “Listen Hal, Dr. Hal. All jobs have their… their dips!” “Dips?” “Like low points on a graph!” Dr. Param said while walking around. Their six metal legs made clicking sounds as they moved on the metal floors. They had their arms behind their back. They circled around the now brainless body that was laying on the surgical table. They patted one of the legs to accentuate their point. “You just-” Another slap to the cadaver’s legs.”-Just gotta keep going!”

“Dr. Param, I appreciate the enthusiasm, as well as the attempts at motivation, but you should stop slapping the body.” “You aren't listening to me!” Dr. Param slapped the body. “No. I’m not.” The scientist sighed and walked over to the sink, removing his thick plastic gloves, placing them in the cleaning solution. His hands were… not human. Because neither Dr. Hal, nor Doctor Param, were human beings. Doctor Param was a centipede-esque cyborg, maybe even centaur-like in their design. They had one almost normal looking hand, if not for the sharp claws on the tips, and one needle like appendage on the other arm. The other legs, six of them, were simple, like a bug’s legs. They had huge red eyes that stared annoyed into the back of Dr. Hal’s head. Or rather, they were staring at Dr. Hal’s brain, that was visible through the translucent psychic aura that made up his body. He looked very much like a person, but without bones, skin, muscle, or even nerves. He looked like a person composed entirely of blue jelly. The only solid parts of him were his brain and his eyes. The two doctors both had human brains, greatly enhanced, yet still human, brains.

“I’m just saying-” “I know what you're saying.” Dr. Hal interjected. “You're saying I should just accept the life I've been given, and I shouldn't wish for anything more.” “Wow. Rude.” The cyborg huffed. ”That's your problem! You are rude. When people try to cheer you up, you just-” they waved their arms around. “You push them away! You push me away.” He huffed. “Why have you been so- what am I doing wrong!? You have been so on edge lately.” “I don't want to talk about this anymore.” Dr. Hal looked away and began to pad out of the room. “Don't walk away from me!” They said, raising their voice. “Please! Let's just talk!” They said, throwing their arms up in the air.They had been working with each other for sixteen years, and though Dr. Hal was walking away, and acting standoffish, he did care about his colleague. The two of them had been working together for sixteen years. The pair acted like a married couple when they argued. But really, they were both married to their jobs, not each other. Recently though, Dr. Hal’s marriage with work was failing. Like a marriage in which both of the participants were no longer in love with each other.

Dr. Param followed Dr. Hal for a bit, before sighing and going to sit down in one of the chairs outside the operating theatre. It was a bit awkward to sit in, considering they had a 5 foot long body. In reality, the bug-like cyborg laid on the chair rather than sat in it. They watched as Dr. Hal put his hands in his lab coat and power-walked away to his quarters. They hated when he got like this. Lately they had been noticing that his colleague's heart just wasn't in his work like it used to be. Dr. Param missed it, back when things were simple. Executing tests on subjects, researching, and all the other marvelous things- they weren't fun anymore. Maybe it wasn't supposed to be fun, maybe this work was supposed to be hard and laborious. But… Ugh. Dr. Param just sat there, trying to think of ways to reignite that fire that had been reduced to cinders within Dr. Hal. Meanwhile, Dr. Hal was in his quarters. The off-white walls surrounded him, it was a small room, only about 9 feet wide and long. The ceiling was low, and if he jumped, he would probably hit his head on the ceiling. Not that he was the type to just randomly jump. That was more of Dr. Param’s thing. Being all excited and enthusiastic about their job… Dr. Hal wondered how they did it. How they managed to be as passionate about their work as they were the day they both first woke up and did their first assignments. Part of him admired it, maybe even envied it. These walls. These floors. The lights, the blood, the smell of this lab. It was all the both of them knew. Their old lives were gone. Dr. Hal wasn't supposed to miss it. He had consented to this after all. He consented to having his body removed from his brain, and having his brain utterly transformed into something inhuman. Dr. Param consented to it too. So then why did he feel like something was missing?

Why would he miss being a terminally ill cancer patient? This was a far more noble life than wasting away in a hospital bed with no family to be there as he died. Of course he did not remember being a terminally ill cancer patient, but that was what his bosses told him. They even showed him pictures of who he used to be. Birth records, I.D., photographs. All meaningless to him now.

He had been thinking more about it lately. He hadn't told anyone though. He always got the feeling that the bosses didn't like it. It was an unspoken taboo to mention the past when the goal of the organization was to further the path into the future. He closed his eyes. Well, he didn't really have eyelids. He just shaped the ectoplasm that comprised his body to slide over his eyeballs. And then there was a knock at his door, before he could tell them to come in, someone he didn't expect to see today walked into his room stiffly. The person that entered his room was a pale man, with wispy and wild white hair, and a ratty scarf worn over his lab coat. His face was round, it would have been almost friendly looking if not for the deep scowl that he wore on his face at all times. Dr. Hal sat up, and then got off his bed to stand respectfully towards the head scientist “Dr. Brian.” He remarked. “It's good to see you.” “You did good work on the last subject, but we have another assignment for you.” Doctor brian said, ignoring pleasantries and going straight for what was needed of Dr. Hal. “We have a subject coming in that is extremely high profile. Not only that, but it's going to be a vivisection. Further details will be given later.” He said in a monotone. “Oh. I see. But why are you telling me this in person? I feel like this could have been communicated in a memo.” He crossed his arms and tilted his head. “Because you haven't been confirming your memos.” He huffed. “You have been acting highly unprofessional lately. Now tell me why that is.” He asked pointedly, glaring up at Dr. Hal. “I apologize.” He began, taking in a breath. “I have just been feeling unwell lately. I was actually going to request a week’s vacation for-” “Denied.” The head scientist interrupted. “The high profile vivisection is tomorrow.” “Oh.” Dr. Hal folded his arms. “I assume my...talents will be needed?” he asked. “Both you and Dr. Param will be needed, yes.” “Alright.” he looked away. “Tell you what-” Dr Brian began. “You can have your week's vacation after the vivisection tomorrow. It's estimated to take six hours to complete.” Dr. Hal’s eyes widened. Wow. That was more than double the length of the longest vivisections he had done. This must be someone special that they were vivisecting. “Will it be a terminal one?” He asked. “Yes.” Damn it. Dr. Hal hated the terminal ones. Usually they were performed only on death row prisoners or terminally ill patients. So he didn't feel shame about most of them, despite technically being a murderer. Well, he wasn't really a murderer. They were going to die anyway, so who cares? He certainly didn't. But it was still unpleasant to be in the mind of a dying person. It was sometimes borderline nightmarish. Of course, he wouldn't voice these opinions out loud. But Dr. Brian’s scowl still deepened. “Do what you will for the rest of today.” He huffed, and exited the room. End of chapter one

#oc #oc story #mad scientist oc #robot oc #Brainjarred #medical horror #body horror

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katedrakeohd · 3 years

Text

A Very Merry Birthday (5)

[Masterlist]

Hey let's make this a wacky drabble. This week's prompt #80 Stop looking at me like that

Word count: 2000

Cast of characters: Drake, Kate, Preston Davis. (OC)

Rated PG: talk of mature themes, sexual innuendo

Tagging:

@wackydrabbles @darley1101 @sfb123 @mom2000aggie @fluffyfirewhiskey @jovialyouthmusic @sirbeepsalot @kingliam2019 @no-one-u-know @nikkis1983 @glaimtruelovealways @texaskitten30 @bbrandy2002 @marshmallowsandfire

After exiting the stairway, Drake and Kate make their way down the hall to their room. He looked at her nervously as he dug into his pocket for his room key, "Are we really going through with this threesome thing?"

When they arrive at their door, Kate steps in front of Drake. Cupping his face in her hands she pulls him in for a kiss, her voice low, "Yes, we are. I'm only going to turn 27 once and I want it to be special."

Drake smirks against her mouth and mumbles as their kisses continue, "What's so special about turning 27?"

Kate caresses the back of his neck and runs her fingers through his hair, "Nothing really, but do you know what?"

"Hmm?"

Kate runs the pad of her thumb across his bottom lip, and then licks her own. "I can still taste myself on your mouth and I like it."

Drake presses the room key into her hand and with the other hand goes into his jacket, making sure to slide his palm across her breast before retrieving his phone from the inside pocket.

"You go on into our room, and I'll give Preston a call."

Kate chuckles, "Be nice to him, and please tell him again that I'm sorry for hurting him."

"I will."

…

Preston is sitting up in bed in his underwear and a t-shirt, with a small bag of ice wrapped in a pillowcase nestled against his groin. The pain had pretty much subsided by this point, but he wanted to make sure there was no chance of swelling. This hadn't been his first blow to the nuts, but knowing how it felt didn't make any time it happened again any less painful.

Beside him on the bed is a half eaten sandwich on a plate that he had ordered from room service. It was still early in the evening and it bothered him to not have anything to do. If they were back home at Valtoria there would still be another two hours in his work shift. Back at home these were prime party hours and he'd have guests to keep tabs on with his usual crew of guards. If it was a quiet evening with no guests, he'd walk the halls and then patrol the perimeter outside and use the time to go over the next day's sentry and active guard schedule in his head and get some welcome fresh air.

Once a month there would be an evening poker game amongst the senior staffers, which occasionally the Duke would join in on if the Duchess was away, but mostly it was a fun and casual night for the staff to tell funny anecdotes at their employer's expense.

Tonight, after clicking through the limited channel options on his room's TV, he had resorted to browsing the social media on his phone. Thankfully the hotel had free wifi. Reaching over he grabs the last part of his sandwich and takes a bite, and then another to finish it. Now that his hand was free he shifted the ice pack to the side and gingerly fondled himself through his underwear. The ice had left him temporarily numb, but there didn't seem to be any unusual swelling so he transferred the ice pack over onto his dinner plate. Laying his phone on his chest he planted his hands on the bed and carefully scooted his ass down the bed so he could lie down on his back. With a sigh he folded his arms behind his head and stared up at the ceiling.

After a few minutes of studying the crown moulding and lamenting the Ravenhurst's poor choice of wallpaper, he closes his eyes out of boredom. Out in the hallway he can hear the muffled voices of people approaching his room, expecting them to fade as they pass by. But this time they don't. Listening intently he recognizes the low tones of Drake's voice, and the faint inflection of Kate's laughter. So Mr. and Mrs. Smith, or Jones or whatever are back from their dinner date. Hope they had fun.

There's the click of a door opening and closing and then the muffled footfalls of someone walking away, punctuated by the creek of the wooden floorboards under the carpet. Preston turns his head to look toward the door, curious. Pulling his hand out from behind his head he reaches for his phone before it can slide off his chest.

…

Drake shoved one hand in his pocket as he paced back and forth in the hallway, looking down at his phone. Of course it had to be the pocket with Kate's panties in it. He bunches them in his fist and sighs in frustration as he picks Preston's name out of his contact folder. How in the hell do I call someone and invite them to be the third person in a sexual situation? Especially when I really don't want him there in the first place? I could lie to her and say that I asked Preston and he declined. Yeah right, Kate's like a human lie detector and would know I'm not telling the truth.

He presses the message icon on his screen and then stops to lean against the wall. As awkward a conversation this was about to be, it would be better conducted quietly.

The Duke:: Hi Preston, how are you feeling?

There's a brief pause and then Preston responds,

Preston:: I'm doing ok. How can I help you Sir?

The Duke:: I have an unusual request. You're free to decline if you don't feel up to the task.

Preston:: Ok. That's not suspicious at all. 🤔

The Duke:: First some questions. And again you can choose not to answer if you feel they're too personal.

Preston:: Should I be worried? This isn't some dangerous mission is it?

The Duke:: That all depends on how you behave.

Drake grins to himself and rubs his jaw as he waits for Preston to respond. The seconds tick by and then Preston answers.

Preston:: Are you out in the hall?

The Duke:: yes

A few seconds go by and he hears a door open and he looks up to see Preston pop his head out into the hall.

"Pssst. Over here," he whispers.

Drake pushes away from the wall and tucks his phone into his back pocket. He looks quickly up and down the hall before walking over to Preston's room. He takes in his underdressed state and then grins at him, "You're going to think I'm crazy."

Preston steps back to let Drake step into the room. "Now I'm really curious."

Drake stands in the middle of the room feeling awkward, knowing he still had to ask the questions he had on his mind. Preston gestures toward the chair for Drake to have a seat, but he shakes his head.

"I'd rather stand." I'm too nervous to sit down. "But you might want to sit."

Preston shrugs and then sits down on the end of the bed. "What's on your mind, Sir?"

Drake doesn't know where to start. Just get the personal questions out of the way, you idiot, before you chicken out.

Taking a deep breath in Drake forces himself to push aside his nerves and decides to sit down after all. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and then leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "Ok, then. Question one. Are you currently in a relationship?"

Preston's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, "Uh, no. But why -...?"

Drake holds his hand up to interrupt him, "Just bear with me and then I'll get to the point."

Preston tilts his head, frowning, but crosses his arms and then waits.

Drake scratches the back of his head, trying to find the words to ask the questions on his mind before he gets to the invitation from Kate.

"Are..are you straight? Gay? Something else?" Drake stammers, feeling anxious.

Preston can't help but laugh, "Are you asking me out on a date Your Grace?"

"I...just answer the question."

Preston shrugs, noting the nervous bounce of Drake's knee and the way he kept averting his eyes. He also couldn't help but notice that his shirt was half unbuttoned already and his hair was slightly messy. "I'm straight...I guess."

Drake looks up, "You guess? Either you are or you aren't. Stop looking at me like that."

"Well when you get right down to it, these days when you're lonely enough and looking for that kind of pleasure a hole is a hole. If you understand what I mean? Between two consenting adults of course."

Drake wasn't expecting that kind of answer from Preston, and he's suddenly reminded of his own 27th Birthday. But he had one last question before he mentioned the threesome idea. Taking a deep breath he thought about Kate, and how she was expecting Preston to come back with him.

"Well, if you're thinking straight, I want your honest opinion about something."

Preston wasn't sure where this was going, but this had to be the strangest conversation he'd ever had with any boss he's ever had. Was it even ethical to have this kind of conversation?

"Ok, sure. What do you want to know?"

"How do you feel about my wife?"

Preston wasn't sure how to answer that sort of question without getting a punch to the face. She'd already slapped him and mashed his nuts with her knee, but being the one to escort her to the restaurant had been exciting to say the least. He wasn't sure if he'd interpreted her suggestion correctly, that he should get handsy with her in order to get Drake's attention, or not. Or perhaps he had gone too far. He was certainly confused as to why Drake would show up in his room and start asking personal questions. He decided to keep his answer as ambiguous as possible.

"She's a beautiful woman, and a man would have to be blind not to desire her."

Drake nods, appreciating his answer, "Go on, I think there's more you want to say."

Preston's eyes narrow and he feels uncomfortable with Drake's tone of voice, "If you're trying to lead me on into admitting something as some sort of trap, I'm not falling for it. I was following her orders…"

Again Drake interrupts, "Yes, I get that. What I really want to know is if you enjoyed touching my wife like that?"

Preston carefully considers his answer. Yes, he had liked being able to touch her. But acting like a total ass had earned him a slap and a knee to the groin, and he knew that wasn't acceptable behavior. Kate didn't deserve to be grabbed like that. She had looked like candy wrapped in a red satin bow, and damn she had smelled like it too. He'd love to be lucky enough to have a woman like that. She would be like a gift, one he could unwrap everyday and never get tired of finding the same thing waiting for him on the inside.

"No, I didn't. K...Mrs. Walker shouldn't be touched that way without permission. It was wrong."

Drake's phone chimes and he checks it. He has a text message from Kate.

Kate:: have you asked him yet?

Drake:: getting there, be patient.

Drake looks up from his phone. "Smart answer. Now how would you like the chance to make it right?"

His phone chimes again.

Preston chuckles, "What do you mean?"

Kate:: this kitty Kat is getting awfully lonely over here, and with an itch that needs to be scratched. It would be a shame if I had to handle it on my own. 😽😈

"Kate...Mrs. Walker, wants me to invite you over to our room. For some fun."

"What sort of fun?"

Drake's phone chimes again.

Kate:: tick tock, Walker. Are you two coming over to play?

"The naked kind."

Preston laughs, "You're right. I do think you're crazy."

Drake stands up. "Well are you in, or not?"

Preston shrugs, "What the Hell, I'm in."

#drake walker #choices #long post #drake x kate #theroyalromance #Henry Cavill is Preston Davis

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lovelivingmydreams · 3 years

Text

A story by Heroes and Vilains. Logan Anker: Allies

No man is an island. We all need others to rely on.

Previous chapters in masterpost

“You are sure I don’t have to compensate you for your trouble? Yesterday was only a few hours but…”

“Virgil is an absolute angel Logan. He is no trouble at all. You get to work,” Celine assured him.

Logan nodded and knelt down to look at Virgil.

“I have to go to work Virgil. But I will be back in the evening okay?” he asked calmly.

Virgil nodded, squeezing his Stitch tightly to his chest.

“If you need me, just ask for me okay? Promise?” Logan asked.

“Pwomise,” Virgil said as he stepped forward, putting his arms around Logan’s neck in a hug.

“Bye papa,” he said before letting go.

Logan smiled a little and ruffled Virgil’s hair. “Be a good boy okay?”

Virgil nodded again. Logan got up and left, forcing himself not to look back. He felt like he had more trouble with being apart from Virgil then the other way around. Which he supposed was a good sign. It meant Virgil was enjoying his time with the neighbors and that they were as nice as they seemed.

Thomas, as the dean of the college Logan would be teaching at, was of course the one to show him around campus. It was a pleasant work environment as far as Logan could tell.

Big open spaces, the lecture halls were well lit and had good airflow.

Not to mention state of the art educational material and…

“Oh, Thomas! There you are! I was looking for you all over, but then Talyn told me you were showing around a new professor and…” Logan looked up at the cheerful voice and his eyes found a freckled face holding two wide, innocently blue eyes. When their eyes locked the man cut of his rant.

“Oh… Hi,” the man smiled a little sheepishly.

Logan collected himself and approached the man to greet him. “Greetings. I am Logan Anker. I will be starting here next fall,” he explained.

“Patton Bonair! Very nice to meet you,” the man, Dr. Bonair shook his hand excitedly and while normally he would find that overwhelming or even annoying, there was such a pure sincere joy in his eyes that he could only classify the behavior as endearing.

“I teach moral philosophy. Just started last year not too long before our new dean here. We’re all so proud of Thomas for getting that position! He is young, but he is very fit for the job just you wait and see!”

Logan could appreciate Paton sticking up for Thomas. “Yes. Thomas and I met in high school and I had the pleasure of being his roommate in college. He is a very capable man. I trust him to make well informed decision in the faculty and the student body’s best interest,” Logan assured Patton in turn.

“Oh that’s so exciting!!!” Patton giggled. It was a rather pleasant sound.

“I bet you have tons of fun stories,” the other man winked.

Ah. “Nice try. But I will not be divulging such information,” Logan stated firmly.

“Aw, Logan! I knew you secretly cared.”

“I merely assumed that this would make for a mutual beneficial arrangement. I don’t reveal any personal information about you without your consent and you regard my private life with the same amount of respect,” Logan stressed. Not comfortable in showing any kind of fondness for his ally and friend. Not in front of a stranger. Not even if it was a very kind and cute stranger.

One who was watching the exchanged with a very sweet smile and now clapped his hands in excitement as the lights of an idea sparkled in his eyes.

“Why don’t you come over next Friday for movie night? You can get to know some more people and…”

“Apologies but I have prior commitments,” Logan stated before Patton got too worked up over the evening.

“Oh…” Patton deflated at that. “Well I’m sorry I didn’t…”

“Don’t take it personal Pat. Logan isn’t trying to get out of spending time with you. If he was he would just say he didn’t want to come. Trust me,” Thomas explained.

Logan nodded. “Indeed. Speaking of which I should get settled in. I wanted to call Virgil over my break,” he stated as he swiftly left the room.

Virgil was, from the sound of it, doing rather well in his absence. Logan assured him that he would be home soon before hanging up and getting ready to join Thomas in the basement.

Time to get settled into his role as a manufacturer of support items for heroes and a tutor for young heroes in training.

He donned his disguise and his new Shade glasses that cast a shadow over his face so that even someone who stood nose to nose with him wouldn’t be able to discern any facial features or the voice modifier he was wearing to make his voice more monotone and robotic.

He arrived in a conference room where Manifestor and one other person were waiting for him.

“Ah! Brain Storm! Let me introduce you to Sweets. He is an empath and will be assisting you in teaching any young heroes in training. Sweets you’ve probably heard of Brain Storm.”

Logan prepared for judgement and distrust… But that was not what he got.

“It is very nice to meet you,” Sweets stated warmly as he offered his hand. He seemed sincere.

Logan simply nodded. Distance was key. Sweets was clearly disappointed to find him unwilling to exchange more than the most basic of pleasantries. With his colleagues it was hard to escape. But down here, Thomas could explain his aversion to closeness of any kind.

He had a handle on his gift around Virgil. Having him as an emotional anchor actually helped prevent any flare ups even when he lost hold of his emotions.

Maybe he should discuss possible ways to extend this effect to his work environment in some way with Picani next week.

“Oh like a talisman? That sounds like an excellent idea Logan. I must say I am proud of you for making so much progress on your own!” Picani told him warmly.

“It would be nice if you could allow yourself to actually get along with your colleagues. Both as Logan and as Brainstorm,” he finished.

Logan wasn’t sure if he needed that. He did care about being able to actually express some excitement while giving lectures next semester. But he didn’t think any of his colleagues would really benefit from a friendship with him. He was already at his limit of social pleasantries when interacting with his helpful neighbors and he liked them well enough. Thomas wasn’t as exhausting since he knew all his edges and accepted them for what they were. People like Patton were better off never having to deal with those.

When he went to pick up Virgil that evening David opened the door with a smile.

“They are in the garden,” he told him as he led him to the backdoor.

He opened the door and both men looked around, trying to spot the boys.

When they found them though they saw Virgil curled up in a ball shaking with sobs as Janus tried to comfort his friend.

“Virgil!!!?” Logan called out as he rushed over. Virgil stiffened and tightened his hold of his legs.

Logan let himself fall to his knees. “What happened? Are you hurt?” he whispered in an attempt to soothe him with a softer tone of voice. Virgil didn’t respond.

Logan looked up to the other boy. “Janus? What happened here?” he asked desperately wanting to know what had happened to his son.

Janus bit his lip nervously and shook his head. “I don’t know…”

Well obviously that was a lie. “Janus… you are not in trouble. But you will be if you lie about this. Now what happened to Virgil?” he tried to stay calm but he was on his last nerve. The only reason why things weren’t exploding left and right was because he had his hands on his shaking son who he didn’t want to frighten any more.

Janus looked down. “Stitch,” he muttered.

Logan let out a sigh of relief and turned back to Virgil.

“Virgil… are you upset because your Stich got torn or dirty?” Logan guessed.

Virgil hiccupped and a faint move of his head seemed like a nod.

“Can I see him? Maybe I can repair the damage?” he suggested gently.

Virgil looked up tears and snot running down his face. On any other kid it would have undoubtedly repulsed Logan. But this was Virgil and so he only cared that his son was upset.

“Not mad?” he wondered.

Logan allowed a gentle smile. “Of course not. Accidents happen. I am just glad you aren’t hurt. Now let me see…”

Virgil let go of his legs and retrieved the plush from it’s hiding place against his stomach. A good chunk of the ear had come off. From the looks of it it would be easier to cut off the top bit and close the lower one up.

And Logan had an idea of how to soften the blow of the loss of stitch’s ear.

“I think I can do something about this. Let’s go home,” he told Virgil.

His son nodded and waved goodbye to his friend.

Once home Logan got to work. He cut and sewed and he dug in his desk for a surprise for Virgil.

He came back downstairs and handed Virgil the repaired doll. Virgil inspected the shorter ear for a minute and then nodded in approval. “Little, broken, good,” he murmured. Paraphrasing his favorite quote of his favorite movie.

“Indeed and look.” Logan showed the little pouch he’d made from the remains of the ear.

And then he opened the box he’d retrieved from his desk. Virgil’s eyes widened when he noticed it contained all the rocks and leaves and feathers he’d given Logan over the past month. All things that Virgil had considered valuable and so they meant the world to Logan.

“How about we pick out some things to bring with me tomorrow? To keep me safe?”

He was in the unique position where this wasn’t a lie to give the child some sense of control over the separation with their parental figure. This ‘talisman’ would help him keep himself grounded, to remind himself why he couldn’t make mistakes.

Virgil smiled and nodded and carefully selected the best treasures and put them on Logan’s palm, one after the other so he could put them in. Logan took as much care with his task as Virgil did.

“There. Now, how about dinner?”

“Okay Virgil, dad has to go now. You be good to Janus’ papa okay? I’ll see you tonight,” Logan promised as he finished off his daily check in call with his son.

“Bye, bye daddy! Luv you!” Logan felt his heart fill with warmth at that. “Love you too Virgil,” he said softly. Virgil had only recently started saying ‘I love you’, and he seemed to understand the weight of the words, if the look in his eyes every time he used them was anything to go by. Logan was not usually comfortable with voicing his feelings, not even to Virgil. But over the phone he felt less vulnerable and had an easier time returning the sentiment.

“Hi Logan. How are you settling in?”

Logan looked up and was rather happy to see Patton walk in.

He would be foolish not to acknowledge the butterflies in his stomach every time Patton entered a room. But he had no time for relationships, he was still getting used to being a father. Not to mention, he did not trust himself around others enough to even consider letting a stranger in that much. No Virgil had to be his priority and he was already going through enough changes as it was. Besides, who wanted to date a man with a two year old toddler?

“Patton. I am doing quite well. I feel like I am ready for the start of the year.” He gestured to his desk, which he had made his own. An old space themed mug to hold his pens, a clear box for notecards in case he needed to write himself reminders and of course a picture of Virgil taking a nap with his Stitch and his blanket.

“Oh! Who is that precious little angel!” Patton squealed pointing at the picture.

Logan couldn’t help a smile. “Virgil. My… My son,” he said. It was the first time he called Virgil that out loud and it filled him with a warm pride.

“Oh… That is Virgil… How old is he?” Patton wondered beaming at him in a way only Patton could make look sincere.

“Two. Though he’s only been my son for the past two months. He’s rather well behaved for his age.” Logan caught himself about to start boasting about his boy and smiled apologetically at Patton.

“You sound very happy to have him,” Patton pointed out.

“I am…. He is my entire world,” Logan confessed.

Logan kept going to see Picani once a week for about two years. He didn’t stop going after that. But he didn’t need the weekly sessions anymore and he preferred to spend that time with Virgil.

Teaching was every bit as fulfilling as he’d hoped it would be and his talisman worked without fail.

So far he had yet to be involved with any heroes in training. Keeping to developing exercises for civilian gifted, reviewing data and creating tech for sanctioned active heroes.

Virgil and Janus had made it through kindergarten together and had just begun elementary school.

And for whatever reason Virgil had decided to start playing matchmaker. So Logan sat him down to explain homosexuality to him, in terms Virgil would understand.

“It isn’t funny Thomas,” Logan grumbled over lunch while his friend was figuratively dying of laughter.

“What isn’t funny?” Patton wondered as he joined them.

“Virgil tried to set Logan up with some random woman from the park and he decided now was a good time to…” Thomas stopped himself and looked at Logan questioningly.

“It is fine Thomas. I see no reason to keep this from Patton.” He turned to their kindhearted friend. If anyone was going to be accepting it’d be him right.

“I came out as gay to my son this weekend.” He then turned back to Thomas.

“And there is no point in hiding this from him. If we want the LGBTQ+ community to get normalized we have to start with treating it as normal in front of the children, wouldn’t you agree?”

Thomas thought of that for a moment and nodded. “Yes, I suppose you are right. Should I come out next time I see him then?” Thomas wondered.

“You can if you want to.”

Logan would come to regret that later. Because Virgil’s conclusion to that revelation was that he should get uncle Thomas to be his dad’s boyfriend.

Time just kept spinning out of control and before Logan knew it, Virgil was in middle school.

It wasn’t long before Virgil made a new friend there. He and Janus were spending a lot of time with a boy named Remus, as Logan came to understand. They never invited him over as far as he was aware, but he was with them often during recess.

Until one day at the start of seventh grade Virgil came home rather upset. Remus was pulled out of school due to a rather persistent bullying problem.

“Why didn’t you tell me about that Virgil? Me and Mr. and Mrs. Bullard we could have talked to the teachers and…”

“I thought you’d say I couldn’t be friends with him anymore…” Virgil admitted.

Logan was shocked by that reveal. “Why would I say that?” he asked dumbfounded. When had he ever given Virgil the idea he would prefer he abandon kids who needed a friend the most?

“You say I shouldn’t look for trouble and…”

Oh… Oh. Logan had very soon realized that his son had inherited his birthparent’s selfless and protective nature and he had feared that this would end up getting him in trouble.

So he’d tried to caution him against reckless behavior. This, however, seemed to have left a very wrong impression with his son. That was something he should talk about with Picani.

“Oh, Virgil. I didn’t mean I wanted you to turn away from people who need help. I just meant… Sometimes being brave, being a hero means knowing when you need to ask for help. Promise me that next time, you’ll let people help you okay?”

Virgil nodded and gave him a hug.

And then, not a week later…

“And then this boy pushed the mean kid away and he turned out to be Remus’ twin Roman!”

After that Roman was talked about a lot. Logan had a suspicion that his son had a small crush on the boy and he didn’t know how to feel.

“That is so adorable!” Patton squealed when Logan explained the situation. Logan didn’t know how it had happened exactly. But he often found himself turning to Patton when he sought advice on how to handle certain problems in raising Virgil.

“I’m not ready for him to have crushes though Patton. It is impossible. It feels like only yesterday he struggled to sleep without his blanket and now…” Now his blanket and worn out stitch plushy had gotten a more decorative spot in his son’s room.

How much longer before Logan became just as obsolete?

He gently squeezed the talisman to ground himself and keep his thoughts from spiraling.

“It’s a part of life Logie.” Patton and only Patton got away with calling him that. He didn’t have the heart to ask him to stop.

“But rest assured you will always be important to Virgil. You’re his dad. How can you not be?”

Logan relaxed at that. Right. At the end of the day, Virgil was his son, nothing could change that.

Not even the unforgiving sands of time that had Virgil come down the first day of summer before his freshman year of high school with dyed hair and a new hoodie, announcing himself as bisexual.

Logan felt happy that Virgil felt comfortable telling him this. But also a squeeze in his heart as he realized that once more his boy was growing up.

Virgil had started experimenting with make up a few weeks ago and it was clear he was setting up a shield against the world. Logan just feared that he’d end up being kept out by that shield as well.

4)Pupil

Masterlist

@moonlightshow00 @naturallyunstablegamer @alias290 @meowthefluffy @frida0043 @angelic-cali

#sanders sides #ts sides #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #hero au #fic #logicality #prinxiety

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honestsycrets · 4 years

Text

The Gods Only Knew || [ Hvitserk x Reader x Ivar ]

❛ pairing | hvitserk x reader, ivar x reader (platonic? shit i dunno)

❛ type | series

❛ summary | Oleg brought you to a Thing. You’re pretty sure you know why-- despite your lover’s presence.

❛ tags | secret relationships, arranged marriage, brotherly tension, not really a love triangle, unless ya’ll want one, asshole oleg, like usual.

❛ sy’s notes | i wrote this on request for my-little-wolfe, but it isn’t exactly what she wanted. Patreons, I’m really sorry. I went to post this but it seems like the platform has been down.

The gods knew why Oleg made you come on his impossible trip to Norway. There was more than one reason to be here, he said. With Oleg-- you always had to be a step ahead. Always prepared for what would be inevitable. The inevitable was as you knew it.

Oleg had someone he wanted you to meet during this Alþing. As a woman of minor influence, you surely wouldn’t be involved in the creation of new laws or an agreement for the future. You knew he wanted you to meet someone to marry someone despite knowing very good and well that you already wanted someone.

So yes, the gods knew why Oleg made you come on his impossible trip to Norway-- and maybe you did too. It wasn’t as if he needed your consent to marry you off.

You sat with your falcon upon your wrist. On the outskirts of the gathering, you were well aware of the men coming in and out, boasting about their sexual prowess or lack thereof. More likely, lack thereof.

Olga squawked as Dym slashed at the meaty carcass of a small game animal between her fingers. She loved the thrill of feeding him, but not so much watching him snatch it from her. You watched Dym pick and swallow with envious ease.

“I’m sure its nothing,” Olga said. “It is-- well, he probably wanted the company.”

You turned your head over, propping your cheek on your hand. “And that’s why he wanted me to wear this dress.”

“Well--” Olga puffed out her lower lip. She’s struggling to make up a good enough excuse. You don’t blame her. You would too. “At times we should--”

“Should what?” you snapped. “He’s lying to me.”

You just knew it. The only evidence you needed was whoever he would have you meet. You had your suspicions and your hopes. “It isn’t him he wants me to marry.”

“Have a little faith in him.”

You watched Dym swallow his catch of the day and imagine Oleg probably looks the same as he negotiated trades-- or rather, threatened his way through them. You smoothed out your skirt and stood, holding Dym on your wrist.

“It’s hard to when he’s a tyrant. I’m going to shop.”

The journey into the sea of tents was a short walk. Male boys soared past you into the maze of testosterone and their own simple troubles. On occasion, you might have the occasional child, a girl, who stopped to marvel at your presence.

“You’re a princess!” an exclamation of the headdress, rather than a question.

You smiled chastely, “Unfortunately.”

The blonde-haired girl barely understood what you meant now. But maybe, one day, she would. You pressed into the makeshift village. Your fingers had barely run across a fine fur when you heard boots tapping down from the tent’s roof. You glanced up in time to catch a whirl of green and pale skin touch down. The pleats of Dym’s peppered wings outstretched, almost to take off, but you quickly snapped back.

“Prince Hvitserk,” snapped the old vendor, a man from Kattegat, where Hvitserk was born and raised. “Don’t tell me you’re up to your old antics.”

“Old habits die hard, old man.” Hvitserk looked that way, then another, sliding carefully behind you as if to wait for you to finish. It was a lie-- the edges of his fingers considered the back of your dress, tracing the loops of the fabric looped into a bow with his fingertips.

“Here to see my wares?”

“I’m in need of a new coat.” He answers.

He’s being brazen. Many days had not yet passed since you arrived here for the Thing where food and goods would be traded. Hvitserk acted as if-- he was fearful of nothing. The old man’s eyes crinkled in fuller wrinkles, knowingly pushing aside his table.

“Perhaps you should come look at my finer stock.”

“What a good idea. You’re full of them today.” Hvitserk stepped inside. You on the other hand did not. Not until the old vendor gestured his hand with a flick of his head. “Hurry on then. I remember being young. Go before the eyes find you.”

Inside the tent, you did find wealthier furs and capes. There was a place where an old woman was mending cloaks, sitting with an old elegancy you hoped to only come upon in your old age, should you get there. Thwacking behind another flap, you were tugged to the side.

Dym didn’t appreciate that either.

“Ow fuck--” Hvitserk jerked his leather-clad wrist back, not at all ignorant of the bird that was so stubbornly protective of its master, but rather annoyed as you found a stand for one of the old man’s birds. “I thought you taught him not to bite.”

“Not to bite?” you asked, verging on laughter. You set Dym on the stand to sit, languidly moving toward Hvitserk. He brought his leather gauntlet up to motion toward the striations that dominated his wrist.

Hvitserk hissed. “Yes not to bite-- what else?”

“He wouldn’t if you didn’t scare him.” You took his wrist, setting a small kiss to the affected area. Hvitserk hummed appreciatively for the motion. “Maybe I can live with it.”

“I wasn’t sure that you’d come.” He takes a step forward-- and you take one back-- back and back until your back connects with the lip of a table. You pull yourself on top of the heavy table, complete with a pile of furs from small game animals. Ones that the old man surely would sell out of before long.

“Why wouldn’t I?” you kept him ignorant of the truth, partially, because you wanted to be ignorant of it too. It was better when his breath was warm and gentle against your lips, close enough to be familiar. His thin lips pull from their usual flat lipped appeal, pulling with a practiced smile.

“I don’t know. I thought he wouldn’t let you,” he moves his lips soundlessly against the corner of your lips. Small, practiced butterfly kisses verged on a genuine full kiss to your lips. You leaned into the warmth of his cracked lips, only to receive his typical well rounded kiss, the one that said he wanted something else. Then, he moved on, drawing one after another against your neck, the occasional bite that had you smacking him--

“Don’t do that!”

“Why not?” he heaved, his breath was hot and warm, and how could you deny him?

“He’ll see.”

“Then let him see.”

Ten kings were gathered for the Alþing that warm summer evening where the warm waters ran freely, cascading down a local waterfall that set a calm and tranquil backdrop to the warm flicker of an open fire that kissed his cheeks inside a full tent. Ivar’s food had gone bad in a span of minutes in his lap.

Oleg has a way of ruining food. All kinds of food-- doesn’t matter what it is. The way he leans on the edge of the boundaries of society and never means the truth. It truly aggravates him. Ivar might be on the outside looking in but--

At least he means what he says.

“Why don’t you let my brother marry her?” Ivar said.

Sitting across from him at the blacksmith’s tent was Oleg the Prophet. His hair was cut short, smooth with the violent tattoos that marked him as a chieftain of his people; those who sailed east and came back to trade their wealth of goods. This year, he would trade more than honey and slaves.

“He’s insignificant.”

Ivar glanced through the open flaps where you rushed out beside Hvitserk from the old man’s tent. Your long skirt tumbled over the grass. The little children seemed to notice that, stopping you to talk, before they would scurry on. It had gotten late. Night had fallen. You donned Hvitserk’s dark fur. He shared something sweet with you at the tent next to the old man’s, smoothing his finger over your plump lip, and no one said anything. No one would say anything-- a son of Ragnar, a sister of the prophet.

Hvitserk was brazen. Ivar’s head swayed one side then snapped to another. In a rare flicker of empathy, Ivar spoke without weighing his options properly. “I’ve taken too much from him.”

Oleg sat imposingly across from him. His heavy boots propped on a smooth rock, and as he leaned into the flickering flame, it was to bully him into what he wanted. “Come on, Ivar the Boneless. You can’t tell me you’re denying my alliance?”

“No--” he looked ahead, bent over the axe in his lap. “What I am saying is--” the words stutter on their way out, rare for Ivar who normally bore his father’s silver tongue. He gestures with his metal pick, “Look at them.”

Oleg does him that favour and looks where you both stood. Hvitserk bent to whisper something into your ear. Something that the tooth locked prophet hasn’t missed, not in the way you clutched your long waterfall sleeves to your lips, smiling, nodding. He almost lurched up, his brow scrunched up in annoyance.

“What of it?”

“They are in love,” Ivar leaned into the prophet. “How can I take that from him?”

Oleg stared in a way that supplied his reply. “It is easy. You tell them or we can eliminate him entirely.”

“Are you threatening my brother?”

“Do I need to?”

He’s reminded of Hvitserk’s oath. He was going to submit himself to the element of violence-- and in return, he expected Ivar’s renewed loyalty. Unspoken forgiveness. The guards standing watch outside the door are reflections of the men Oleg holds over Ivar’s newly established troops as king.

“Come on Ivar the Boneless… I did not think you were such a stupid man. Here,” Oleg barked your name. “I’ll show you.” You scurried in, setting Dym in his cage, before looking toward Ivar and Oleg.

There’s a sudden realization that spreads across your face-- as if you want to say you knew it, but with your hand tense on the fur, you’re more concerned with whether or not Oleg had seen everything. Ivar looks down, his nails bitting the thickened skin of his palms.

“What is it?” you asked. Hvitserk trailed your steps. He stopped when Ivar’s hand shot out to cut him off from going a step further. His hand tremors. Oleg seized you by the shoulders and sat you down where he once sat, bending in nice and close, where his short-cropped beard itched your rosy cheek.

“You’re marrying Ivar.”

When Hvitserk looked at him, he knew he was fucked. Ivar swallowed dryly and accepts the wealth of eyes upon him when Oleg steps away. “You see?” he pats Ivar on the shoulder on his way out. “It is that easy.”

He knew that look. He’s been here before. Only this time-- he wanted to shout, rather than explain to his brother, that it wasn’t his fault. You sobbed something out but he only catches the end of it. No, no. Hvitserk knelt before you. Ivar faded into the background of the tawny tent.

He’s fucked.

@tephi101 @alicedopey @supernaturalvikingwhore @tootie-fruity @titty-teetee @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla @ethereallysimple @deathbyarabbit @deathbyarabbit @readsalot73 @natalie-rdr @lol-haha-joke @lisinfleur @hissouthernprincess @marvelousse @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @vikingsmania @wish-i-was-a-mermaid @lif3snotouttogetyou @gruffle1 @cris101071 @gold-dragon-slayer @babypink224221 @wonderwoman292 @naaladareia @beyond-the-ashes @generic-fangirl @chinduda @laketaj24, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly–canthrope @cris101071 @daughterofthenight117 @unassumingviking @ladyofsoa, @inforapound @winchesterwife27 @feyrearcheron44@readsalot73 @squirrelacorngliterfarts @gold-dragon-slayer @medievalfangirl @sallydelys @bluearchersstuff @affectionrabbitt @whatamood13 @notyouraveragegirl17 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @unacceptabletatertots @ivarandersen @stra-vage @tgrrose @cookies186 @learninglemni-blog @theleeshanotlouise @soiproclaim @msmorganforever @beyond-the-ashes @queenmissfit @x-valhalla @hissouthernprincess @tierneygonzalez @alicedopey @rekdreams-fandom @athroatfullofglass @supernaturalvikingwhore @laughinglikenialler @ilvebeenabad @mblaqgi @neeadinghugs @gruffle1 @p8tn0lish @lol-haha-joke @wish-i-was-a-mermaid @lif3snotouttogetyou @lovelynerdytraveler @winchesterwife27 @tephi101 @therealmrshale @vikingsmania @igetcarriedawaywithyou @the-geeky-engineer @whatamood13 @strangunddurm @thethyri @peachesnpisces @ms-allenbrown @tempt-ress @isthat-tyra98 @unacceptabletatertots @deathbyarabbit @lisinfleur @therealcalicali

#hvitserk x reader #hvitserk/reader #hvitserk imagine #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless/reader #vikings imagines #vikings imagine #vikings/reader #Vikings x Reader #honestsycrets fic

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iridescent-hallucinations · 3 years

Text

When the Night Comes Chapter 2

Mild Angst, Mental Health TW.

Summary: JJ shares a piece of her own darkness with Emily.

Pairing: Jennifer “JJ” Jareau x Emily Prentiss

Read it on AO3

“Pull it together Prentiss, this was not part of the plan” she muttered to herself, she grabbed the glasses and made her a way back into the other room.

Once they were settled, sitting on opposite sides of the room, a conscious choice that Emily had made, the women sat in a comfortable yet obviously loaded silence, drinking their drinks.

“How was the bar?” Emily asked, trying to figure out whether or not JJ wanted to talk, they could just sit in silence, she wouldn’t mind that at all.

“Yeah, it was alright, I beat a couple guys at darts, watched Morgan get 3 numbers, and left after Penelope found a dancing partner. I missed you there,” it was an innocent enough statement. Emily had missed them all too, it was the way JJ had kicked her shoes off and tucked her legs up under herself to get more comfortable that was taking Emily’s attention.

It scared her, how easy it was to lose herself in JJ, everything seemed so natural when she was around, familiar, like home. But then again, what would Emily Prentiss know about home? She’d never had a real one. The closest frame of reference she had was fake. Was him. The thought was enough for her to shut the blinds again, no light could enter or he would be seen too.

Emily cleared her throat before she spoke again, worried she would reveal too much if she didn’t think carefully before words came out, desperate to stop her thoughts from eating her whole.

“Sounds like a good night.”

The small talk seemed to appease JJ. Humming in confirmation, she looked around the room for the first time since she’d entered the apartment, really looked, and noticed that there was no music on, no television on, the room was really dimly lit. She couldn’t stop the confusion spreading across her face quickly enough for Emily to not notice it.

“Were you just sat here in silence?” JJ sounded more perplexed than she had intended and regretted asking the question.

The brunette recoiled slightly, a conversation about what she had been doing before JJ had shown up was not high on her list of things she wanted to do right now.

Emily laughed nervously, fidgeting in her seat.

“I was just about to find something to read before you got here, I promise I’m not some weirdo who just sits in their apartment in the dark on their own drinking at night,” she knew she was lying through her teeth, and that over explaining did nothing but throw suspicion on the situation, but JJ didn’t seem to notice. Or if she did, she was too polite to challenge the older woman.

They returned to a comfortable silence for a few minutes after that, basking in the dim orange glow of the singular lampshade in the corner of the room.

Clinging to the safety that the dull room offered, Emily found herself once again drifting into thoughts of Jennifer, ones that usually made her blush. Thankfully her cheeks were already flushed from the alcohol she’d consumed. If they weren’t she’d risk giving a little piece of herself away. Illicit thoughts of smooth skin and hot breath, of todays and tomorrows and forevers were only made more tangible by the brightness glowing around the blonde sat opposite her.

Her brain was getting ahead of itself, it was running away from her, being tempted by the warmth of Jennifer’s presence. Emily was beginning to spiral, starting to lose her footing in the dark. She knew that she was in dangerous territory, she risked exposure.

All the while JJ knew Emily was still unsure as to why she had come. If she were to be totally honest, she wasn’t sure she had known why either.

JJ had been silently observing the brunette for a few minutes, seeing the shadows that framed her body dance, almost taunting the blonde. Despite her fear of the dark, JJ felt no fear while watching Emily. It was surprising, ordinarily she would run from the dark. The darkness encapsulated memories JJ had spent years storing away, of bathtubs filled with tears and regret, of futures stolen and childhoods ended.

But with Emily; the darkness doesn’t seem so dark.

After years of avoiding the night at all costs, JJ felt herself drawn in, why else would she have shown up unannounced with no motive other than to be close to Emily? Reaching for her metaphorical flashlight, JJ had made her decision, time to reach out and see what mysteries lay within the shadows around Emily’s soul.

“Have I ever told you about my sister?” JJ asked, staring Emily down with determination, afraid that she’d retreat if she didn’t clutch to the reality of Emily’s honey brown eyes.

Waiting for a reply, JJ untucked her legs, reached forwards to place her now empty glass down, and returned her hands to her lap.

“No, I didn’t want to pry,” Emily replied, unable to ignore the sadness swimming in her friend’s gaze.

“It’s a long story, she was unhappy, no one could pull her out from the darkness that had consumed the vibrant girl she once was. I was only young, of course, I didn’t really understand mental illness back then, it was just a monster that came in the middle of the night and stole her from me,” JJ had lowered her gaze, now choosing to stare at her knuckles, which were beginning to turn white from the way her hands were wringing each other.

Emily considered her carefully, watching the conflict play across her features but not wanting to interrupt. She felt the weight of the younger woman’s words stab at her own chest and she wanted nothing more than to go back in time to try and pull both little girls out from the grip of blackness that had overwhelmed them.

The knowledge that JJ had too flirted with darkness also saddened the older women. Her own demons were lurking so close to the surface, always ready to latch on and throw her into the abyss, it hadn’t really occurred to her that such iridescence as JJ would know how it felt.

JJ continued her monologue, still staring into her own lap, hoping that by sharing this part of her life, Emily would begin to understand what she was really trying to say.

“That’s the thing about losing someone you love so young, they take a piece of you with them. You’re forever changed by their presence in your world, one moment they’re shaping the way you think, the next they’re suddenly gone, before you’ve been built into the person you’re supposed to be. Nothing can replace them and no one can finish the work they started. There was so much I didn’t know back then, my mom tried, she really did, but she had her own darkness to fight off.”

JJ finally lifted her eyes, wondering when the room had gotten so small, and why the air was suddenly so thick. Emily felt so close and yet still so much separated them.

When Emily finally had the chance to once again look at JJ, she was overwhelmed by a tugging in her chest. A sad smile appeared on the blonde’s face.

“I don’t really know where that came from, sorry,” JJ said, seeing the hurt written in Emily’s face, almost a reflection of her own.

“No, don’t apologise, I’m grateful that you feel safe enough to share this with me,” Emily replied, moving her glass to the coffee table so that she could smooth the fabric of her trousers with her hands.

“I suppose what I’m really trying to say is that it takes one to know one, and I can see you’ve been visited by the same darkness as me, I just need you to know that we care. That I care. Don’t ever think you have to be in that dark place alone,” JJ finished, as she unclasp her hands and felt the tension in her muscles begin to relax.

Emily was beginning to panic internally, but was determined to not let it show. There is far too much baggage in her past, like an old attic packed with years of trauma, while she lives in the house underneath, wondering when the ceiling would cave in from the weight of it all.

“I appreciate that Jayje, I really do, I’m so sorry you had to deal with all of that so young, it’s a lot for anyone, let alone a child,” her face softened as she imagined a little blonde girl with pig tails running around laughing one day and curled up in a ball crying the next.

Something about the way JJ was able to shelf her own trauma to offer a hand to Emily was so profound to her. How can one person carry so much weight and still offer to carry more without crumbling?

Jennifer Jareau was the strongest person Emily had ever met, and she deserved the best. And while she may not know everything like Spencer, Emily knew she was far from the best. She was compromised, she was broken, she was damaged beyond repair, but most of all, she was aching.

Emily ached from carrying her secrets, her muscles sore from withholding a sky full of night time. Her heart ached to reach out into the brightness of JJ’s soul, to allow the warmth to consume her instead of wandering eternally in a sunless cold.

A sudden jolt of electricity caused Emily to be resuscitated from her thoughts. Coming back to the present, she identified the source, JJ had walked over to her and was squatting in front of her, with her hand resting gently over Emily’s own.

“Hey, look at me, you went somewhere and left me behind,” JJ spoke softly, unsure as to when she’d become so bold but not questioning it.

As she was brought back to the room, Emily lifted her eyes from where JJ’s hand was covering over own up to the other woman’s face, seeing the way the blonde’s eyes flickered slightly, unable to decide where to look.

Emily’s other hand began to move without her consent, and before she could protest, it was cupping JJ’s cheek, stroking the soft skin there with its thumb. The warmth it found was so inviting and the fact that JJ hadn’t retreated at her touch caused her stomach to flip.

JJ’s eyelids softly shut at the contact as she inhaled, leaning in to the older woman’s touch. This time JJ felt the electricity between them too.

For when the light met the darkness a thousand fires burned. But when the darkness met the light, earthquakes erupted and tsunamis raged, the whole world stood still before spinning off its axis. The energy shared between them challenged a hundred supernovas and threatened to cause mass extinction. It could wreak havoc on ecosystems and tear apart the very fabric of time itself. However, in that moment, as they sat connected in mind and body, something else peaked through.

All these years of lurking in the supposed safety of shadows, Emily had forgotten, without light nothing grows. After all, it wasn’t until the Big Bang that life itself began.

#criminal minds #Jemily #Jennifer Jareau #emily prentiss #I wrote a thing #when the night comes #chapter 2 #mental health tw

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itmighthavebeenintentional · 4 years

Text

Walk Me Home - Ch 5

Summary: Twenty-four years ago, Kimberly Harper met a boy who changed the course of her entire life before up and leaving one night. She spent years moving past the memories, building a stable, satisfying career as professor of folklore and mythology at the local university. Then the accidents start, and she’s forced to seek help among her hunter contacts. All it takes is a knock on her office door to send Kimber’s carefully built emotional walls crumbling to the ground.

Featuring: Teen Winchesters, high school romance, reunions, misunderstandings, high intensity emotional turmoil, Dean’s love of pie, Dean being adorable, Sam being adorable and maybe a bit nosy eventually, much group adorkable-ness, show-style investigation, mention of our favorite werewolf, gratuitous and obvious love of fall, DID I MENTION ROMANCE, fluff, smut, tension.

Warnings: Show level violence, show level parental neglect (let’s not John bash, I’m just saying), show-style witchcraft, show-level mental manipulation, stalking, bit of angst, sexual content (higher than show level),swearing, general yearning

Word Count: 3777

Author’s Note: Eternal thanks to @mskathywriteswords , @fangirlxwritesx67, and @cracksinthewalls for editing, revision, flailing, and generally knocking sense into me when I’m being stubborn. Decided to give Wednesday posting a try and also get a chapter up a little earlier to make up for lack of posting. Be prepared to brush your teeth after this one. The fluff morphed into cotton candy when I wasn’t looking. Also, be prepared, the next chapter is short, but...intense? Yes. Let’s say intense.

Keep in Mind: There are a lot of flashbacks. I tried to write current events in present tense and flashbacks in past tense. Here’s hoping I got everything right!

Please read/heed the warnings. 18+ ONLY.

In Case You Missed It: Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

Chapter 5

Kimber drifts gradually back to consciousness, feeling warmer and safer than she has in decades. She draws in a deep breath, stretching luxuriously, and then stilling suddenly. This bed is not her bed. This blanket is not her blanket. She has a brief moment of panic before she opens her eyes to find Dean’s face inches from hers, smooth and relaxed with sleep.

She’d only been able to let him go last night long enough for him to grab his own quick shower and change into sleep clothes. Then, in wordless agreement, they’d settled under the covers of her bed. They’d woven limbs together, pressed close without a word of discussion or thought of awkwardness.

Just as she was falling asleep, she felt his cheek press against the top of her head, and he’d murmured a single question. She nodded her consent, and his lips met her forehead, just as soft and warm as she remembered. Then sleep asserted its claim.

Kimber lies still in Dean’s arms now, afraid to move and wake him. She’s never seen him this peaceful and relaxed, even back before life took more of a toll on him. With his guard down, she can finally see all the fine lines etched by a hard life spread over his features, adding depth and detail to his face.

In the early morning light filtering through the threadbare curtains, she can just make out a sparse sprinkling of gray in his hair, and she smiles. Time may be catching up with Dean Winchester, but he is definitely not worse for wear.

She shifts a little, freeing a hand, and he grumbles in his sleep, his arms tightening for a second before relaxing again. She strokes his hair back gently, combing her nails lightly across his scalp, and he shivers against her.

She’s never seen him this vulnerable, this soft, even when they were younger. She has to strangle down the urge to trace his facial features with her fingertips. Whatever this is between them is strained by absence and misunderstanding but has somehow managed to survive the years. Touching him so intimately without his knowledge or consent…

No, she thinks. I want to ask him, I want him to hear him say yes. I want him to ask me to touch him.

Instead, she snuggles closer, closing her eyes and resting her face on his chest again, basking in the safety and warmth of his embrace for as long as she can. She is mortified when, five minutes later, her stomach lets out a growl so loud that it actually rouses Dean from his sleep. His arms tense as he stretches and frowns, eyebrows lowering with concern.

“You hungry or just really happy to see me?” he rumbles, his eyes closing again. She giggles, embarrassment abated. Then she becomes acutely aware of the rat’s nest that is her hair and what tastes like a truly horrific case of morning breath. She disentagles herself from his legs and rolls from his grasp, smiling to herself at his muttered protests. Snatching her previous day’s clothes, Kimber slips into the bathroom to perform whatever damage control she can manage under the circumstances.

Thirty minutes later finds them at the diner across the parking lot, downing coffee with mutual, silent appreciation. Dean’s brother Sam is expected imminently, and Kimber has no classes or office hours today, so they are mostly ready to begin the investigation.

“We need to sweep your office and house for hex bags,” Dean says, between sips of his second cup of coffee. “Your house will take a while, so why don’t we start with your office to get it out of the way?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Kimber agrees, frowning. “I’ll know if anything is missing, out of place, or new. Maybe you and Sam could check out the spots of the other accidents?”

Dean opens his mouth to answer, then his eyes focus on something over her shoulder, and he nods a greeting. She turns to see a ridiculously tall man in a suit headed in their direction. It takes her longer than she’s proud to admit to reconcile this giant stranger with the slumped, defeated boy she last saw in the backseat of the Winchester’s car.

“Sam?”

His smile is warm, if a little hesitant, and she stands. They fumble between a hug and a handshake, finally settling on the former before seating themselves. A waitress drops off another mug for Sam, along with coffee refills all around, and they waste no time filling Sam in on the little they know and what they have planned.

“Actually, Sam,” Dean adds, glancing askance at the egg white omelette the waitress places in front of his brother, “I was thinking you could interview the victims at the hospital, see if they noticed anyone out of the ordinary or had contact with anyone that sounds like our stalker.”

Sam nods, his mouth full, and turns questioning eyes on Kimber. She closes her eyes, pushing as much distraction from her mind as possible.

“He was...on the shorter side. I’d say I probably have an inch or so on him. Younger than me, but I don’t know by how much. I’m really bad at judging age, I’m sorry. Unshaven but not a full beard, kind of rough-looking. Really pale. He never looked me in the eyes, so I didn’t see his eye color. Dark, shaggy hair.”

She shrugs, spreading her hands in apology. “I don’t remember much else. Dark blue windbreaker? It’s been a few weeks, and I didn’t think I’d have to point him out in a line-up or anything.”

Sam shakes his head quickly, swallowing. “No, Kimber, it’s fine. That’s more to go on than we usually have. I’ll talk to the victims, see if anyone stands out in their minds. You two have a solid plan. I’ll give you a call after I visit the hospital, see what I can find out.”

He hesitates, his eyebrows knitted together. “Kimber, I know you’re under a lot of strain, but could you go over the incidents one more time so I have the basics before I go talk to them? I wouldn’t ask, but I need to know what to expect.”

She can’t repress the shudder than runs through her stomach, but she shakes it off and rolls her shoulders. This is just an information exchange. She can handle that. She may need a drink or two afterwards, but she can get through it one more time.

Sam listens attentively, his forehead wrinkled, mouth set in a thin-lipped frown as she recounts the series of accidents plaguing her department. He exchanges some sort of troubled, wordless communication with Dean before glancing down at his folded hands. After considering for a long moment, he speaks, his words measured and careful.

“It definitely sounds like someone has a grudge against your department, at least, if not you specifically. All the victims are friends or work closely with you. We don’t know if any of the other victims got a doll like yours. That’s something for my list. You sure you can’t think of any reason, anything at all, that might make someone target all of you?”

She shoves down her mounting frustration, feeling impotent and slow. If she could think of anything at all helpful, she would have shared it by now.

“I really can’t, I’m sorry. I just don’t interact with that many people outside of the department, and we all get along fine, as far as I know. No special treatment, no recent honors anyone could be jealous of. I checked in with my hunter contacts that I’d helped out with witch cases in the last few years, even a few non-witch cases that were still open, and I got nowhere with that. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

Sam sighs, nodding before finishing the last of his coffee. “Figured it was worth asking. Okay, I’m heading out. Dean, I’ll give you a call in a few hours.”

Dean nods to Sam, and the younger Winchester excuses himself, crossing the crowded restaurant with a few long strides before disappearing out the door.

Kimber turns back to Dean, her eyes wide with shock she’s barely managed to suppress until just now. He frowns, taking in her expression, looks down to inspect his shirt, then back up, his face comically confused.

“What? Do I have food on my face?”

“What did you feed him after you left town?!” Kimber keeps her volume low but can’t keep the wonder from her voice. “Growth hormones? Steroids? Jesus, he’s over a foot taller than the last time I saw you both, and he was already thirteen then!”

Dean barks out a loud, sharp laugh that earns him a reproving glance from a passing waitress. He bites his lip, covering his mouth with his hand, only partially successful at smothering his snort. She can’t help but smile, a little embarrassed at her outburst, but still…

“No, just lots of fast food. Good, healthy, all-American diet. Almost had to get a full-time job, just keepin’ him fed and clothed. Kid grew out of shoes and jeans like nothin’ I’ve ever seen.”

There’s no mistaking the fondness in Dean’s voice, almost more paternal than brotherly. And the off-hand comment about keeping Sam clothed and fed...Kimber’s heart twinges, but she carefully keeps her face as relaxed and amused as she can.

“Ready to go?” she asks. He nods and stands, lifting the check from the table to take up to the register. He offers her a hand, an inviting smile curling one corner of his mouth, and she does her best to smother the butterflies in her stomach as her fingers slide into his.

…

“I promised Sam I’d go to opening night,” Dean said, something like an apology in his voice. “He’s only working tech, but he’s really excited. It’s been a while since we’ve stayed anywhere long enough that he could get involved like this.”

Kimber squeezed his fingers, pulling her coat closed with her other hand. The temperature had dropped over the last few days, and the evening was brisk as they walked hand-in-hand to the high school.

“Dean, are you kidding? You’re taking me to a play, dinner, and meeting your family all at once. Three birds with one date!” She skipped a little, swinging his hand with hers, flashing him her most exaggerated grin as she let her eyes go wide and kooky. He snorted, glancing away to hide his smile.

He stopped suddenly, tugging gently until she stepped closer, her expression relaxing. His knuckles slid gently down her cheekbone and under her jaw, lifting her chin. He kissed her, a sweet, chaste brush of his lips over hers that sent her pulse dancing. Her cheeks warmed under his attention, and he pressed his lips a fraction more firmly against hers before straightening.

His eyes sparkled in the light from the streetlamp overhead. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

She popped up on her tiptoes to kiss him again, marveling at her own bravery as her hands clasped the sides of his face, locking him in place. Before he could recover, she grabbed his hand, tugging him into a run down the sidewalk, and they arrived at the school, breathless and laughing.

The performance of Oklahoma! was pretty standard for high school. Simple dance sequences, fair to decent singing (for the most part), and about forty minutes longer than Kimber preferred. They waited afterwards for Sam to make his way from the lighting board, and he shyly offered his hand to Kimber, who accepted, smiling and squeezing his fingers just a little.

The three of them arrived at the diner, relieved to see most families were celebrating at the more expensive restaurants across town. Sam looked over the menu, his eyes as hungry as the growl that escaped his stomach. Kimber didn’t miss the sad look he shot Dean before closing the menu and setting it down.

When he ordered an ice water and peanut butter sandwich, Kimber’s heart cracked.

“Sam, it’s my treat tonight. You did a great job; Mrs. Hasker never lets eighth graders work the soundboard, so go nuts. Order whatever you want. It’s your night.”

Sam, eyes wide with hope, glanced at Dean, who looked torn between shame and relief. Dean cleared his throat, shot a grateful smile at Kimber, then nodded at Sam.

“You did good, kid. Go for it.”

Sam’s face brightened, and Kimber couldn’t help but mirror his expression as he ordered a strawberry milkshake, double cheeseburger, and cheese fries. Kimber discreetly jabbed Dean in his ribs, and he side-glared at her, suppressing what was very definitely not a manly squeak of surprise.

“You, too, big brother,” she said, her eyes narrowing pointedly. His lips thinned, his expression pinched. She knew she was hitting a nerve for him; it was fine to accept dinner invitations at home, and fine for her to treat his little brother, but paying for him on a date was an entirely different matter. He visibly wrestled with the simple decision, frustration and pride warring with want.

She softened her expression, placing her hand over his clenched fist. “Please?” She mouthed. “It’s okay.” He glanced at Sam, who was happily chatting with the smiling waitress about the performance, and a reluctant smile tugged at the corners of Dean’s face.

“Double-bacon cheeseburger, and chili fries, please.”

Dinner with the Winchester boys was a delight that Kimber never forgot. Though Dean teased his younger brother mercilessly, liberally sprinkling descriptors like “geek” and “nerd” in his comments, she saw the way his eyes would linger on Sam as the younger boy inhaled his meal between answering questions about his classes and the performance.

“Are you going to take AP classes, Sam?” Kimber asked. He seemed so keen and motivated, she couldn’t imagine he wouldn’t want to.

“I want to, but we move so much, I don’t think I could keep up with the curriculum,” he admitted, his expression falling.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Kimber lowered her voice conspiratorially. Sam leaned a little closer, intrigued, and she smiled at his eagerness. It was like looking at a mirror of herself just a few years ago.

“Most AP classes follow the same guidelines across the country, almost week by week. Mr. Schaeffer is the AP coordinator at our school, and he’s pretty cool for a teacher. If you talk to him, explain your situation, I’ll bet he could get you copies of most of the AP curriculum, maybe even some spare textbooks, so you could keep up with it as you guys move around.”

Sam’s eyes widened, and he glanced at Dean for confirmation. Dean shrugged, affecting disinterest as he leaned back to drape an arm around Kimber’s shoulder.

“I dunno, Sammy,” Dean drawled, “but Kimber’s the top of our class, so she’s probably got some idea what she’s talking about.” He let out an exaggerated huff of air as Kimber’s elbow connected with his side, doubling over as he pretended to fall out of the booth.

Sam peppered Kimber and Dean with questions about their classes for the rest of the night and didn’t even have to be convinced to have an extra large slice of celebratory pie to finish the meal off.

The three of them stayed late enough at the diner that Kimber was obliged to call her parents on the pay phone in the corner to assure them that she had not, in fact, been kidnapped and left in a ditch on the side of the road. The temperature had dropped considerably, so when Kimber’s mother offered to give all three of them a ride home, Kimber accepted without thinking.

“My mom will be here in about ten minutes,” she announced as she slid back into the booth. “She’s going to give you two a lift back to the motel on our way home.”

Dean’s expression fell sharply, and Kimber’s heart sank.

“You didn’t-”

“Thanks!” Sam said, unintentionally speaking over Dean. “It got so cold out all of a sudden. Say, do you think I should talk to Mr. Schaeffer tomorrow?”

“The sooner the better,” she said, shrugging on her coat. Sam nodded, slurping down the last of his drink and loping off to the bathroom. She glanced over at Dean, who was sitting stone-faced, a muscle twinging above his jaw.

“I didn’t mean to...I mean, I should have asked, Dean. I’m sorry.”

Dean’s eyes closed, his jaw clenching as his lips pinched tight. Kimber waited, feeling the sting of tears prick at the back of her eyes. She’d crossed some unspoken line between them, and she didn’t know what to do to fix the moment. It had been such a good night, up til then.

“I...I’m not mad...at you,” Dean finally ground out. “Just...just gimme a second.”

He scrubbed his face with both hands, then glanced back towards the bathroom before speaking. He kept his eyes on the table-top, his hands clenching and unclenching on the cheap formica.

“I’m not...used to accepting hand-outs. I can take care of Sam, Kimber, I don’t need...you didn’t...you didn’t have to.”

She opened her mouth, fully ready to defend herself, but he held up a hand.

“I know. I know what you’re going to say. I get that it’s not a hand-out. I know you don’t...I know you aren’t lookin’ down at us. I’m not used to…”

He cleared his throat, then reached out to her, his eyes still firmly on the table-top. When he spoke, his voice was low and thick, his words measured.

“I promise, I’m not mad at you. Can we leave it at that for now?” He turned pleading eyes in her direction, his hand palm-up on the table. Her fingers were in his before she realized she’d moved. Mouth too dry to speak, she nodded and allowed herself to be pulled up from the booth.

Sam came barreling back from the restroom then, saving them from further awkward conversation, and they bundled up against the chill. By the time Kimber’s mother arrived, Dean had relaxed enough to greet Mrs. Harper pleasantly, and when they reached the motel, he leaned up to kiss Kimber’s cheek before climbing out of the backseat with Sam in tow.

The next day at school, Dean was a little distracted, almost distant. He walked her home that afternoon in almost complete silence. They were a block from her house when she couldn’t take the tension anymore. She stopped short, biting her lip as tears stung her eyes. To her shame, her throat started to clench, choking any attempt at words.

Dean looked back at her, concern and confusion clear on his face at her sudden stop.

She swiped the heel of her hand across her cheeks, avoiding his gaze. “I’m sorry about last night,” she managed, less coherently than she would have liked. “I didn’t mean to...I didn’t...I’m sorry I ruined the evening.”

Dean was in front of her in an instant, thumbs wiping the tears from her face, lips pressed fiercely against her forehead.

“No, sweetheart.” His tone was rough and resolute. “I told you I’m not mad at you. Last night was...Last night was wonderful. I haven't seen Sam that happy in a long time. It’s been a rough few months. Sam and Dad have started fighting. Dad expects a lot from him, but not the usual good grades kind of ‘a lot.’ And when Dad pushes, Sam pushes back, and I…”

He dropped his forehead to hers, and Kimber pulled in a shaking breath.

“I didn’t want to drag you into our mess. You are perfect, and Sam and I both had a great time last night. Thank you. For dinner. For making Sam so happy. For everything.” He pulled back a few inches, catching her gaze. “Please don’t apologize again.”

She nodded, unable to answer aloud. He searched her eyes until he was satisfied, then nodded.

“ ‘M gonna kiss you now, so Imma need you to hold back on the tears for a minute. People will think I’m a terrible kisser if you cry through the whole thing.”

She laughed, and he caught her off guard, pressing his lips to hers before deepening the kiss. His fingers slid into her hair, tilting her head until he found an angle to please them both. His tongue swept, feather-light, across her lower lip, and she melted.

They came back to Earth a few moments later, jolted from their universe by enthusiastic honking and shouting from a passing car full of guys from one of their classes. Kimber hid her blazing face against Dean’s neck as he nodded, grinning and waving at the other boys.

Instead of pulling away, Kimber linked her arms around his neck, shivering against a biting breeze that swept past. Dean’s arms constricted, pulling her close enough that she felt his heartbeat against her chest.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Dean whispered, his words nearly lost in the breeze. Then he pulled away, linked his fingers through hers, and walked her home. He kissed her once more on her doorstep, holding her face between his warm, calloused palms, eyes closed.

He rested his forehead against hers briefly before stepping back. He tried to deliver that smooth, carefree grin from their first study session and failed miserably.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he said. Then he turned, flipping up the collar of his jacket, and stuffed his hands into his pockets as he headed down the walkway. She watched him go, wanting nothing more than to run after him. The set of his shoulders, the tense bend of his neck, told her to hold her ground, though.

Something else was eating at Dean, and she knew him well enough to know that needling him wouldn’t get him to open up. He needed space and understanding, and she would just have to sit on her frustration. He asked for so very little, the least she could do was give him some time to work through whatever was going on. She just hoped it wouldn’t take too much time for him to open up. She hated seeing him so distant and miserable.

When Dean finally turned up that evening, he was thirty minutes late for dinner. His father glowered at the pair of them from the driver’s seat of a sleek, black muscle car, while Sam slumped, miserable, in the back. Kimber realized with cold, painful clarity that they had, in fact, no time left at all.

…

Chapter 6

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scandalsavagefanfic · 4 years

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DC Kink Meme Prompts List

Since the kink meme is getting a lot of attention and growing daily, I thought I’d post a convenient place where I can keep track of the prompts that I’d like to see filled again. I figure you’re all here because we share similar interests and this way, if you’re a writer with looking for a prompt, you don’t have to scroll through the almost 400 prompts that are currently posted.

So here we go. Beware, this is a kink meme. These are nsfw and some may be triggering.

JayDick Watersports - Filled HERE

sub!Jason & Dom!Dick are in a consensual D/s relationship that has a heavy Master/slave dynamic (whether 24/7 or primarily during sex is up to you!). They're on a stakeout one night, and it's really cold, and, aw, fuck, Dick needs to piss, but he doesn't want his dick to freeze. Good thing he's got his bitch there with him, right? Dick pissing in Jay's ass preferred just to show the level of not caring about Jay's comfort [it's still cold!], but totally not gonna complain about piss drinking, either, if Dick's feeling a little more charitable. Is Jay surprised because it's the first time Dick has done this? Is this a normal, expected duty that he performs regularly? That's up to you!

Tim/Jason A/B/O - Filled

In an A/B/O world where omegas are in charge and alphas are treated like animals, or kept as pets, CEO Tim decides to treat himself to a new toy and buys Jason. Feel free to go as wild as you like with the kinks, I'm pretty unsquickable

Tim/Jason Stalker!Tim - Filled on the Meme by anon and HERE (by me)

Older Tim, younger Jason, where Tim's stalking gets a little obsessive once Jason takes over as Robin, and he starts stalking Jason out of costume as well as at night. A little judicious hacking later and he's able to keep an eye on Jason's internet activity too. Once he finds Jason looking at gay porn he knows he's got an in. And he starts blackmailing Jason, online at first, but escalating every time he gets Jason to go a little further, until he gets him to submit in person.

Slade/Dick/Jason - Filled amazingly HERE

Dick's been with Slade for a while, and now that he's stopped fighting and given into his training, Slade thinks he deserves a reward. Every good boy deserves a puppy, and Batman's new Robin looks like he could fit the role perfectly.

Jason Todd - Object Insertion - Filled on the meme (art)

Honestly, that's all I've got for you. I just want someone making Jason take things up his ass that have no business being there. Consensual or not are both fine! Any ship, though definitely a strong preference for Roy, Slade, Tim, Kyle, Dick, Roman or Ra's. Preferably not underage, but I'm not entirely opposed.

Ra's/Jason - Filled HERE

Ra's test drives an undunked Jason. The boy must be useful for something, after all, and he looks so pretty in chains. ABO welcome.

Prompt- Pegging (Jason) - Filled HERE

Jason gets pegged by one (or more ;)) of the lovely ladies of the DC universe. And enjoys it thoroughly Pairing is dealer's choice. <3

Bruce/Jason

Bruce takes in Jason off the streets, but more for use as a personal whore than to be Robin. Bonuses for Bruce still adopting Jason and getting off on fucking his son. EXTRA bonus points for Alfred's unfazed acceptance/support of it and perhaps even his participation.

Jason Todd Intercrural Sex - Filled on meme

This man deserves more thigh fucking and so do we! All ships welcome!

No Title - Bruce/Jason, Dick finds out Bruce has been sexually abusing Jason

One of the other prompts made me realize that while there are a lot of fics where Jason discovers Bruce has been abusing Dick, there are none the other way around and suddenly I have a craving. So I would like for Dick to find out (maybe right after Jason returns, Dick catches them and overhears Bruce say something to indicate it used to happen regularly) that Bruce had been sexually abusing Jason since the moment he found him and try to save him. And like, because of his background as a child prostitute, Jason kind of thinks it's normal or that it's the only way he could earn love? Maybe Bruce implies that Jason is useless otherwise and he'd end up back on the streets if he's not useful. Maybe Bruce is even happy to point out that the reason he never even considered touching the others is because they were too good for it, pure and wholesome, while Jason was ruined goods.

Dick/Jason fuck-or-die bottom!Jay

I would absolutely kill to see a fic where Dick is forced to fuck Jason (for whatever reason but preferably not due to sex pollen/aphrodisiacs/drugs - I would prefer if they were both in their right minds please) Preferably they wouldn't be in a relationship or have secret feelings for each other and this would be mutual noncon/rape with a focus on how horrified they are that they're having to do this to each other. I would really, really like if it was bottom!Jason for this, but that there is acknowledgement that Dick is being raped here too!

Skeezy Ric Grayson

One specific fic I read has completely coloured my perception of Ric, and now I'm just desperate to see him being a total creep. Perving on his siblings and former friends. Would love to see him not take no for an answer, especially with someone who doesn't want to fight back because "it's still Dick in there somewhere, I can't hurt him" or something like that. Preference for Wally (HiC who?) or Jason, but Tim, Roy, Babs or Donna would be okay, too! A/B/O with Alpha!Ric would be a bonus but isn't necessary.

Cassie/Rose bondage spanking and D/s, semi-dubious consent

Cassie has had enough of Rose mouthing off and causing trouble, so she ties her up with her lasso and lectures her. Rose mockingly asks her if she’s going to spank her for being a bad girl, and much to her surprise, Cassie does. They both enjoy it much more than expected

Nyssa/Talia

Nyssa/Talia, set post-Death and the Maidens, Talia restrained while Nyssa gets her off, begging to be allowed to reciprocate. Bonus points for twisty fucked up Nyssa POV with all kinds of big global megalomaniacal justifications for what she's doing and how important it is to the greater good. (Reposted from old DC kinkmeme)

Jason Todd/Dick Grayson/Roy Harper/Koriand’r

Kori loves watching her subs play with each other and rewards them well for good behavior

JayTim hatesex

Jason and Tim having incestuous-sibling-rivalry-hate-sex against the memorial

Any Bats/???, Alfred has to clean up

Poor Alfred often gets stuck cleaning up the mess when any of the family bring partners over. The crackier the circumstances the better!

Slade/Jason identity porn

Slade and Jason fuck while in costume as and pretending to be Batman and Nightwing respectively

Kyle Rayner/any

Kyle winds up working as a stripper somehow. Some other heroes find out and pay him a visit

Batfam/Jason; non con or resigned-to-his-fate cumdumpster!Jason

Could also be Earth-3 Owlfam/Jason. A/B/O welcome but it doesn't have to be. Would appreciate any one or combination of the following: dehumanization/objectification, humiliation, public sex, breeding kink, restraints, fucking machines, cum enemas, lots of cum in general, size kink... I just want something unapologetically filthy. I'm pretty much good with everything but scat.

Dick/Tim non/dub-con, universe hopping

Dark Dick from a dark universe ends up in the main universe, where he is delighted to find a brand new Timmy to play with, who unconditionally trusts his brother and doesn't know he's been replaced. Cue Dick slowly luring him in so he can have his fun. Tim doesn't realize until it's too late, or doesn't realize at all and has no idea how his beloved older brother could do this to him. Main universe has fully platonic, familial relationships within in the batfam. Feel free to imply/state anything you like about the dark universe. Grooming/slowly warming Tim up to more and more touches, crying, overstimulation, bondage, or any combination thereof are all bonuses

Young Justice S3 Dick/Jason omegaverse

Alpha!Dick Grayson is stuck on a mission and somehow has to help the mysterious Red-Hooded omega through his heat. But they have to stay quiet in order to not wake the pup Damian sleeping right next to them. Preferably there's an identity reveal in there where Dick finds out the omega is Jason Todd under the mask.

Addict!Roy Harper Noncon

Noncon (or possibly dubcon, if the manipulation is clear enough to readers) with Snowbirds Don't Fly era!Roy Harper as the victim. Could be an OC, another Titan, a Leaguer, a canon villain... Dealer's choice! Looking for something that really focuses on how he's being taken advantage of, rather than just "can't technically consent because he's high, but is totally into it."

Woder Woman/Batman, Rough Sex

Bruce loves it when Diana is rough with him

Bane/Bruce, violent noncon

Something set during Knightfall, where Bane decides to take “breaking the Bat” even further by raping Bruce and possibly also his precious little Robin

Jay/Tim bdsm AU, sub Jay

What it says on the tin. Was thinking maybe also an arranged marriage of sub Jason to dom Tim Drake, to cement a business union but also because subs aren’t full citizens.

Robin!Jason/Bruce Somnophilia

Bruce drugs his new little Robin and slips into his room. He takes his time with him, enjoying Jason before carefully opening and fucking him. Would be great if Jason wakes up towards the end but can't do anything but take it- maybe because of the drugs, maybe because of the way Bruce is holding him down, or even because he likes it.

Sidekicks/Villains noncon glory wall

Any sidekicks you want—Speedy, the Robins and Batgirls, Kid Flash and Impulse, the Wonder girls, etc.—being displayed in a glory wall, leaving their holes open for fucking. Interested villains can pay to fuck any hole they desire, and they enjoy wrecking the sidekicks and filling them with come

Robin!Jason/Villains & Henchmen?

Robin Jason gets captured and tied up by the villain of the week, who decides to take advantage of the situation. Robin is blindfolded and groped/fucked by the villain and maybe some henchmen while waiting for Batman to rescue him. Batman finding a bound and blind Jay too tempting to resist is a bonus.

Dickjay daddy kink

Older! Dick and bottom! Jason. Jason came back years later and Dick is around 40.

OmegaJason/Batfam first heat, lactation

It's Jason's first heat and the alphas of the pack know that his milk is on its way soon. All it needs is a little encouragement. A few knots and some nipple play should do it. His milk tastes perfect as it starts to flow.

Jason/Dick, Jason/RomanSionis, Hooker!Jason & Officer Grayson

So this is based off a discussion from AGES ago in the jayroman discord server that I still think about to this day XD A no capes au in which Jason never gets picked up by Bruce and ends up a crime alley prostitute who somehow along the way caught the eye of Black Mask and winds up working for him. And Black Mask has basically the whole city in his pocket, including the police force, which is why it’s so annoying when this little upstart, Officer Dick Grayson, starts to try to challenge his hold on the city, the little goody two-shoes denying any and all bribes and refusing to back down in the face of threats. And it should be easy to squash one annoying little bug, but somehow all attempts have failed and he can’t openly go after him without risking his reputation as a clean, law-abiding businessman, a reputation that’s slowly starting to unravel thanks to the dogged efforts of Officer Grayson, because the little shit is annoyingly not as stupid as his attempts to go after Roman would make him seem and despite all of Roman’s power and having basically the entire police force and the various other government officials Roman has in his pocket against him, he has made far too much headway in his endeavors So Roman gives Jason the job of seducing Dick, because if bribery and threats don’t work, video evidence of an officer fucking an underage hooker makes excellent blackmail material, and should be enough to take him down for good if he ever steps a toe out of line again Except no matter how Jason tries to seduce him, Dick is just too decent a guy to take advantage (Ex: Jason: *shows up wearing even more revealing clothes than the night before.* Dick: “You must be cold, here, take my jacket.” etc.) And before he knows it, Jason finds himself growing weirdly fond of the infuriating idiot with his stupid puns and painful sincerity

Roman Sionis/Jason Todd, AOB noncon impregnation gang rape

Intersex AOB verse. Roman wants to punish and claim the upstart omega, so he plugs Jason’s cunt and lets his men anally rape Jason until the omega begs Roman to breed his pussy

TimKon, a/b/o, alpha!Tim, bottom Conner

Humans have a/b/o. Kryptonians do not. Alpha!Tim thinks that he shouldn't bother Kon about Tim's rut. Kon thinks otherwise. Whether Kon can keep up with Tim (superpowers got to be good for something, right?) or is overwhelmed is up to anon :) I am absolutely unsquickable so whatever extra kinks are fine with me. Just please top!Tim only. Please, my crops are dying.

past romanjay now mobJay, gangbang

After getting tired with his new toy, Roman decided to just give his subordinates a chance to have fun with it. But mostly he just want to see the red hood to get more humiliated after destroying his empire.

Damian Wayne/Jason Todd, bestiality

It's time for Damian to introduce his new acquired pet to the pack, Titus and Ace.

Tim gags and spanks Damian

Red Robin has to take Robin out on patrol because Batman is away, Damian is reckless and keeps disobeying orders so Tim punishes him while having him gagged for being mouthy. can progress to something more sexual but doesn't have to be. Damian secretly enjoying it is a bonus.

Deathstroke/All the Robins

Slade really has a thing for fighting and chasing after Batbrats…

Rose/Jason mommy kink edging and pegging

Jason wants to be a good boy for mommy, Rose rewards his good behavior

Jason Todd/Kyle Rayner hatesex - Filled

I’d love some rough, angry, violent hatesex between these two. Bonus points for snarky asshole bottom!jason and kyle using his ring to make restraints/other kinky constructs ;)

Flashpoint!Father Todd/Incubus!Dick

Incubus!Dick seduces Father Todd. Jason holds out longer than most but Dick prides himself on being irresistible. He’s never failed before and he doesn’t plan to start now. But maybe, instead of his usual dine-and-ditch MO, Dick think’s he might like to savor this meal for long. Jason falls so beautifully. (bottom Jason please) Catholic aesthetics, blasphemy as kink, church sex (altar, confessional, pews, etc)

Flashpoint Thomas Wayne/Father Todd

Thomas Wayne as Batman bends Father Todd over the altar. In uniform. (At least for Thomas. It would be super hot if he strips Father Todd out of his robes first. Maybe everything except his rosary?)

Jason/Tim rape

Tim ties down Jason and rides(rapes) him. Pls let Tim use Jason as nothing but a mere meat dildo.

Titans/Dick, Titans/Jason, Titans/Tim consensual gangbang - Filled

The not-so-secret tradition of team bonding by fucking the current Bat on the Teen Titans is well-adhered to, especially given the enthusiastic consent of all participants Feel free to include any or all: garden sex, pool sex, power use, DP, riding, pegging, toy use, CBT, nipple play, cockwarming, CFNM/CMNM, and consensual somno All other kinks welcome excluding scat, watersports, emeto, ageplay, vore, and anything else bloody

Thomas Elliot/Bruce Wayne (Rape/Non-con)

Bruce doesn't realise how obsessed Thomas really is with him. Leads to Hush raping Bruce. Can be when Bruce knows who Hush is or when he still doesn't know.

Evil!Dick and Jason, noncon or dubcon

Jason comes back to his safehouse and is surprised to find Dick already there. After the initial surprise, Jason is quick to find out that there's something... off, about this Dick. He's not acting like his usual self. It turns out this isn't the usual Dick that Jason is familiar with, instead, he is a darker version of him (drugged? Talon from Earth-3 that somehow ends up in the main universe? other possibilities? all welcome options!), and this Dark!Dick is obsessed with Jason and wants to fuck him... and he doesn't take no for an answer. So there's a setup for a non-con or dub-con(in case Jason also has a crush on main Dick) for you. Restraints (gags, ropes, tapes etc.) are also welcome but doesn't have to be present.

Kon-El/Lex Luthor Daddy Kink DubCon

Lex genetically programmed Kon to need his daddy to fill him up when he created him. Lex made Kon to check all his boxes (ie Superman, something he made, a gifted teenager). Kon can’t actually consent because of programming, and he doesn’t want it until he’s getting it. Can be simple daddy kink or full of abdl. Bonus points for trans!Kon

Guy Gardner/Bunch of Aliens possible Dubcon/Noncon

Macho, hotheaded, shit-talking Guy is the embodiment of hyper-masculinity, and that arrogance of his gets him into a lot more than just a bar fight. All of Guy's enemies seem to be of the huge, muscular variety, so let's see the most stocky lantern get put in his place. Does he secretly love it? Does he outright hate it? Maybe all that shit-talking was just a ploy to finally get someone to "punish" him right. The choice is up to you. Maybe it's a bunch of random aliens Guy's ticked off in a bar. Maybe all that showboating's pissed off Kilowog or Arkillo. Maybe Lobo's still put out after being tricked one too many times by Guy. Perhaps, Atrocitus's still kinda harboring a grudge for Guy kicking him out of the Red Lanterns. Then there's always the way too touchy Dementor with his Vuldarian kin. I'm all for any other kinks or situations, I just would prefer no bathroom stuff. Go absolutely wild.

Black Mask/anyone, bathroom control, omorashi - Filled on meme

I'm a simple person with simple needs: Roman controlling whether or not someone's allowed to piss. can be consensual or noncon torture, the victim can end up pissing themselves or make it to the bathroom safely. just as long as Roman's in total control of the situation, and smug about it. bonus points: tears, begging, banter, degradation, embarrassment, additional torture, anything else along those lines. watersports only, please, no scat!

Roy Clones/Dick gangbang omegaverse

YJ season 3 episode 4 has excellent gangbang material just so you know Add omegaverse to it and its perfect Noncon/dubcon is accepted also

Titans/Jason Gangbang

Prefer comics based more than the show but either is fine. Dick and his friends welcome the new Robin the Titans way, by breaking in that hole. New kid is always the team toy, and it's even more fun now that it's Nightwing's bratty kid brother. Consensual or non con, dealer's choice. Double (or triple) penetration, dirty talk, and powers used for sex are favorite kinks but I'm good with pretty much anything.

Willis Todd/Jason Todd, Mob/Jason; Incest and forced underage prostitution

Willis pimps out his kid for cash and drugs. Catherine either pretends she doesn't know or knows and helps/doesn't care. And like any good salesman, he makes sure to test out his product to make sure it's up to snuff.

Make it cruel and awful and hopeless. Dehumanizing and degrading. Jason is just a hole to sell and use. belting in sensitive areas, beatings, violent sex, cum play, blood play... I just want something dark and nasty.

____________________________________________________

Woo! Ok. I’ll try to keep this up the best I can. I’ll link/mark when prompts are filled so that you guys can check it out if you want (all filled prompts can be reached by the link in the title, but some have ao3 links that I put on the “Filled” note).

I’ll also reblog this with any new prompts that come up or if I find I’ve forgotten one.

#DC Kink Meme #long post #too many things to tag #content and trigger warnings apply to some of the prompts #enter at your own risk #mostly Jason Todd centric #but others that I liked too

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theflashdriver · 4 years

Text

Waves of Fate (A Silvaze Modern/Soulmate AU)

Beaches were supposed to be happy places, books always described them that way at least. People came to the beach to have fun, to play games and relax. It was supposed place of joy, where smiles supposedly reigned supreme and you could count on the sun parting the clouds to grant a blue sky.

A grey sky hung over the pale white sands of the secluded, manmade, beach the belonged to the Sol estate. A family made wealthy through inheritance and investment; the sole monarchs of the estate had built themselves a high castle, separate from the common rabble, to settle and grow. Unfortunately for them however, perhaps due to their greed, the pair’s first and only child had arrived with a certain abnormality. That grey sky also hung over that very child, the twelve-year-old Blaze the cat, as she stared down at her workbook.

It was peculiar for her to take lessons by the beachside but, with some effort from her tutor to convince the feline’s parents, a bizarre and impromptu lesson had been quickly organised. Sat atop a thick picnic blanket, wearing a smile so caring that the young girl could practically feel it, was the in-house tutor for the estate, Vanilla. Contrary to the scowl Blaze wore as she carefully considered what to write next, the youngster didn’t dislike the rabbit. She had in fact, even at this young age, come to truly appreciate the role the tutor filled. The feline’s parents were always either distracted or busy, she couldn’t particularly tell or care which, but Vanilla, a mother herself, always found time to listen and care. Even in situations like this… even when the young girl claimed that she wanted nothing more than to be alone.

“How’s it going Blaze? Are you stuck?” Stubborn as ever, trying not to listen, the kitten bit her tongue, “You don’t need to write too much, just think of this as practice writing letters.”

Attempting to make a show of it, the feline (dressed in dungarees rather than her school uniform) silently continued her cursive work until she harshly dotted the end of a sentence, “I’m fine Vanilla,” As she looked up and caught the rabbit’s eyes, Blaze realised that, though she had technically answered the question, something further had been revealed. Of the people she knew, Vanilla was the only one who could peer into her heart and see the truth. The child’s eyes returned to the page, “I’m writing fine I just… you know…”

“I know you don’t believe in this and you think it’s foolish but that’s fine. A hint of whimsy is just what you need right now. Just think of it as a break from boring maths questions and everything else,” It was fortunate that the words everything else were cut off by a certain rummaging sound and a bread triangle entering the corner of her vision, “Gardon made these while I was talking with your parents, would you like to partake?”

Unable to resist her gentle charm any longer, regardless of how arduous today had been, Blaze set her book aside and claimed the wrapped meal with a muted, “Thank you.”

“It’s not the best day for a picnic, but it’s far from the worst,” Vanilla mused, claiming a sandwich of her own, “Not too windy and the forecast doesn’t call for rain, it’ll be smooth sailing for your letter.”

“Assuming it doesn’t just wash back onto the beach,” She glumly shrugged, undoing the wrapping and taking her first bite. Salmon, probably fresh from this morning. Once she’d swallowed, Blaze couldn’t help but look up to her tutor again, “Is it really cold? Are you okay?”

“Oh, no, dear. It’s not that cold, just a little chilly. I’ll be fine, honestly,” Blaze met her smile with an incredulous stare. The rabbit’s face somehow grew even softer, “Well, I suppose I wouldn’t mind just a little warming up,” Without even hesitating, the tutor reached across again; this time an empty hand was extended.

Blaze took the comparatively large hand in her own and, trying her hardest to be gentle, allowed a few small flames to build on the back of her knuckles. The heat immediately began to radiate, even though the flames were stagnant in terms of both position and size. Absentmindedly, ears drooping without their owner’s consent, she spoke, “It’s not hard to control them when I’m comfortable. It’s easier when it’s just you and me.”

“I know dear but, one day, it’ll be easy all the time. I’m certain of it,” Vanilla promised, drawing back her hand and pressing it to her cheeks, “That was lovely of you, thank you.”

A half mile behind them, in the estate’s main building, cindered remains were likely still being swept up. An attempt to set up a playdate with the children of another wealthy family hadn’t gone over well, but the issue wasn’t as mundane as that. To say Blaze didn’t get along with the other children was certainly an understatement, the feline’s very first encounter with those infants had ended in tears and a ball of fire. Today, when her parents refused to see reason, a similar explosive display had ignited the living room couch before spreading to the wallpaper. Of course, plans were in place for this sort of occurrence, the house’s sprinkler system had gone off, but it hadn’t cooled her parent’s scorn. She’d scarcely been able to dry herself and change before Vanilla had plucked her from the house.

“You’re welcome,” Was all she could manage to mumble.

“And whoever gets this letter will surely love you for your gift,” A seriousness lingered in the rabbit’s tone, despite the multiple layers of foolishness behind her claim, “Not despite it.”

Blaze scoffed before quickly finishing her sandwich, not yet returning to her work, “Who even thought this superstition up? I know I’ve read about it before but never like this…”

“This one in particular was thought up by the wives and children of widow sailors, as tragic as that is,” The bunny half cringed, “As I’ve told you, when a destined pair send messages out to sea, they’ll receive a sign of their connection. The ocean will take you letter and, just and only this once, deliver it to your soulmate as long as it meets the right conditions.”

“It has to be fully written by one person, it can’t include that person’s name, physical description, hints to find that person or to try and organise a meeting. It also has to be the first message a person sends to sea and no one else is allowed to read it until it reaches the intended individual,” Blaze recalled aloud, “Making it seem all the more pointless. All you can really tell them is what you’re like and what’s happening to you and, regardless, it’s not going to reach anyone. How are you even going to mark this if you’re not allowed to read it?”

“Come on Blaze, when I was your age, I wanted so badly for a handsome prince to sweep me off my feet. I must have rewritten my letter a hundred times,” Vanilla chastised, plainly ignoring the kitten’s question, “You can tell them what you think loving them will be like, your hopes and dreams. No one else will ever get to read it, only you and them,” Admittedly, that was true. Whatever she wrote down here would likely be lost to the sea, “And even if it doesn’t work, no one who finds it would ever know it came from you. It’s a thought exercise as much as it is a writing one, a way to air your frustrations and ambitions.”

The kitten claimed her journal again, trying her hardest to ignore the cloudy sky above. For whatever reason, her pen felt heavier than it had just a moment prior. She let her thoughts flow onto the page, their pace kept by a modest barrier of consideration, and tried her hardest not to overdo it. In truth, she’d never really considered what she wanted from a partner or what a partner might want from her. Did she even want a partner? Part of her didn’t, and she was certain that would come across in her writing, but she couldn’t deny that she saw the appeal. The idea of someone loving her for her flames was more than a little farfetched but someone who could see past them and still love her? Someone who actively, genuinely, wasn’t afraid of her? How could she say no to that?

Finally, Blaze clicked her pen closed. Vanilla perked up, “Is it done?”

“I think so…” The young feline hummed before drawing her eyes to the page and giving it a final read.

To whomever comes to possess this note,

I hope we can meet and that, when we do, that the reason behind our link becomes clear rather than being the mere whim of coincidence. I have been instructed that, in this letter, I am to tell you about myself. While I was born into fortuitous circumstances, I have not lived the most fortunate of lives: though I am privileged in some ways, I am far more socially handicapped than the majority of my peers. I handle criticism poorly as I always try to give my all, regardless of the actual importance of any given assignment.

My peers don’t think too highly of me, many of them fear me, but the few truly close to me claim that I am mature for my age and intelligent. I’ve recently started to play the violin and have practiced ballet for as long as I can remember. As for other interests, though they’ll undoubtedly change by the time we meet, classical literature and music has always appealed to me. If we are destined to be together then I doubt you are a pilot, so this is probably unimportant, but I do have a fear of heights. I’m sorry if you wanted more details but I’m quite confused as to what is safe to include, in accordance with this dubious tradition.

I don’t think I’m the easiest person to love, both for reasons that should become clear to you and my inherent defensiveness. Though my investment in this idea of soulmates may be limited, the thought that there is someone out there who will love me for who I am is, undeniably, appealing. I may not be the best at displaying how I feel but, if we are to care for each, I will try my best to show you that I care. To be honest, I don’t know what to expect or to ask of you beyond that you keep an open mind if we do meet. Perhaps, just as this rumour being true would, you will surprise me.

Please stay safe and write soon, from your soulmate.

“It’s a little… melancholy,” Blaze admitted, trying not to wince, “But I don’t want to rewrite it. It’s good enough.”

It was all written in her neatest handwriting, entirely cursive and eloquent. There wasn’t a single spelling error, not one that she could identify at least, and it looked professional enough? She’d written it in the manner she’d learned to write all of her letters and, perhaps, that was a little too formal for the occasion. Then again, it wasn’t as though it would actually reach anyone.

And, of course, she hadn’t mentioned her flames; not in explicit terms at least.

“Is it how you truly feel?” Vanilla questioned, “Is it how you want to introduce yourself to them.”

Blaze took another moment, considering it for just a moment more, before tearing the paper from her jotter and rolling it into a tight scroll, “Yes.”

The tutor turned to rummage through her bag again, this time drawing forth three things: a ribbon to bind the note, a small (cleaned and untinted) glass bottle and a whittled down cork from an old wine bottle. Blaze took the ribbon first, gently securing her note, and trying not to crumple it, before gingerly sliding it into the bottle’s narrow mouth. She let Vanilla secure the cork in place, not much trusting that it’d hold if she did it. Then though, curiously, the rabbit produced another object from her bag. A small violet tealight, brand new and untouched.

“I think it might be nice to seal the bottle in your own, unique, way,” The rabbit explained, tilting the cantle upside down and holding it above the now sealed bottle, “With a little bit of fire, we can make a wax lid.”

The tealight exchanged hands, Vanilla held the bottle in place. Just as her prior heating, the tutor was likely the only one who would trust her to do this. Well, perhaps Gardon would too on a good day. Blaze snuck her forefinger around the tealight’s metal casing and birthed a burgeoning flame directly into the wax. The reaction was almost immediate, purple, lavender scented, wax began to drip down in gooey clumps and gather atop the cork. It took a while, and some shifting, to completely cover both the entryway. Most of the candle was diminished by the time it was done, the bubbling mass gradually cooling on the glass.

Vanilla drew it back, gently blowing on it, “Good job, Blaze. That’s perfect.”

In the silence that hung as the wax cooled, Blaze couldn’t help but dwell on her future a little. She knew she was young, far too young to be seriously considering these things, most children her age would still be focused on becoming a pop singer or filling some other extravagant niche. Her parents wanted her to focus on law, become a judge or an attorney, but, despite how important those callings were, they didn’t appeal to her. The only thing she knew that she wanted was to be away from here, to find somewhere that she could settle herself and actually be free to think, but that was so long away. She was bound to this place, bound to her parents, for the-

A gentle hand pushed up the feline’s chin and brought her to look the elder rabbit in the eye, “You might not meet whoever gets this letter for some time, but I promise you, Blaze, you will find them. You won’t be here forever; you feel so trapped forever. With their help or otherwise, I know you’ll do great things.”

The tutor rose, passing the bottle to its first owner. The kitten stumbled to her feet, taking it but quickly reaching out and holding her teacher’s hand. Barren white sand crunched underfoot, the clouds refused to part even now. It wasn’t long until she was at the cusp of the water, the lapping waves mere centimetres from the toe of their shoes. The older of the two drew up the hem of her skirt, Blaze awkwardly fumbled with her dungaree’s legs before retaking the rabbit’s hand. Vanilla took the first step into the foamy waters, but Blaze was quick to follow after. They waded until the sea reached the young feline’s knee, a glance from Vanilla informed her that was far enough.

Gently, Blaze set the bottle in the water. They stood for a moment, just to see that it would leave their sight. The tide was receding, they’d see the bottle bob above the waves every so often as it was gradually being carried towards the horizon. It was off to either meet with a watery grave or find some person somewhere else in the world.

“Well, now we just have to wait and see,” The rabbit smiled, turning and gently retaking her hand, “I’m sure it’ll reach someone wonderful. I can’t wait to see you two together. Its been so long since I’ve seen young love, I’m sure your Prince Charming will be wonderful.”

“M-Miss Vanilla,” The little girl couldn’t help but whine, “I don’t want a Prince.”

“Oh? What is it you want then?” She asked, nearing the water��s end.

“I don’t know…” Blaze murmured, giving it just half a moment’s thought, “I just want a friend. I just want someone else who will be nice to me.”

“Can’t they be both?” Vanilla laughed, taking the first step onto dry land.

The young girl hadn’t considered that, but she wasn’t sure that she liked it. She was about to speak up in defiance when she felt something peculiar. A wave had passed behind her, lapping just above her heels, but it had hit differently somehow. It’d almost felt too hard.

Turning to look over her shoulder, Blaze frowned as her eyes scanned the water. Among the waves, hitched in the sand, was a bottle. Had her note followed them back? Breaking off from Vanilla, the young girl crouched to get a closer look. Something about this bottle looked different. It wasn’t sealed with wax, it had a screw on lid. What’s more, this bottle was tinted green. Dumbfounded, without so much as thinking, she reached down and plucked the bottle from the water.

“Miss Vanilla?”

-----------

Butterflies flapped in her stomach as though they were giant eagles pursuing some sort of endlessly evasive prey. Blaze the cat, age twenty-two, had just spent the last twelve hours traveling with three overstuffed suitcases and a violin case. She’d departed a train forty minutes ago and had been walking ever since but, prior to that, she’d endured two different taxi rides and a full four hours failing to ignore a window seat view on a flight. To say that she was exhausted would be an understatement, she’d travelled further from her home before but never on her own and never like this, but to say she was unhappy would be entirely false. Blaze the cat was free, free from the Sol estate and free from all that came with it. She had finally claimed control over her life.

She’d never thought that the violin would be her escape; music simply been her hobby, but it had borne an unimaginable fruit. She’d managed to land herself third chair in an orchestra with a high probability of moving further up the ranks. The concertmaster was apparently reaching her elder years, looking for a protégé and to breathe new life into the group. A well-placed audition tape and a handful of politely worded emails had secured her the position. Sure, the job as it was now wasn’t enough to fully support her, but with her education the feline was certain she’d manage to pick up another form of income.

That orchestra job had led her here, Station Square; a city filled to bursting with opportunity which just so happened to also contain a cheap apartment-share near the city’s centre. An application for said lodgings had brought her to the door she was now standing outside of, an entrance to the supposed accommodation that persisted above an old pizzeria. She didn’t know where she’d anticipated her life to restart but the fact it was somewhere this plain honestly excited her. No more private beach; she had to build her own luxury.

First impressions were important, she’d been chastised about them her entire life. She’d tried to dress modestly, what few of her more expensive outfits she’d brought she intended to sell online. Her hair was fixed into a tall ponytail that almost crowned her head, a ponytail that she’d already remade five times today. A long brown trench coat, the brown top button of which she redid, was successfully obscuring a comfortable striped t-shirt and (surprisingly expensive yet unassuming) bootcut jeans.

Once she was certain everything was in place and she had some form of greeting in mind, she dared to press the grimy electric buzzer. Almost immediately, a slightly overloud and static riddled voice answered her call, “Hello? Is that Blaze?”

“Yes, hello. I take it this is the residence of Silver the hedgehog?” She answered.

“Yeah, that’s me! It’s so nice to finally meet you, I hope…” He seemed to catch himself mid-sentence, though he went quiet, the buzzing persisted, “Oh, oops, I should probably open the door. Sorry! I’ll be right down!”

The buzzing finally faded and, once again, Blaze was left alone. That was the first time she’d ever heard his voice and, admittedly, she hadn’t been able to hear it very well. He sounded a lot more excitable than she’d truly anticipated. Their communication up until now had been limited to brief emails and, as a result, she didn’t actually know very much about the man she’d be living with for the foreseeable future. He had no criminal record, the flat itself both looked nice and was affordable, but beyond his job working in the museum and need for an additional housemate, that was the limit of her knowledge. Well, that and the picture attached to his=

Before Blaze could ponder on it for any longer, the white painted door before her swung open and a figure practically burst into view. She wasn’t sure who or what she’d expected out of this museum worker, but she certainly wasn’t this. A set of seven ludicrously long quills immediately consumed Blaze’s vision, followed by a set of excitable yellow eyes and a vaguely sun-kissed muzzle. He was rather peculiarly dressed too; he wore a jumper with a strangely low cut that allowed a seemingly endless flare of white chest fur to slip free. As if that wasn’t odd enough, he wore gloves that were lit by a bizarre cyan symbol on both their front and back.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Blaze!” His smile matched his eyes so very perfectly.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Silver,” She half bowed, already feeling a little overwhelmed. The picture she’d seen had made him look demurer, his quills had been tied back and he’d been in his work uniform. She truly hadn’t considered that he’d be a head taller than her.

Almost immediately, he seemed to notice her luggage. Without even blinking, he gestured past her, “Oh, you must be exhausted. I can help with those!” Blaze’s surprise transmuted into total befuddlement at what happened next. With that wave of the hedgehog’s hand, those cyan symbols began to glow much brighter and Blaze heard shifting behind her. Before she could turn, all four of her bags had taken to the air and hovered above her head, “I’ll take them up and show you around, come on.”

She stood in the doorway for a moment, entirely dumbfounded. She knew people with powers like hers existed, but they were rare enough that she had never met another. To think that the first person she’d ever stay with, the first person she’d encounter, was capable of such a feat though? This Silver was filled to burst with surprises. Catching herself though, butterfly-eagles still running rampant in her stomach, Blaze began to give chase.

The hallway leading up to the flat itself wasn’t very well lit, but it was homely enough. It led up to a landing where (judging by the small pile) shoes were supposed to be kicked off. Following it was a glass door that immediately opened into a small and very well stocked kitchen. It didn’t smell like anything was cooking at the moment but, judging by the drying rack, he had been hard at work.

“I cook quite a lot,” As he called back, Blaze couldn’t help but notice the hedgehog had gone from walking to floating amongst her luggage, “Are you much of a chef?”

“Not particularly,” Blaze admitted, nonchalantly. What few cooking lessons she’d received had gone especially poorly.

“Oh, well, if you’re ever in trouble or want to learn then let me know,” He offered, spinning back around to face forward, “I made a little something to celebrate your arrival, if you’re up for it.”

“Oh, thank you,” She said, now doubly surprised at his fast kindness.

Blaze took a sniff but, curiously, couldn’t smell whatever it was he’d mentioned. The hedgehog had clearly done a good job of cleaning up in preparation for her arrival, but then again… she had no idea whether the apartment had been messy in the first place. She passed an open door that seemed to lead into a small combination dining room and sitting room. Two patchwork couches sat near the room’s centre, a modest TV cresting just over them and a coffee table between them.

“Is this a violin case?” He called back, drawing her attention away from the room.

“Yes, it is,” She responded, noticing that he’d turned mid-flight and was now hovering the violin between them, “I’m joining city’s orchestra. I’ll need to practice fairly often, but if there’s ever a time you need quiet then feel free to say.”

“Oh, no, free to play it all you want honestly, the place downstairs just does take away and, apparently, the floor is pretty well soundproofed,” He said, that excitement still clinging to his voice as he landed outside a door, “That’s amazing, I’ve always wanted to meet a violinist. I can’t wait to hear you play, you must be wonderful!”

“I’m well practiced,” She coyly admitted, not used to barrages of kindness (let alone praise). She could feel herself locking up but tried to fight it, “Is this my room?”

“Oh, yeah. It is,” The hedgehog nodded, patting himself down before seeming to realise something. With a wave of his hand up the hallway, Blaze watched as a small set of keys raced their way from the kitchen area to float in front of her, “Almost forgot these.”

“Th-Thank you,” Blaze cursed her stutter, plucking them from the air. They found their way to the lock but, before she dared to push inside, she decided to feed her curiosity. He seemed so very open, it couldn’t hurt to pry, “How long have you been able to do that?”

“For as long as I can remember. It comes in pretty handy around the house, if you ever need anything moved then just say,” He grinned, clearly somewhat proud to have made a positive impression with his powers.

“I see,” She hummed, turning the key. She certainly wasn’t comfortable immediately revealing her power to him but, then again, her name was probably a bit of a give-away. Ideally, he wouldn’t question it, “It does seem rather useful.”

Blaze pushed the door open and found herself faced, for the first time today, with a sight she’d expected. The room wasn’t even half the size of her prior bedroom, its walls were both blank and painted off-white. Unlike the other rooms in the house, a grey carpet persisted underfoot. Blaze watched as her bags hovered through the door and landed inside in a small, neat, pile.

“I know it’s not especially stunning, but the landlord says you can decorate it if you want. I did my room up a couple months ago, before I moved in. It’s easier than you think, I’d be happy to help,” Blaze couldn’t tell whether it was due to her cold expression or some sudden realisation, but the hedgehog seemed to falter and turn away, “S-Sorry, I’ve never had a flatmate before, I guess I’m a little overexcited.”

“You haven’t?” She questioned though, in hindsight, the underdeveloped room spoke volumes.

“I’ve moved from place to place quite a lot, living in tiny, two-room, apartments,” He explained.

“Well, I’m sure we’ll manage to figure this out between the two of us,” She wanted to give a reassuring smile but was fairly certain it would only scare him off. It seemed like neither of them were particularly good at this, “Thank you, Silver.”

“I’ll leave you to get comfortable. If you need anything I’ll just be, uh, in here,” He tapped the door opposite, assumedly his bedroom, “There’s an en suite in your room and, um, I think that’s everything? If you need me then just call.”

Blaze nodded and allowed herself the smallest of smiles, “Perhaps, once I’ve put everything away, we could look over the paperwork?”

“Oh, sure, okay! Just say when,” He managed to grin again, ducking back into his room but not bothering to close the door.

Blaze matched him, stepping inside and heaving a sigh of relief. She’d made it through her first interaction with her flatmate, she’d made it to her new home, she was so close to relaxation. There was a small, single, bed against the wall with a tiny wooden bedside cabinet next to it. A reasonably sized, yet still small in her experience, closet was set up against the far wall and she could see the door that likely led to the bathroom. This was liveable, she could do this, it was just the first step in something new.

Unpacking her clothes and amenities took quite a lot longer than she’d anticipated, getting everything onto hangers and into the right place was relaxing albeit slow. There was nowhere especially practical to place her violin so it’d ended up propped against the far wall for the foreseeable future. The final of her bags still sat where Silver had placed it, entirely filled. Vanilla had packed it for her, saying its contents were mere food and cutlery, but she had made the feline promise not to open it until she was settled in her new home. Well, it was finally time.

Blaze hoisted the bag onto her freshly made bed, immediately creasing her work but not especially minding. She quickly brought the zip around, popping the top open, and was stunned by what she saw. The rabbit hadn’t lied, cutlery and non-perishables of all sorts filled the base of the bag, but a small note affixed to an object that Blaze hadn’t even thought about in almost ten years sat atop the other goods. A certain bottle that had washed up on the beach just after she had sent her own message to sea.

Vanilla’s note was short and simple, “Enjoy your new life, don’t forget to write and remember, they’re out there somewhere,” Concluded with a small, winking, smiley face.

Slipping onto the bed, Blaze found herself cradling both the note and the bottle. While that day on the beach stuck out in her mind like a sore thumb, perhaps due to the familial chaos that had come before it, the contents of this bottle did not. She hadn’t thought about that day often, especially not in the latter six of those twelve years, but whenever a book or a person mentioned the concept of soulmates she’d recall but never mention the occurrence. Admittedly, the young feline had long accepted that the note had in fact been written by Vanilla in an attempt to cheer her up following her childish strop. She didn’t believe in such nonsense then and she certainly didn’t now. Still, what was the harm in giving the coincidental note another read for nostalgia’s sake?

Blaze unscrewed the lid, giving the green aluminium top a quick once over before setting it on her bedside table. Wherever it had come from, the bottle had long lost any identifiable markings, but it was more bulbous than that containing any drink she’d ever had. She managed to get a finger in and, with some difficulty, pluck the note free. The sheet felt more like card than paper and was riddled with creases from its initial folding so many years ago. The handwriting was, admittedly, awful. She’d written her note as a child, but this letter looked to have been written with extreme haste. Regardless, due mostly to the large spaces between words, Blaze could make it all out.

It read:

“Hi there! If you’re reading this then I guess you know who I am? Just in case; I’m your soulmate! I can’t wait to meet you, I’m sure we’re going to get along great! I can’t write all that much about myself, otherwise the bottle will sink to the bottom of the sea, but I’m supposed to describe what I think our relationship might be like? But I’ve never been in one before, I’ve never had a soulmate before, so I’m not sure what to do or what to tell you.

People tell me that I’m a little blunt and that I wear my heart on my sleeve and that I’m pretty gullible. I’m not so sure, but I guess they’d know better than me? I really like sweet food! I can’t have a lot of it, we can’t really afford it, but that’s okay because it’s not good for me anyway. I also really like history books. The lost worlds of the past are so interesting to me and I’d love to discover more of them. I hope you like them too! I guess I can’t write about this too much, but I have a special skill that comes in useful quite a lot. It helps me tidy up and cook and get to all sorts of places, even ones I’m not really supposed to.

I don’t know you yet, but I hope you’re nice. I don’t really know a lot about love, a lot of my friends think it’s gross but not me! I think it’s nice knowing that there’s someone out there for me and I’m just waiting to meet someone. If I can make a difference, even if it’s just for one person, then I’ll be happy, so I’ll try my hardest to make you happy! I’m learning to cook and bake so you don’t have to worry about that, I can already make spaghetti!

Please stay safe and I can’t wait to read what you send me!

From your soulmate”

Blaze’s nose wrinkled as she reached the end of the note. She’d decided years ago that Vanilla had written this note, perhaps with her left hand so as to forge childish writing, but something was bothering her. The feline’s eyes traced back up the note, specifically lingering on the mention of a special skill that helped the individual to cook and clean. A foolish thought entered her head, a quiet whisper that was still loud enough to break the otherwise peaceful silence. Reading over the page again, the bluntness and earnestness mentioned further loudened that quiet voice.

Catching herself in her own stupidity, Blaze quickly rerolled the paper and returned it to its bottle. Not quite knowing what to do with it now, feeling a bizarre heat on her face, she set it on her bedside cabinet and threw her gaze to her lap. Attempting to escape the heat, and realising she’d been too distracted to do so earlier, she undid her jacket and shrugged it from her shoulders.

The occurrence ten years ago was just one of many bizarre occurrences in the flame producing feline’s life, she’d seen her fair share of oddness and coincidence. There was absolutely no way that this bottle had come from the person she was now living with, she’d long decided it was a forgery made to keep her happy. It wasn’t like anyone was pulling at the strings of fate. Even if Vanilla hadn’t made it, for a bottle from someone else, someone who clearly believed in the superstition, to have drifted to shore while she was out there... that was possible, wasn’t it? Just as it was possible she’d seen some vague familiarities between the man she’d just met and that note’s writer.

She took her head in her hands, she was being ridiculous. It must have all been induced by her nerves, she was in a new city and living with a stranger, of course she was going to overthink things. There was no way she’d just stumbled into living with her soulmate; she didn’t even believe in soulmates. She’d never believed in soulmates and now, of all times, wasn’t the time to start. Blaze rose from the bed, collected the goods from her remaining suitcase and made a beeline for the door.

When she stepped into the hall though, her eyes were unintentionally drawn through the askew door of his bedroom. Though she could only see perhaps the smallest quarter, assuming that their rooms were the same, she’d locked eyes with a corkboard. A corkboard with many sticky notes tacked to it but also a small, curled, notebook page stuck to it rather than pierced by a tack. With each passing second Blaze felt her face grow hotter and heard her thoughts grow evermore foolish. It was as though fate was tempting her to burst into the room and look at it, or at the very least ask him about it. But that was the height of foolishness, she’d surely sound insane or rude at the very best. What self-respecting adult believed in such a fairy-tale, let alone would discuss it with a new flatmate on the first day they’d even met! She couldn’t ask about that leaflet now of all times! That would look ridiculous!

His mention of always wanting to meet a violinist metamorphosed in her mind from a show of kindness to a potential deeply held honesty. She didn’t recall much of the letter she’d written, but Blaze knew that she’d listed some of her hobbies. She’d only just started to play the stringed instrument, it’d surely been included.

Finding herself lost and dazed in the hallway, Blaze couldn’t help but call out, “Silver?”

She heard what sounded like the hedgehog falling over before he rushed into the doorway, quills wildly tossed, “Hey, is everything alright?”

Blaze swallowed, “I’ve just got some stuff to put in the kitchen and I think I’m ready to sign the papers, as long as you’re not busy?”

“Oh no, don’t worry; I was just doing a little reading, let’s do it,” He beamed, taking to the air again and leading the way to the kitchen.

She felt an immediate impulse to enter his room, he’d left the door open, but Blaze knew that was foolish. No, the much louder thought in Blaze’s brain was questioning what he was reading. The hedgehog worked in a museum; it was likely that he liked to read about history. Even if he was, it would have just been another coincidence… but things were lining up more and more. What was today? Was this all just some bizarre dream?

Blaze begrudgingly followed the white hedgehog, finding herself analysing him more than she probably should. His fur and quills were unkempt but it wasn’t as though he was dirty, just fluffy. She supposed his fur must just have grown out like that. The strange cyan energy he produced seemed to let him guide both himself and objects through the air… perhaps even other people. Blaze could certainly see how useful this power would be for cleaning… it probably let him make multiple dishes and clean at the same time too, pending how it worked.

Heat flashed across her face again and, reflexively, she balled her fists. Though she’d long learned to keep her powers under control, their connection to her emotions was a constant worry. Embarrassment, of all emotions, was one she hadn’t yet managed to control. While it lacked the ferocity and excitability of anger, it was still especially important to keep it subdued. If she let them, these thoughts would do much more than reveal her power. She might burn down her new home before she could spend a night-

“Blaze?” His voice tore her from her thoughts, he’d made it to the kitchen while she’d frozen up in the hall, “Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine I’m just,” She scrambled for the right words, marching towards him, “I’ve not settled yet, I’m still getting used to this arrangement. Just getting my bearings.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” He nodded, still smiling so very brightly, “Take all the time you need. You said online that you’d never lived away from home before, right?”

“I’d visit hotels with my family but, outside that, yes,” Blaze answered, stepping into the kitchen, “I know I’m a little old for that to be the case but…”

“No, no. Don’t worry, I get it and I know it’s pretty scary,” He smiled, leaning against the kitchen counter, “I’ve moved around a lot and your first night in a new place is always weird, let alone your first time anywhere new,” His smile faltered just a little, he began to scratch among his quills, “I’m sorry if I’m making it worse. I’ve been trying to make things more comfortable but I’m probably going a little overboard, right?”

“N-No, no, you’re doing fine,” Blaze quickly replied but she knew that her stutter betrayed the truth. Her failure to convey what she was actually feeling was simultaneously a blessing and a curse this evening. She tried to smile, “Thank you, Silver.”

“It’s no problem. You can put your stuff wherever you want, but I cleaned these two cupboards out for you. I keep the pots and pans in the big drawer and the cutlery in the one above that,” He pointed, his grin slightly returning, “Oh and there should be enough fridge space, I hope?”

Setting the bag down again, Blaze quickly began to unload Vanilla’s parting gifts. She kept the hedgehog in the corner of her eye, watching as he pulled a magnet from the fridge and slid free a small bundle of papers. Assumedly, that was the lease. He then, seeming to realise he didn’t have a pen, gestured up the hall again. The face he, likely unknowingly, pulled as he reached for the pen was far too serious, his soft features barely allowed for it. He seemed very innocent, harmless even; judging by his apologies, despite his attempts to appear confident, this was surely all very new to him too.

“Is something wrong? Is there not enough space?” He asked, catching her staring.

“N-No, no. It’s fine, there’s more than enough,” She quickly looked away, shoving bushels of pasta into the cupboard as she tried her damnedest not to ignore the little voice screaming inside her. The voice that kept repeating the line in that note, that the writer was often described as wearing his heart on his sleeve.

Too many pieces of this non-existent puzzle were lining up, far too many. As she shifted to put away her cutlery, lost in thought, she very almost knocked into him. Even if it was all somehow true, even though that was entirely possible, then that didn’t actually mean anything. It wasn’t like just knowing some miraculous coincidence had happened meant they were bound to stay together forever or fall in love or whatever. She didn’t know him, he didn’t know her either! They’d hardly even talked!

As the last pan clattered into place, Blaze dared to throw another glance his way. The hedgehog had set the paperwork down on the unit and entered the fridge. Blaze hadn’t ever looked for a relationship before and she certainly hadn’t intended to now. She hadn’t really looked at boys or girls or anyone for that matter, but something was bothering her. Perhaps it was just a result of his earnestness, perhaps it was because he looked so fluffy and soft, but there was something almost… charming about him. Was he attractive? Was he cute? Beauty was supposed to be in the eye of the beholder and this beholder had literally no idea what she found attractive.

The moment his bright yellow eyes hit hers, she understood that aspect of herself just a little better. He’d leaned out of the fridge, having not actually taken anything, “I noticed that we need a witness, do you know anyone else around here who you’d like to be it? I can witness it if that’s okay with you but, you know, don’t want to impose or anything. Landlord owns the place downstairs and said you can just leave it there.”

“I-I’m fine with that, yes,” She quickly rose to stand straight, taking the pen and papers from him, “Don’t worry, Silver. I’m just getting my bearings; you’ve been nothing but helpful.”

His smile returned, the spark of joy in those eyes rocked Blaze to her core, “If you’re sure. I’ll leave you to it then.”

Blaze quickly threw her eyes toward the document. She’d read it before online, of course she had, but it was her only escape! She quickly filled in her share before blindly passing the sheet back to Silver for his witness confirmation signature, pretending to be distracted by the spice rack.

When she finally dared to look at him, Blaze found that Silver had casually let go of the objects he’d gathered and left them to hang in the air. Though she’d tried to fight it, Blaze couldn’t help but peer at his handwriting. He’d signed his name twice, both on the landlord’s copy and her own. It’d been at least ten years since the message in the bottle had been written, of course the writer’s handwriting would have changed over that time, but Blaze couldn’t help noticing the slightly scrawled nature of his penmanship. His handwriting wasn’t bad per say but it wasn’t in cursive, and it certainly wasn’t what you’d call neat. Though she longed to think of it in any other way, that was yet another strike in the soulmate column.

“Oh, um,” The hedgehog’s hand returned to his quills, “I don’t know if you’ve had dinner or anything, and you don’t need to eat it if you don’t want it, but I was so excited for you coming so,” He gestured into the fridge, “I made a cheesecake. Feel free to grab a slice whenever, it looks like it's properly set now.”

The hedgehog couldn’t just cook, he could bake. Alone that fact would mean nothing but, with all this compiling evidence, Blaze felt her head spin and more heat jumped to her face. She shifted by him, glancing into the fridge, and sure enough, there it sat. A biscuit base topped with a creamy yellow mass and decorated with what looked to be some kind of cherry or strawberry jell or jam. She took hold of the door to steady herself, feeling the heat gather and gather on her face until a single spark ignited near the tip of her nose and, with a small pop, burgeoned into a flame. Blaze ran her free hand down her face, snuffing it immediately, but the thoughts that prompted it still ran rampant in her mind.

“Eh, Blaze? Are you okay?” She heard him shift and felt him looking over her shoulder, standing so very close, “You’ve gone all red.”

She had no idea how much of that he’s seen but, regardless, his innocence was astounding. His reaction to that pop and a palpable burst of heat from the fridge wasn’t to question what had happened but if she was okay. His concern for her was so very plain, his heart truly was fastened to his sleeve, he truly was very naïve. She had no idea what his life had been like up until this point, no idea who he really was just as he had no idea who she truly was. They were just a pair of very socially awkward individuals, albeit in very different ways, who happened to have collided due to the machinations of either fate or coincidence. She still couldn’t just up and tell him about these thoughts or the message she’d received but, regardless of them and whether this was fate or not, it was only right that she got to the bottom of this.

“I-I’ll have some if you will,” She blurted out, turning away from the fridge and towards him. Though embarrassment was surely twisting her face into a grimace, he still looked so kindly, “Maybe we should have a sit down and… get to know each other a little better?” The day’s travel had run her ragged, but nothing could compare to this past fifteen minutes, “I think we have a lot to talk about.”

#silvaze #Silver the Hedgehog #Blaze the Cat #sonic the hedgehog #soulmate #fanfiction

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gongju-juice · 4 years

Text

2. Once Upon a Southern Night

Adopted Cousins

Warnings: Some language mah bois. . .that goes for the rest of the series, minor assault incident because men are trash

The following week of school was quite exciting. People from all over the school were interested in your story. Amelia had gotten you acquainted with her friends—jocks, nonetheless—but they were fairly easy to get along with and you weren’t the type to stereotype.

History was even better. You could really flex your skills in your class, and not feel worried that you’d be rebuked. And Pre-Calculus and Chemistry wasn’t even as hard as you originally thought it would be. All in all, things were great.

Since your first day, you hadn’t spoken to Jasper or any of the Cullens once. Sometimes you thought the tiny one, Alice, would smile at you behind your back as if she knew some big secret you didn’t. But she didn’t intimidate you, and neither did the others. Rosalie did seem a little off, but you figured that it had to do with the ridiculous number of boys confessing to her every week. And as for the others—Emmett and Edward—they seemed pretty normal. Though sometimes you wondered why Edward seemed to be so annoyed all the time, or why whenever you passed by him in the hallway, he inexplicably smirked from ear to ear.

One day, however, you had to sit at Amelia’s table without her. There was David, Mallory, Tyler, and Sarah. They were all the best athletes in the junior class, and you lowkey felt out of place being the only one at the table who didn’t play a sport.

“How was Psychology?” Mallory asked, digging into her leafy salad. She was a broad shoulder girl, whose athletic frame was large and unlike the “skinny-fit” girls you saw on tv.

You nodded. “Pretty good. We learned a lot about the brain and its association with fear.”

You began stirring your gumbo. Since you were a kid, you never liked eating school lunches anyway. And in addition to that, you obligated your mom and yourself to prepare only southern style dishes to remind you of home.

“Hey, Y/N,” David called, nudging your shoulder. “Do you think you could help me with math? All of this theta, alpha—whatever this shit is—it’s giving me a headache. Could I maybe come by your place tonight and get some help?”

You smiled hesitantly. You didn’t mind helping him, but you weren’t exactly about to let some boy you hardly talked to come to your house without your mother’s foreknowledge. Besides, what was wrong with tutoring on campus?

“We can do it at the school library,” you suggested. “Make sure you bring your things though. You’ll need your calculator, a pencil, and some paper.”

He grumbled lowly to himself, but you thought it best not to inquire after him. Instead, you continued sipping at your food. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw movement at the Cullen table.

At the end of the day, you walked to your locker and grabbed your things. The thing about Forks High School was that everybody seemed to automatically shift to their cars, in race to leave out onto the empty streets of the town.

You made your way to the parking lot to drop some of the things off at your car—the brand new pale yellow Volkswagen Beetle your mom bought for your sixteenth birthday. It’d arrived in Washington State on campus just an hour before you had to leave your first day of school.

You turned around and began heading towards the school. . .but where to go? You forgot where the library even was. Was it nearest the front entrance or the side? You decided to go to the side, not knowing that the ramifications of your actions would forever change your life.

“Y/N!” a voice called, and you whirled around on your Oxford heels, thankful it was only David leaning on the brick wall behind you.

“Ah, David! I must’ve been going the wrong way, wasn’t I? I bet it’s better to go to the front entrance. Well, we’re here now. Might as well keep going,” you giggled anxiously.

You reached your hand for the door handle, only to have your hand forcefully snatched in the grasp of his.

“We don’t have to do it in the library,” he said quietly, a sinister grin on his face. “We could do it in your car, inside the bathroom, if you’d like.” He leaned in closer. “Or we could do it right here.”

You tried to politely pull your hand from his only to realize that he was not talking about tutoring. He grabbed your shoulder and pushed you against the cold door, the backs of your thighs touching the metal. You struggled to push him off, but he was much stronger.

“I’m serious, David! This is not what you want! You’ll get in serious trouble, and I don’t give you consent or permission to touch me like this in any way!”

He smiled down at you. “Touch you. . .like this?” His fingers crawled down the sides of your skirt until they ripped down the material to the concrete.

You screamed, but suddenly he was gone. Jasper had him pinned up against the opposite wall, David’s feet dangling inches from the group.

“I will fucking kill you,” he said angrily. “If you ever touch her again. If you even look at her, I will personally rip your throat from your insides and make you wish you were never born.”

David nodded hysterically, his features contorted in terror. “Anything you want, man! Please—I won’t ever do it again. Just please put me down, please!”

Edward and Emmett appeared by Jasper’s side and forcibly lowered the quarterback from the wall. Emmett locked him in a choke hold and pushed him forward while Edward made a barrier of himself so that Jasper could not pursue.

“Are you okay?” Alice asked frantically, her golden eyes staring into yours. Rosalie pulled your skirt back up around your hips, but the cloth was ripped at the zipper and couldn’t be reattached. Tears were streaming down at your eyes at that point, but you nodded, too lost for words to reply.

“She needs some new clothes,” Rosalie warned, guarding your vulnerable form with her body. You stared at your pathetic skirt. It was a cute little plaid design you found while shopping at a thrift store in Port Angeles on your way from the airport.

Jasper took the leather jacket from his shoulders and handed it to his sister carefully. She tied the thing around your waist on top of the skirt so that it held it together. Then, they led you to the office.

Within three minutes, a squad car showed up. It was the police Chief, Charlie Swan, a man with a thick black mustache and chocolate dark eyes. He took one look at David before hauling him in handcuffs.

“This is the second complaint we’ve had against you this month,” he announced through gritted teeth. “Except this time, we’ve got witnesses. You had such promise kid, but all you want to be is a sex offender.”

David cried in protest before he was thrown in the back of the car.

“Are you alright?” the Chief asked. “You’ll have to come by the station for questioning and a full police report. . .do you think you’re in an okay mental state to do so?”

You nodded. “But can I go home first? He broke my skirt.”

He reflexively looked at your waist which resulted in Jasper hawking him down.

“Of course. And if possible, bring the skirt back with you in a plastic bag. It’s evidence.”

The siblings escorted you to your car, where, interestingly enough, a crowd had formed.

“Thanks, you guys, I don’t think things would’ve turned out as fortunate as they did if not for y’all.” You looked up at Jasper’s warm honey eyes. “And I thank you most of all, Jasper. You turned out to be my savior tonight.”

He gazed back at you, and you felt a flood of emotions you couldn’t explain.

“It’s my pleasure,” he said, “And you’re welcome.”

“Do you need someone to drive you home?” Alice asked, her hands squeezing yours. “Besides, we all have to come to the station anyway. I can ride with you.”

“Oh, but I couldn’t trouble you—”

“It’s okay, I’ll drive the boys to the station while you and Alice run home,” Rosalie said, pointing to her beaming red BMW.

You weren’t surprised that when you arrived at the station your mother was there. She immediately pulled you into her arms, her crushing embrace enough to suck the air out of you.

“My baby!” she cried, holding your cheeks. “What would I do if something ever happened to you! I should’ve put you in those jujitsu classes like you asked last year. I’m so sorry I put you in this terrible situation!”

You shook your head and pried her off of you. “Mom, Mom! It’s okay, I’m alright. Jasper and his siblings handled the situation just fine. Please calm down.”

Beside her, you realized Dr. Cullen and his wife stood by their children. They appeared to be such a charming family, but it was strange how they all had the same amber colored eyes though they were not all related.

“Jasper, I should reward you handsomely for this! That’s it, I’m ending my shift early. You all can come to our house . . .it’s about time we tell the news to Y/N anyway.”

“Y/N,” Dr. Cullen said, extending his hand, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

‘Finally,’ you wondered. “And you as well. Mom talks about you quite a bit at home.”

Esme hugged your shoulders just as tightly as your mother did. She smelled very good, like warm citrus and berries. “I’m glad you’re okay, sweetheart. If you ever need to talk, we’re here for you.”

You finished the police report, and everybody climbed in their cars headed home. What news your mother had in store for you, you had no idea. But no matter how much you begged her to tell you, she wouldn’t tell you.

Your mom ordered pizza—a meal just for you since the Cullens declined and she wasn’t going to eat anyhow—and you sat quietly at the dining room table. It was all so awkward considering you were the only one eating and since it had not been long since you were literally assaulted.

Jasper sat quietly at the other end of the table, his eyes trained on the vase of flowers on the center of the table. You really wanted to tell him your appreciation in private, but since your departure at the car, he had not made eye contact with you.

They made conversation quietly, but it all felt like meaningless hum in the grand scheme of things. Perhaps they were waiting on you to say something first.

“So. . .what is it that you wanted to tell me?” you asked your mom, biting the inside of your cheek. You hoped it wasn’t anything bad, you weren't sure if you could handle anything else.

Your mom smiled reassuringly. “I know you’re probably freaking out, but I promise, it’s nothing to worry about. You know how you’ve always wanted to have siblings or cousins of your own?”

You gasped, rising from your chair. “Are you finally adopting again!”

Everybody at the table laughed. She shook her head.

“No, even better. The truth is, I actually have a family you’ve never met before.”

Your brows scrunched together. “Really? Who are they? And I mean, why haven’t we ever met them?”

She sighed. “Well, the reason is quite complicated. I’ll tell you about that later. But the thing is—Carlisle is my younger brother.”

“Wait what?!” you shouted. “He’s your what?!”

“That’s right,” he grinned, “Carmine’s my sister. So I guess, in a way, that makes me your uncle.”

“Wow,” you breathed, “So you’re my adoptive mom’s brother who has adopted kids who are my adopted cousins.”

Everybody again laughed at your reaction. Your cheeks were hot with embarrassment, but for some reason, you didn’t seem as tense as you were before. You got up to hug all of the Cullens—your new family. You finally had people and loved ones to call your own; people you could trust and stood up for you when you couldn’t stand up for yourself.

When you finally got to Jasper, your heart rate soared. How lucky you were to have such an intelligent, kind, and strong person in your life! But secretly, there was a twinge of regret inside you. This feeling you felt for him—it was a crush. Cousins weren’t allowed to have crushed on each other.

“Something the matter?” he teased with a little smirk.

“Of course not I—”

He gently wrapped his arms around you and pulled you in close. He was cold and firm like a giant teddy bear left untouched on a bed. You wanted to hold him tighter and transfer your warmth to him, but just as quickly as you had the thought, the hug finished.

“We have so much to talk about!” Alice exclaimed. “You’re into the vintage aesthetics, aren’t you? There’s a lovely red dress I’ve been saving in my closet specifically for you!”

And with that, Rosalie and Alice whisked you away upstairs where you three began a wonderful, life-long friendship.

Okay but mad Jasper is a vibe.

Part One Part Three Part Four

#jasper hale #jasper hale imagines #jasper hale x reader #twilight imagines #Twilight x reader #carlisle cullen #edward cullen #esme cullen #rosalie hale #alice cullen #emmett cullen #the cullens #yeehaw mah bois

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