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absquatulatevelcro · 2 days

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Crimson Raven p2

Fumikage Tokoyami's Aunt! Y/N

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This will be a series but might be cross-posted and continued on Ao3 for certain reasons. @absquatulatevelcro on ao3 same Vivii as always..

INFORMATION: Y/N Tokoyami (current) , an honourable 25-year-old woman who has been in the singing industry for 9 years and very well known amongst the American Pro Heroes, decides to go reside in Japan, Musutafu after her failed marriage with someone (not important) at age 19 and had to suffer abuse and loosing her child at the age of 20, summoning the courage to leave her husband at the age of 22 . This time, Y/N decides to look for a better future at Japan after being targeted by villains, she discovers Keiko, a young boy with broken wings, whom she legally adopts and a certain avian pro-hero who catches her interest.

CHAPTER 2: I'll protect you no matter what

As time flowed on, the memory of the injured man gradually faded from Y/N's mind, becoming little more than a distant echo in her thoughts. Immersed in her nursing studies, she devoted herself with helping other people in need while simultaneously nurturing her career as a singer in disguise.

Yet, a persistent sense of familiarity stirred within her whenever her colleagues mentioned a certain winged pro-hero. Initially, she brushed it off as like a 'justin beiber situation', but as their conversations increasingly revolved around the hero rather than their studies, annoyance crept into her heart.

And this time, she decided to put it to an end after an incident arise in her workplace— One being an old man was disregarded due to their petty and insufferable conversations. Luckily, she was there when it happened and had managed to help the old man in time before he suffered from mild food poisoning.

This made her feel disappointed for the younger colleagues of hers due to this incident and decided to arrange a meeting between the two girls who were guilty with the act of abandoning their duties as nurses and focusing more on idolizing 'celebrities'.

She stared intensively at the two girls, who were clearly new to their jobs. A heavy sigh escaped under her mouth. "You girls know what you've done, right?" She stated in a disappointed tone.

"Miss Tokoyami—" one of the girls spoke before pausing, biting her lip as she faced sideways. " we didn't mean to.." She whispered, barely audible, which caused Y/N to raise a brow as she approached closer.

"Miss Tokoyami, what?" Y/N repeated, her voice firm yet composed. "What you two have been doing is not only unprofessional but also dangerous. Your obsession with that pro-hero has clouded your judgment, and it almost cost someone their life today." She paused, letting her words sink in before continuing, "I understand admiration, but it should never interfere with your responsibilities here. You're here to help people, not to gossip about Pro-Heroes who don't even know you!"

The two girls exchanged nervous glances, letting their fear envelope them as one of them let out quite sob. "We're sorry, Miss Tokoyami," the other girl finally spoke up, her voice trembling. "We'll make sure it won't happen again."

Y/N nodded, her expression softening slightly. "Good. Remember, our priority is the well-being of our patients." She sighed as she adjusted her glasses."Now, let's get back to work and ensure this doesn't happen again."

After her disciple, the two girls eventually returned to their work spaces while she stayed in the inclosed room. The coldness hit her skin like snow as she slowly sat down.

"I swear to god," She muttered, letting her lock tangle with her fingers as she ran through them. "This is the 5th time they've mentioned that name.. I mean, I don't mind the continuous conversation about a certain hero, but.. this name.. feels familiar." Y/N ranted.

As Y/N continued to reflect on the incident, she couldn't shake the feeling of déjà vu that washed over her. It wasn't just annoyance at the girls' obsession with the pro-hero; it was something deeper, something that tugged at the edges of her memory.

With a heavy sigh of annoyance, Y/N made the decision to set aside her lingering questions for the time being and refocus on her job. Despite the nagging sense of curiosity that still tugged at the corners of her mind, she knew that her responsibilities as a nurse were paramount.

Returning to her workplace, Y/N took a moment to center herself and compose her thoughts. She adjusted her uniform with practiced ease, ensuring that she presented herself professionally.

"G-good afternoon, Miss Tokoyami."

Y/N turned to face her colleague, Amanda, noticing the nervousness in her voice and the way she fidgeted with her fingers. She offered Amanda a warm smile, hoping to put her at ease.

"Yes, Amanda? Is everything alright?" Y/N asked, her tone gentle and reassuring.Amanda hesitated for a moment before speaking, her words coming out in a rush. "I just wanted to say thank you. For earlier, you know, with the incident. You handled it so calmly and professionally. I-I admire that about you."

Y/N's smile widened at Amanda's words, touched by her sincerity. "Thank you, Amanda. I really appreciate that. But you did great aswell, if it wasn't for you. I would've never saw it with my own eyes."

Amanda's expression brightened at the praise, and she nodded enthusiastically. "T-thank you, Miss Tokoyami. I'll do best in the future!"Y/N chuckled, "Well then, thats great!.. and please call me Y/N instead. I already feel old being addressed as 'Miss Tokoyami' all the time."

Amanda nodded, her eyes sparkled in emotion as she felt happy to be praised by you. "Y-Yes! Thank you,"With a reassuring nod, Y/N watched as Amanda excused herself and went back to her duties.

As Y/N's shift finally came to an end, she gathered her belongings and made her way out of the hospital. The crisp evening air greeted her as she stepped outside, providing a welcome contrast to the sterile atmosphere she had been immersed in all day.

She took a deep breath, savoring the freedom that the end of her shift brought. "Finally! The taste of freedom," she exclaimed, wings fluttering in excitement as she looked around. "Amanda and the others might have already went to the cafeteria..." She pondered before shrugging, turning her heel as she walked down the sidewalk.

The streets were bustling with activity, filled with people going about their lives, yet her mind still lingered on the day's events and the persistent sense of familiarity that had haunted her. She shook her head, trying to dispel the thoughts and focus on the present.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't notice the young boy walking in her direction until it was too late. They collided gently, both of them stumbling slightly from the impact.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Y/N exclaimed, reaching out instinctively to steady the boy.

The boy looked up at her with wide, startled eyes. He had a mop of unruly golden-brown hair and a pair of broken wings protruding from his back. Recognition flickered in Y/N's mind as she took in his appearance, almost sensing a feeling of nostalgia.

"It's okay," the boy mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked nervous and uncertain, his eyes darting around as if searching for an escape route.

Y/N crouched down to his level, her voice gentle. "Are you alright? You seem a bit lost. Do you need help?"

The boy hesitated, his wings twitching slightly. "I... I don't have anywhere to go," he admitted, his voice trembling. "I'm K-Keiko..."

Y/N's heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice. She offered him a reassuring smile. "It's nice to meet you, Keiko. My name is Y/N. Why don't we find a place to sit down and talk? Maybe get something to eat?"

Keiko nodded slowly, his eyes reflecting a mixture of relief and uncertainty. Together, they made their way to a nearby café, settling into a cozy corner booth.

As they sat across from each other, Y/N couldn't help but feel a sense of protectiveness towards Keiko. He reminded her so much of herself at his age—lost, searching for a sense of belonging, and yearning for something to start with when she was in America.

They ordered their food, and as they waited, Y/N reached out and gently took Keiko's hand in hers. "Keiko, do you have anyone you can stay with? Family, friends?"

Keiko shook his head, his eyes downcast. "No. I was... I was abandoned because of my wings."

Y/N's heart broke at his words. She squeezed his hand reassuringly. "I'm so sorry, Keiko. No one should have to go through that. But you don't have to be alone. There are people who can help you, including me."

Keiko looked up at her, his eyes filled with hope and uncertainty. "Really? You would help me?"Y/N nodded firmly. "Absolutely. If you want— I can adopt you right now!"

A sense of gratitude spread across Keiko's face, his eyes glimmered with emotion as he thanked her continously. "Thank you- thank you so much, Miss Y/N!"

As their food arrived, they began to eat, the conversation flowing easily between them. Y/N shared stories from her day, and Keiko listened intently, occasionally chiming in with his own observations and experiences.

It was a simple, yet meaningful moment that reinforced the bond between them

.Walking out of the café together, Y/N and Keiko made their way back to her apartment, the city's lights guiding their path. As they approached her home, Y/N looked down at Keiko, her heart swelling with affection.

"Keiko, I want you to know that you're safe with me. Tommorow, im gonna take care of you from now on."

Keiko looked up at her, his eyes filled with gratitude and determination. "Thank you...I don't know how to thank you enough.."

As Y/N and Keiko entered her apartment, she noticed the boy's steps slowing down, his hesitation growing more apparent.

By the time they reached her door, he looked almost paralyzed with uncertainty Kneeling down to his level, she offered a gentle smile, trying to ease his obvious discomfort.

"It's okay, Keiko. You're safe here," she said softly, her voice carrying warmth. "I know it's a lot to take in, but I promise you'll be alright."

Keiko glanced at the door, then back at Y/N, his eyes wide with uncertainty. "I've never... I mean, I don't know what to expect," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N's heart ached for him. She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I understand. It's normal to feel this way. But I want you to know that you can trust me. Let's take it one step at a time, okay?"

Keiko nodded slowly, taking a deep breath. He stepped inside cautiously, his eyes darting around as he took in his new surroundings.

The apartment was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the cold streets he had known for too long.

Y/N closed the door gently behind them, giving Keiko a moment to adjust. "Would you like something to drink? Maybe some hot chocolate?" she offered, hoping to make him feel more at ease.

Keiko's eyes brightened slightly at the mention of hot chocolate. "Yes, please," he replied, his voice a bit steadier.

Y/N smiled and led him to the cozy living room, where she gestured for him to take a seat on the couch. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll be right back."

As she prepared the hot chocolate in the kitchen, Y/N couldn't help but think about the journey that had brought Keiko into her life.

It was no doubt that this young boy needed her, and she was ready to do whatever it took to provide him with the stability and care he deserved.

Returning to the living room with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate, Y/N handed one to Keiko and sat down beside him. "Here you go. I hope you like it." Keiko took a cautious sip, a small smile forming on his lips. "It's really good. Thank you."

Y/N watched him with a mixture of relief and affection. "You're welcome, Keiko. If there's anything you need, or if you want to talk about anything, I'm here for you. This is your home now too."

Keiko nodded, his shoulders relaxing a bit as he settled into the couch. "It's just... a lot to get used to," he confessed. "But it feels nice to have someone who cares."

Y/N reached out and gently squeezed his hand. "I'm glad you're here, Keiko. We'll take things one day at a time, and I promise I'll be here to help you through it all."

As they sipped their hot chocolate in companionable silence, Y/N felt a sense of calm wash over her.

For the first time in a long while, she felt like she was exactly where she needed to be, doing exactly what she was meant to do.

Eventually, Keiko's eyes grew heavy, the events of the day finally catching up to him. Y/N noticed and gently suggested, "How about we get you settled in for the night? You need your rest?."

Keiko nodded sleepily, and Y/N led him to the spare bedroom she had quickly prepared; the room was simple but cozy, with soft bedding and a few comforting touches.

"This will be your room," Y/N said, helping him get comfortable. "If you need anything, my room is just down the hall."Keiko looked around, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Thank you, Y/N. For everything."

"You're welcome, Keiko," she replied, her voice filled with warmth. "Goodnight. Sleep well." As she left his room and quietly closed the door, pausing to stare at the wall before she returned to her own room.

-Word Count: 2208 (no a/n)

MASTERLIST

#bnha hawks #boku no hero academia #mha hawks #my hero academia #bnha #mha #takami keigo #hawks #hawks x reader #mha keigo x reader

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airborneace · 1 year

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Which is the bigger desire for Winona: to love someone or to be loved by someone? Is Winona more of a person who wants someone to love her so she can love them back, or is she someone who loves someone so they can love her back?

Hooo boy, let's see here. I think Winona is someone who feels like she needs to put a lot of burden on her shoulders. Because her position affords her a little bit more authority, even over other gym leaders, she feels the need to compensate by working extremely hard to make sure no one can say that she isn't acting worthy of her job. So the easy answer here is that she's very much a woman married to her job at the moment, and tends to not have a lot of room for private getaways and "me time".

But we're not here for easy answers, so we'll talk about how Winona is, of course, more emotionally complex than that. A lot of Winona's interactions with new people are going to be in a business-like setting. Whether it's as supervisor for the Pokémon Association, or as Gym Leader of Fortree City, people who meet her tend to have some sort of an agenda. That in and of itself is enough to have her feel like she needs to maintain a professional atmosphere around others. Her default when meeting people like this is "XYZ needs to get done, so how can we work towards that?" rather than wondering how well she will click with others. This results in Winona being quite amicable as an acquaintance to most, but unless a person is a regular face in her life, she isn't going to advance a relationship to anything much deeper than that. The friends she does have are people she knew before her promotion to her position. School friends or trainers she met along her own Pokémon journey.

There is one notable exception to this: Passion. If there's one thing she finds incredibly admirable in someone, it's being passionate. When she sees trainers failing her Gym challenge over and over, but they never give up, because their dreams depend on it, that's when her heart just flutters and she thinks, this is a fire I want to stoke and nurture. I believe that's why she and Flannery grew crew to be so close. Flannery is a relatively new Gym Leader, but she tackled the job with everything she got and it won Winona's friendship. This girl really wants to see people who are driven succeed. It reminds her of herself when she was younger, as a fairly sheltered girl in a bit of an isolated community. Winona wanted to see the world and always dreamed big. She found inspiration in the spirit of adventure, and hopes to pass that on to others who show that same passion. These are the kinds of people she will go out of her way for. But that is the exception, rather than the rule.

Thus, she's not the type to really go out and love someone first. It's just not what's going through her mind most of the time. She's definitely more reactionary when it comes to interpersonal relationships. If she sees someone is making a genuine effort to connect with her, then she's absolutely going to try to reciprocate. She doesn't purposefully push people to stay at arm's length. She just falls into a position where people aren't there for the reason to organically foster a relationship most of the time. The truth of the matter is that she's actually quite stressed in what she does. She's happy she can be of use, but she will push herself too hard when the going starts to get tough. And in those moments she would love nothing more than to have someone place a hand on her shoulder and tell her that she's doing a great job. If you're willing to go out of your way to try and befriend the overworked pilot lady, or at least signal to her that you would like to, she will definitely be the type to make time for you, because she likes to be around people who care, and she does (secretly) want to be around people she can feel free to be vulnerable around.

#OOC : In-Flight Announcement 🪶#ASK : Carrying Mail 🪶#HEADCANON : Witness Wind's Majesty 🪶#mxstball #(Sheeesh okay this was a bit of an introspection for her)#(I thank you for the ask! It was actually really fun to think about all of this)#(Even if it feels like I rambled a little bit I appreciate the excuse to do just that!)#CW : Caution Advised 🪶#cw long post

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johnsamericano · 3 years

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𝔖𝔲𝔤𝔞𝔯 ℜ𝔲𝔰𝔥 𝔧.𝔧.𝔥 •3•

I hope this ain't getting shitty. Thank you for reading, sexy people. Send me a message or an ask if you'd like to be added to the tag list.

warnings: hungover jaehyun, age gap, hospitals, nothing too extreme.

sugar rush m.list.

taglist: @thoreeo @trustmahluv @sunny-nyu @nanascupid @silent-potato @painted-hills

Yoonoh woke up on a strange bed, the mattress stiffer than the one he had back home. He refused to open his eyes, fearing that the daylight would worsen his headache.

“Wake up, sunshine.” He groaned, all the memories from the past night hitting him like a truck. “Come on, I made breakfast.”

His eyelids finally fluttered open, frown softening at the sight of you in a messy bun and your cute pajamas.

“How come you look so fresh?” The dark circles under his eyes had deepened in the span of a few hours. Thank God he didn't have to work that day.

“I always look fresh.” You seemed to be more comfortable around him. Perhaps it was because you had to tuck him in last night. “Up.”

You tugged both of his limp hands, forcing him to sit up.

“What did you cook? It smells nice.” He scrunched up his nose like a little kid.

“Eggs, bacon, and hash browns.” Fast as lightning, he got up from bed. On his way to the kitchen, he noticed the blanket hanging from the edge of your sofa. Disappointment pinched his heart.

“Why didn't you sleep with me? You would've been more comfortable.”

You set two plates on the small table, pulling the pan out of the stove to serve them.

“You spread yourself all over the bed as soon as I laid you down.” You lied successfully. You didn’t have the heart to tell him you weren’t that comfortable yet.

You let the pan down on the kitchen counter, taking a seat in front of him.

“Do you still want to visit my father?” Sparkling orbs stared at him timidly, fearing his answer would be negative.

“I mean…” You hummed, trying not to give it as much importance. “I do want to go!” He quickly corrected himself, frantically shaking his hands. “It’s just that I don't want to meet your father like this.” He pointed at his bed hair, which had only become messier since he woke up.

“You’re acting like he's gonna see you.” There was a slight bitterness in your tone, along with a fake grin.

“Alright, let's do this instead...” Yoonoh sat up straight, clearing his throat as if he were about to give a speech. “We’ll have breakfast, you'll shower quickly, and then we’ll drive to my house so I can fix myself. How does that sound?”

“So I'm finally gonna see your mansion? How exciting.” You kicked his leg teasingly under the table, his cheeks inevitably dipping as he tried to suppress a smile. “I bet you have some peacocks in your backyard.”

“And there's also a dolphin in my pool.” He let out a hearty laugh, extending his arm over the table to grab your hand.

His house was most definitely not what you expected.

It was about the size of the one you grew up in, the decoration inside minimalistic. There were no expensive paintings framed with pure gold, only pictures of him and his family. There was a small backyard you could access through the French door in the kitchen. Half of it was occupied by a greenhouse.

“I had to donate the peacocks to the zoo.” He whispered as you looked through the glass door, squeezing your shoulders with his slim fingers.

“What a shame.” Hesitantly, he wrapped both of his limbs around your torso, letting his chin rest stop of your head. Your heartbeat was thumping loudly against your chest. Yoonoh surely felt it but decided not to comment on it.

“There’s a Tv in my room in case you want to watch something while I shower.” A hint of mischief adorned his honey-like voice. “Or you can come in and watch me instead.”

“Stop!” Your elbow connected with his ribs out of pure panic, making him bend in pain with his hands covering the injured spot.

“It was a joke...” He whispered, teeth gritting together.

I made him mad, you thought. Should you escape or face the consequences of his anger? All thoughts erased from your mind as he grabbed your calves, lifting you over his shoulder.

“Put me down!” You hit his back with closed fists, unable to see the expression on his face. “Yoonoh!”

He went up the stairs, proceeding to enter his room and throw you on his bed. Thousands of dirty scenarios crossed your mind before he threw himself on top of you, crushing your bones under his muscular body.

“My...ribs...”

“Oh, sorry, what is that?” To make matters worse, his fingers tickled your sides, provoking a fit of desperate giggles to escape your mouth. “I’m not hearing an apology.”

“Sorry! Sorry!” His hands finally stopped, giving you time to breathe. Nonetheless, he remained laid on your chest, using his forearms to lift his weight. “Aren’t you gonna shower?”

“I like you.”

The confession was so sudden, so raw it took you some time to finally react. But you had no words to give him an answer, instead, you combed your fingers through his long hair, massaging his scalp while waiting for him to speak up again.

“I never thought I'd be feeling more than friendly affection for you. Our agreement doesn't include love, after all. But I've started feeling like a teenager all over again. I can't help but get excited whenever you call me. Do you know how sweet your voice sounds through the phone?” He sighed, discouraged at your lack of response. “I guess you're not there yet.”

Instead of verbally answering, you planted a sweet kiss on his head, right where small, grey hairs had started growing.

“I’m not good with words.”

“That’s alright.” He snuck his hands under your back, holding you tightly as a sudden need to nurture you took over him. The mature image he had of you faded in less than a second, leaving behind a young, troubled woman. “I’ll shower quickly so we can go see your pops. I bet we’ll get along just fine, maybe even go golfing when he wakes up.”

“I forgot you're almost the same age. Creepy.” He smiled, though uneasiness started steering in his guts.

“Does that bother you?” He asked without giving it a second thought.

“I don't know yet.”

(...)

The man with high cheekbones and bruised skin laid limp on the hospital bed. Yoonoh had been working on his case for about a month, yet, it only started feeling real the moment he entered the room.

“This is my dad.” All emotions had escaped your eyes as if your soul wasn't there anymore. Only an empty shell.

“You look so much like him.” he was afraid touching you wouldn't be the right thing to do, so instead, he said: “He seems like a suitable golf buddy.”

Tension finally loosened its grip around his body as you snorted, pigment returning to your cheeks. Finally, he wrapped his hand around yours.

“He will wake up, y/n.”

“He’s taking his sweet time.” You glanced back at the laying figure, skinnier with every day he spent asleep. “I want someone to pay for taking away the last person that loved me.”

The last person that loved you. Would Yoonoh be able to fill that spot? Not yet, probably. He couldn't modify the depth of his feelings, but he could surely give you the vengeance you longed.

“Do you trust me?” With your eyes still glued to your father, you nodded. “Then I can assure you we’ll win the case.”

“I know we will.”

He sat silently with you, holding your hand without saying a word. The smell of alcohol and the beeping noise of machines made him nauseous. He hated hospitals. You noticed the change in his demeanor, his hand becoming cold while holding yours with strength.

“Do you wanna go?”

“No!” He smiled through the pain, scooting his chair closer to lay your hand on his lap.

He wouldn't agree to get his ass off the plastic chair. You had to tell him you were hungry for him to finally stand up, still clutching your hand like your father did when you were still a kid. His parental behavior caused several emotions to stir inside your guts, so mixed up you couldn't quite put a finger on any of them.

“What do you want to eat?” The tension finally left his body once out of the building.

“Soup.” You smiled while swiping your thumb on top of his knuckles. “I know a place, but to be honest, it isn't good. So we can go to the store and get the ingredients to- but you can't cook.”

“I’m up for a cooking lesson if you are.” He wanted to see your pretty smile again. Maybe making a fool of himself would help. “Let’s hit the road.”

“Wow, so cool.”

“I know.”

(...)

“Can you grab that can of chicken broth?” You pointed at the high shelf, letting go of Yoonoh’s hand to allow him to move freely

“I have a better idea.” He dragged you by the arm so you were standing in front of him, trapped between his body and the shelf. “I’ll lift you so you can reach it.” Matching his words, his hands grasped your waist, ready to carry you.

“Stop!” You slapped his hands repeatedly between giggles. Ignoring your complaints, he started lifting you. “Yoonoh!”

“Yoonoh?” A feminine voice had him placing you back on your feet in less than a second.

“Seryeong, I didn't expect to see you here.” His hands remained seated on the curve of your waist.

“Neither did I. I was surprised when Sungchan told me you'd left early yesterday.” She seemed a bit older than you but still younger than the man behind you.

“I had some matters to take care of.” She eyed you from head to toes with a smug grin plastered on her lips. Just by the look of her clothes, you could tell she was as wealthy as Yoonoh. You feared the scene would turn into a tv worthy drama.

“I’ll go get the chicken breast.” You tried escaping his grip, only to be pulled closer to his warmth.

“No need to. It's already inside the cart.”

Why am I so dumb?

“Does your father know about your little girlfriend?” She asked without hesitation.

“I guess.”

“And why didn't he tell me anything?” She cocked an eyebrow, his hands finally loosening around your body and allowing you to move from your position.

“Look, this is something you should talk about with him. Now, if you excuse us...” With a hand on your shoulder, he began pushing the cart to the next aisle, the chicken broth long forgotten.

“Is this some kind of arranged marriage situation?”

“Something like that.” His hands were tense while holding the cart, knuckles turning white from the strength used. “Before you start asking, I'm not really in the mood and I don't want to direct my bad mood toward you. Let's talk about something else, alright?”

Who was that woman that had the power to turn him into a literal raging ball of fire with just a few words?

#nct au #nct imagines #nct ot21 #nct smut #nct x reader #nct #nct scenarios #nct 127 #nct angst #nct jaehyun #nct fluff #nct jung yoonoh

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siriusmydeer · 3 years

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Sirius x twin!reader where he runs away and doesn't say goodbye or anything, and they've always had a bad relationship because reader is like regulus and sirius is, well, sirius. baso angst where the reader is now ignoring sirius at hogwarts and sirius is trying to talk to her which is strange because before it was the other way round. she snaps and tells sirius how he knew what would happen if she ran away, and it was that she would get twice as many bad things to make up for sirius not (1)

the forgotten sister

sirius black x fem!twin!slytherin!reader

summary: sirius leaves you with aching despair the the faults that comes with being a black heir.

word count: 2.7k

warnings: child abuse, arranged marriage, angst, mentions of being imprisoned, mentions of death, mentions of violence, being disowned, mentions of death eaters, bad mental health, insinuation of depression, insinuation of a panic attack and bad sibling relationships

a/n: rate this cuz idk how to write angst but this has been sitting in my inbox for so long i’m so sorry

despair.

dejection.

guilt.

it was clear as day in your thought-stricken mind, without a second thought it ran thickly through your families veins for generations. every single heir of the noble house of black had the one ranging emotion of anything in a malicious, loathsome, vile and horrid context.

brothers, they were suppose to protect their siblings, love and nurture them above anyone else. they were suppose to kiss your forehead when you were sad, play with your barbies till they wanted to rip out their eyes because you had nobody else to play with, they were suppose to show another emotion than trepidation.

twins, the bond shared between them in unmatchable to any other sibling, they shared a womb for nine months, a direct bond, no seperation for nine months, thirty nine weeks, two hundred and seventy three days, a total of six hundred, five thousand and seventy hours together. a bond that should last a lifetime, of happiness, absentminded chuckles, homeliness, and love.

that’s what it should have, that’s how it should look in the peering eyes of anyone who had looked upon the similar featured siblings.

sixteen years, the only thing you had receiving in attempts of happiness, absentminded chuckles, homeliness, and love; but not everybody got what they wanted, in return you had received the raw sickly end of despair, dejection and guilt. what could such a young girl do to upset her brother from the very second her life begun? since the first weep that left sirius’ mouth, it almost felt like a duty ringing through your brain like a recurrent lullaby rather than a curse to be ignored by your family, and to only serve them when they deemed necessary for your forgotten presence.

rather than the lullaby on how a spider ran up a web, the only word familiar words in your brain since the ripe age of six was ‘crucio.’ the red tinging flare that sped across your living room like a jolt of lightening from the sky had just become a familiar sight to see at while your panic stricken figure strided through your house for just a few seconds more of peace.

dense words could be shared with your twin, not even a ‘good morning’ on most days. maybe a subtle nod when he first saw you as you both woke from your slumber if you were lucky, maybe even a sparing glance once or twice throughout the day. the first and last born female at the hands of walburga and orion black was simply ignored, a nobody, absolutely and completely nothing.

atleast sirius was there, he may not have spoke to you, or even looked in your direction but his presence in the dreadful household could’ve been enough, enough to put your blearing mind at ease for the night. that you had survived another day, that the next passing day his presence still comforted you because he was still there, that even though he didn’t protect you; he could protect regulus when he deemed fit, and as much as it put you in a absentminded agony, you appreciated his efforts to your youngest brother.

the following morning you woke up, his presence was diminished. his aura had vanished, the pungent smell of nicotine had left no trace on the stygian walls, the husk smell of expensive leather no longer enveloped in your ventilation and the irritating scent of his nose itching cologne was in absentia.

twin-tuition the muggles muttered, when two siblings who shared a whom could know almost everything and anything about each other without a second blip of thought. the walk to his room was excruciating, because in your heart his comforting presence had fled. the pink floyd and beatles posters had been torn from the walls, the mahogany wood from his drawers had been completely dismembered and his closet had been utterly ransacked.

he had left; he had left you.

that was the feeling of despair.

not even a note in his absence, not an explanation, not a second thought, sirius was gone; and sirius was not ever coming back.

the duration of the winter ‘holidays’ had seemingly passed slower than usual with the absence of your brother, the dismembering two weeks had finally been put on hold on your mind. finally finding the will to get out of your bed and put your mental health back to where it could’ve functioned at a less than normal way, the usual way. except you were sent back onto the hogwarts express only clinging onto the younger brother you had left, mind you he would’ve went off the second he stepped aboard but three seconds with your brother could’ve put you off for nine hours.

there was no will to try, no persuasive black ‘i get what i want’ attitude left churning in your system, the feeling of disgust trembling through your veins that your family would never accept you as long as you remained ‘y/n’ and not ‘y/n black,’ so you had to do what was right to protect regulus. because even though his nurturing feelings were inattentive, you would still do what was necessary to protect him.

if you weren’t the keen resemblance of your family you could’ve believed that you were adopted, having no will to become a follower of the dark lord, and no will to produce dark magic.

yet, you did what you had to do, an action that in no way would have been thought about for you; but you had what the other noble heirs lacked, compassion.

every corner you turned you had no will to search for the gryffindor brunette, your eyes didn’t erratically search for his searing silver irises, you didn’t attempt to decipher the red and gold colours from the green and silver that could’ve been crowded amongst the library, or the great hall. any will you had left for the receiving end of love from your family had utterly vanished.

that was the feeling of dejection.

sirius knew that prior years to hogwarts that you had rapidly searched for him in every single corner, mind you even there was a possibility he wasn’t there; you never faltered, you still gaped intently. it gave him the slight aching pain that he carried with himself, but the viridescent green you wore had him believing that you were simply no better than lucius malfoy or evan rosier.

it began to itch at his neck that you no longer had the need to know if he cared, if he was in the same room as you, if you even had the decree to call him your brother anymore. seemingly, you were always in between the walls of the library, a vermillion, maybe amber hued book sturdy between your hands in your grasp as you flipped the pages.

if you hadn’t shared the infamous last name, people would have never believed the two of you were what you called siblings, twin brother and sister. the epitome prankster, outgoing, and womanizer of hogwarts, the timid, skittish, quiet pureblood slytherin; and they just happened to share the same blood.

the female twin adorned reading, not because each book had different words carved upon its ivory paper, and not because there were hidden messages upon the words she so happen to enjoy deciphering but she loved reading partially because it allowed her to cry over someone else’s sadness when she could no longer identify her own.

her heart left sunken, submerged into somebody else’s misery because her own feelings enough weren’t able to bare.

he was silent for once, his mouth not barking up a laugh with his mates, he wasn’t sauntering around like he owned hogwarts himself, he was timidly walking into the depths of the library that were hidden from students. he was suddenly thoughtless, but his mind was not clear, and now face to face with the ghost of his sister; someone whom he had no intention to know, but now the wave of empathy ridden into his bloodstream as he saw the sudden tears glaze her eyes.

“you— you don’t look for me anymore. i noticed that, you don’t try and, try and look.” he started almost rudely, the first sentence he had ever uttered to his sibling was assumably how she didn’t care for his presence anymore. he was unable to produce many words at his shock, his nimble fingers anxiously shoving themselves into the grey slacks he had boughten for this years semester.

“i tried, at first. but you’re not worth a look anymore, sirius, because everywhere i go, the shadow of you is all i see.” as you contributed your words they only continued to be more broken, and stammered. the whimper in your tone clear as day as you spoke to someone you once called family, and now a sudden stranger.

“you left sirius, you left your sister, you left your brother. you left the people that needed you most because you’re selfish, you were thinking of you, not of us. so you don’t fucking deserve to be considered anymore, you don’t earn my respect on being thought about, sirius,” you were tired, achingly tired of fighting. you were tremendously exhausted of trying to fight for just a tinge of acknowledgments from your family members.

“you knew if you ran and you didn’t take us with you it would get worse, and you did it anyway. that makes you a coward, i guess the sorting hat does make mistakes after all.” you concluded, now wearied from your brother suddenly giving you the time of day when you don’t care to yearn for it anymore. his decisions affecting you single-handedly the most, your emotions no longer considering his aching feelings as his sister dismissed him at the similar treatment you had recurrently received.

“now i’ve got this penetrating, life altering ink on my wrist, because of your foolish actions. i have to pay for it, and a husband awaiting me. so now that you’re going all cry baby on me because i don’t try and find you anymore, you can stick your dreary where it came from because your damage is done.”

he had no thoughts, no words, completely ambushed. his older twin sister, someone whomst he adorned as his role model as a young boy, something he would never admit to as a child due to his stubborn nature, was now a death eater and profused in an arranged marriage because he couldn’t give a thought about his despairing twin. but now sirius had finally revived the raw end of the final emotion,

he had felt the emotion of guilt.

because even though he was trying to scoundrel some effort of empathy towards you the only thing displayed in front of him was the way your eyes spoke a thousand words but no one ever took the time to read them.

he never took time to read them.

“you need to leave— you need to run! w—why are you still there?” he started to hastily question as he peered at you erratically. his mind suddenly starting to boggle with questions as to why you would keep yourself in such a harmful situation, why you wouldn’t just run like he did.

it was simple to you, you weren’t selfish, you weren’t sirius.

“because i cannot leave regulus in that god forsaken house, the dark lord and his pesky followers would find me, and our parents would torture me, and murder me without remorse.” you finished, saying it too him like you had scribbled it upon a paper and practiced reading it every night like you were preparing for an exam, as if you would be questioned and persuaded to leave under the hands of your parents.

“i heard you— with regulus, you wanted to take him but not me. you almost brought him with you to the potters,” you revealed to the gryffindor, finally having the will to tell him clearly, on how he had wronged you in life and that there was absolutely nothing he could do to fix his actions.

“why do you never pick me sirius? why do you not want me as your sister? ‘ve always tried to protect you, why haven’t you done the same?!” at first your tone was monotone, almost dead but as your words continued your patience grew shorter and your rage grew larger.

your hand further having to clasp over your mouth by the end of your sentence before your classmates would’ve have gotten curious, and nosy at the altercation that was happening between the death eater and the disowned behind the shelves.

“i don’t— i don’t know, i just, s’different.” he was left thinking in confusion as to why he treated you differently, maybe it’s because you were the eldest, maybe you were female and in his eyes you possibly resembled his mother, maybe he had absolutely no idea as to why he treated you different.

“you dont— you don’t know? suddenly when i don’t give a shit about you, your yearning for your older sisters love. well guess what sirius, you’re not going to get it. your damage is done and there’s nothing to reverse it; so bugger off with your gryffindor mates, and your new family. if you want regulus to have a decent life from what he can live left, take him now before they take him too.” you concluded,

your first and last conversation occurring with your brother, several words left unsaid as you left him dumbfounded in the library, feeling the shoulder on shoulder collision as you left.

breathe in, breathe out. simple, again, again, again. the valley of tears were almost screaming at your waterline to let loose, to cry, to scream, to do something, anything. perhaps instead, you stood astonishingly still inside the girls lavatory, thinking, just thinking.

‘what did i do in my past life to deserve this now’ it was a simple and clear question, one that could never be answered, one without an explanation.

but yet you yearned for such a simple, yet complicated answer, maybe in another life sirius had the will to know you, your parents had the decree to love you, and maybe you weren’t sent down a path of affliction.

but that was another life, it wasn’t yours.

time went by, seconds, minutes, hours, weeks and years. they flew by, and now you were no longer that sixteen year old girl. you were eighteen, dressed in ivory with a small train at your feet, makeup painted on your eyelids, a small veil placed onto your head and your hands throughly squeezed in another’s; with the dreadful matching injected ink into your inner left fore-arms.

as the years had flew to that moment, lost was a lovely place to find yourself, but it simply wasn’t enough; it would never be enough. you had to wear the mask, ever noble heir of black had their own personal one, the one that covered every detailed flaw of you.

because after watching both of your brother’s, your supposed nurturers, your protectors, the ones that were suppose to love each and every bit of your aching soul left, you never realized how strong you had to be until being strong was your only choice that remained.

because in essence happiness is just blissful delusion, that esentially wouldn’t last forever no matter how exceedingly much you pleaded to merlin for it too last a second, maybe a minute if you were lucky.

but noble heirs of black weren’t lucky, they were cursed. and now you were finally brought upon to carry the tradition your children would be barred with, now carrying the last name of ‘dolohov.’

still remembering clear as day, like the sun was beaming into your viewpoint that one conversation you had shared with sirius in the library. the despairing love still left in your heart for your brother, your brother who stood up for regulus.

no matter how much they dismissed you as their protector, as their sister, as someone who loved them, you would always carry love for them in your trembling heart. after the amount of curses you took in their place, the screaming threats, the weeps from both of your brothers that stained your clothes, the times you had to face your parents in their absence.

you still had love for them, even if it wasn’t returned.

perhaps someday when you found the courage you crawl back home, beaten, defeated, maybe half dead. but not as long as you could remember the mark of family embedded into your heart, and your arm.

the noble heir’s of black, imprisoned, dead, and married off.

taglist: @fific7 @wisedreamcatcher @kittykylax @ronbrokemyheart @aspiringsloth20 @georgeswh0re @amourtentiaa @msmb @fangouria @five-cups-of-coffee @dracofknmalfoy @emmaev @serenitywilderness @artemis1orion @sirius-animagus @famdomhideout @hufflepogue @kirascottage @luvvninaz @miraclesoflove @black-like-my-soul

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stayevildarling · 3 years

Text

Cordelia Goode x Reader - In the Silence

gif credit: @billiebeanhoward

word count: 4.9k

warnings: none, just fluff

A/N: Hi everyone! This took me quite a while but I got a little inspiration for this from a song called ''In the silence'' by JP Cooper. It's basically Cordelia x Reader in love for years but rather expressing it in silence than with words.

Taglist:

@lunaticwhittaker , @mrsdeanhoward , @alexajbitar , @in-cordelias-coven , @kenzbro , @loverofallthingssarah , @twistedpoeticjustice , @billiebeanhoward , @minaslittleone , @lilypadscoven , @vintagepaulson , @ninaahs , @whitelotus00 , @httpfiftyshadesofgay , @talulahmae

Standing by the entrance of the greenhouse, you are greeted by warm sunlight coating your cheeks and your senses momentarily clouded due to the many flowers and plants residing in the house, mostly build out of glass, as well as the tender care and affection that is put into nurturing them and helping them grow.

A smile creeps it's way onto your features, as you still show the same reaction when entering the greenhouse, even after having entered it multiple times, through many seasons throughout the year and at various times of the day or night. It had always been your safe space, the place you could run to, whether it being one of those days, one of those lonely nights or when you want some peace and quiet. Most of the witches would usually use the greenhouse as a source for their magic. Walking in and out quickly, grabbing the ingredients they need for a potion before walking back out again, after the service was provided. To you, it had always been your source of safety and light and sometimes you questioned whether it was silly, considering after all it was just a greenhouse. However, the only person beside you, treating the building with the same care as you, is currently standing in front of you, mending to the plants. Watering some of them, and giving them a little extra attention as she fears they wouldn't grow or survive if it wasn't for her tender and magic touch. Cordelia.

You watch as she moves swiftly between the rows of pots filled with herbs and flowers, spraying some of them with water, inspecting the leaves carefully. Another smile makes it's way onto your face, as you remember seeing her in here for one of the first times, years ago. Her hair used to be shorter and thinner, the same blonde but slightly lighter. Throughout the years, her hair had changed, into a slightly darker shade, as well as the thickness as her blonde locks are now fuller and glowing, radiating her perfect health and beauty. The first time you had seen her in here, Cordelia was a completely different person, much more quiet, holding back and so insecure. When she saw you enter, her eyebrows furrowed and you could tell how nervous she felt, as if she was an intruder in her own home and academy.

She finally turns around, noticing a presence in the room, not just based on the little shadow by the door but also her magic alerting her whenever someone is close by. For a moment she halts, not particularly in the mood for company, either one of the younger witches asking for advice again or Madison getting on her nerves about some topic. The supreme doesn't mind listening to her girls intently, after all they have always been a family to the blonde but lately the amount of council meetings, lack of sleep and new students joining, needing guidance and teaching, had taken it's toll on the usual strong headmistress. However, as she turns and notices your frame, a warm smile instantly greets you, the same smile she has reserved specifically for you.

You watch as she smiles contently at you for a moment, almost as if she was relieved it's you and not one of the students or other witches. She wasn't in a talkative mood today, you could tell by her posture and her tense shoulders, that seem to relax when noticing you. The supreme could rely on you, always knowing the two of you can work beside each other without a lot of conversation, if it wasn't needed. The headmistress and you had always enjoyed the quiet moments, being in each other's company, experiencing moments together and words exchanged without speaking. Neither of you needed magic to do that, a little smile an indication or rather a reassurance that either you or Cordelia were okay. The smirks exchanged when in company of others or across the dinner table, either one of you able to judge Madison's stupid jokes or thinking of inside jokes you and Cordelia have, without letting the others share or in on your jokes.

Communication has many forms of expressing things, mostly by talking but you and Cordelia had always found a different way to communicate. Mostly through mimics, glances and whispered confessions. Of course, that didn't come naturally and it hasn't always been this way. But throughout your years at the academy, joining just after graduating college and finally deciding to check this place out that your grandmother had always spoken so highly of, not really understanding the need to actually enroll in an academy. Magic had always been a part of your life, running around as a toddler playing with the herbs in your mother's garden, somehow actually managing to make potions as you grew older and eventually getting very invested in witchcraft, as it had run in your family for generations. After walking through the large double doors for the first time, you finally understood your grandmothers words, the instant feeling of home and belonging being with your own kind and not having to hide from other's anymore, unless they are family. You quickly became part of the academy, attending lessons at first but the headmistress instantly could tell.

From the first lesson she watched you, the blonde, at the time shy and just months before rising as the new supreme, had known that you are destined for greater things than to be a simple student at the academy. Teaching at the academy, was the suggestion that followed, although Cordelia allowed you time, getting settled in, getting to know the girls and council and the way things roll at the coven. Her offer came as a surprise, neither of you having spoken about deep subjects at that point or knowing each other too well. In fact, Cordelia had a feeling about you, knowing if there was anyone she would like to run the academy alongside with in the future, it would be you. And she was right, a few years later the two of you are teaching young witches, at one of the most known and best academies and covens in the world. It started out with Cordelia as headmistress and eventually supreme, you teaching a few students at first that needed extra help but eventually you became a full on teacher and resident at the academy, finding more than just your purpose in New Orleans. After years of Cordelia running the academy and you helping out with any problems that might have occurred, whether it was the council or other academies giving Cordelia a hard time about something, threats and dangers outside the safe walls, the coven is finally in a stable and adequate position, with all things in order.

Once again, you are snapped out of your thoughts, all the memories about joining this place and meeting Cordelia slowly pushed into the back of your mind again, as her soft voice fills the room.

''Hi there, sweetheart'' she greets you warmly and just with those simple words, the blonde has your cheeks glowing red as if the sun coating it moments ago left it burnt. Her voice had always had this effect on you, either having you blush or melt, your heart skipping a beat and feeling utter gratitude to be able to hear her honey like voice. Always so gentle and calm, being able to ground you after a long day or something causing your eyebrows to furrow, in that way that Cordelia hates. She could always tell when something was bothering you and she wishes every single time, she could change it, fix you and take care of the matter or person, upsetting you or keeping your thoughts occupied.

''Hi Cordelia'' you reply with a warm content smile, finally taking some steps into the greenhouse, towards her. You instantly notice her working on something, some books spread out on the table along with some ingredients and little potion jars and other materials.

Curiously, you examine what she might be working on, trying to figure it out before she could tell you, your inner nerd feeling challenged. Cordelia watches as your gaze averts her and wanders to the table and she smiles, knowing exactly what you are trying to figure out. She stands there patiently, even if it is just for a few seconds, giving you the needed time to figure it out.

''You are working on a truth revelation potion?'' you ask a bit dumbfounded after connection all the dots. You turn, trying to find out a response or her reasoning for making the potion. Cordelia simply smirks and assures ''Well you never know when you might need one, they can come in handy in a house full of teenagers''.

You can't help but laugh at the statement and Cordelia's antiques, making a truth potion, simply for the sake of it, knowing she has a little shelf somewhere hidden in the greenhouse, where she keeps an extra two of every single potion you could think of simply with her ''You never know when it might come in handy'' attitude.

''Can I help you? do you need me to clear some of these things?'' Cordelia asks warmly, after the laughter dies down and part of you is still unable to believe how empathetic she is, always putting her own needs second and dropping whatever she is doing for anyone.

However, Madison would definitely disagree with you right now, always pointing out how Cordelia really only is nice to you and the massive soft spot she apparently has for you. At the beginning you disagreed, thinking there is no way Cordelia could like you or her seeing you as her little favorite as Madison put it. However, the more the blonde bratty witch pointed it out, the more you started to believe it and realizing it, especially with your own feelings involved.

Love had always been a stranger to you, it often felt like a missing piece in your life, seeing couples holding hands or intimate moments shared. However at some point you started to realize that love doesn't necessary mean being in a relationship with someone or putting labels on something. To you, love had always been about feelings and expressing emotions towards someone, it didn't need more than that. At some point you realized, that person, your soulmate is closer than you initially thought. For years, Cordelia had been your mentor, despite teaching alongside you and always treating you as an equal, however there was something else involved, something almost impossible to put into words.

Both you and Cordelia developed a bond, a silent promise that no matter what happens, you would have each others back. Neither of you would let anyone speak bad about the other, often finding either you or Cordelia argue with Madison or one of the younger witches if they dare made a remark about the supreme or you as their teacher at the academy. Neither of you would let the other one get hurt, both of you ready to take your last breath's for one another at any moment given. It had happened once, an unexpected moment, the coven at one of it's peak times, neither you nor the supreme expecting an outside threat, when a stranger made it's way into the white walls of the academy. It was just after you started teaching there, now long forgotten, the only reminder of that night, the little scar on your hand that was the result of you fighting for the place that became your home over the years and protecting the people inside. Cordelia had never forgotten about the incident however, the fact she wasn't there at first, just arriving back from a council meeting, and how she found you hurt afterwards. You played it down, reassuring over and over again you are alright, but that didn't stop the supreme from dragging you into the greenhouse and mending to your wounds, just like she would usually mend to her plants. Til this day, you often find Cordelia's eyes lingering on the scar, a painful reminder of the night she failed you or her thumb swiping over it gently, as if trying to soothe the pain and ache that had faded long ago.

''No, no I just came in here to check on you'' you finally reassure her, after her question sinks in. The blonde nods and smiles warmly, causing for your heart to beat in that familiar tune, specifically reserved for the supreme. The color of your cheeks, slowly turning lighter again, in contrary to the sun now slowly setting, causing for the greenhouse to fill with beautiful colors of orange and red.

''How are you, honey?'' she asks and your gaze lingers on her, taking your eyes away from the table and ingredients for a truth enhancement potion.

You can't help but take in her features again, your eyes not able to comprehend her ethereal beauty. She is wearing one of your favorite outfits on her tonight, a brown blouse with green, red and yellow accents. The colors remind you of the woman still smiling contently at you, green reminding you of her peaceful nature and personality, always able to calm you down whether it being her voice whispering words of reassurance or her hands placed gently on your shoulders, brown eyes locking with yours, guiding you out of any state. Yellow, reminding you of her smile and laughter that always manage to light up your entire world. Finally red, the color that usually reminds you of fire and in some small way Cordelia was the fire in your life. It started burning from the moment you had walked into the academy, her calm nature, making you feel welcome from day one, her smile making your world brighter from day one and the fire of desire and love burning in you from the first day of ever seeing her.

Of course you had questioned it, after all surely she couldn't like you, or see you as anything more than teaching at the academy and a friend, she could always rely on. However throughout all of these years of working alongside her, getting to know every aspect about Cordelia, learning about her past and the scars it had left on her soul, despite the bright smiles she continues to bless people with everyday, you realized something. You realized, that it was never one sided, Cordelia indeed caring about your wellbeing, indeed having saved this specific smile just for you and her ready to die for you at any given moment. You realized, that Madison was right with her teasing and her statement carried some truth, realizing that indeed the younger newer witches joining, always questioning whether you and Cordelia were a couple. The same awkward smiles you would exchange, quickly denying that statement and stopping any speculation. However, somewhere along the lines, you questioned it, why she didn't make a first step, maybe she was afraid, after her marriage and scared of being hurt again, scared of losing you. You stopped questioning it a long time ago though, ready to be a part in Cordelia's life either way, not needing any labels or terms to determine what is obvious- your love for each other.

After all, Cordelia had given you what you longed, love, affection and everything you saw in couples, whether at the academy, in public or on television. Her greeting you with a gentle smile being enough to make your heart beat at a faster pace, her hand on your shoulder or your back, reminding you, you are never alone in this, making you feel safe and her mere presence enough to give you everything you had always wanted. Nevertheless, there were nights, those nights where the moonlight would light up your bedroom of the academy, you gazing at the ceiling, wondering what it would feel like to feel her lips on yours, to wake up next to her and to feel her. You would always shake those thoughts away, feeling grateful to have Cordelia in your life, never feeling incomplete but you did wonder sometimes.

''I'm great, how are you?'' you reply, noticing her gaze on you and finding you daydreaming again. Cordelia checks for your genuine smile, knowing you are only really saying the truth about how you feel, if there is that genuine smile. As soon as she registers it, she untenses, always worrying about you regardless.

Cordelia avoids your gaze for a moment, parting her lips before speaking ''I'm alright, sweetheart'' but you knew it was a lie. It wasn't the hesitation or her phrasing, that gave it away. It was your gut, knowing whenever the supreme was lying to you, mostly to avoid you worrying about something, because she would never want to cause any negative emotion in you. You debate for a moment, knowing asking her wouldn't usually result in her being honest, your language always being the silence, not needing many words.

Simply nodding, you focus your attention back to the potion she was working on, moments before noticing your presence in the greenhouse. ''Now, would you like some help from the best teacher at the academy, Miss Goode?'' you joke, hoping to at least find a little smile on her features. She smirks in response, her right eyebrow raising slightly, before turning her attention back on the books and potions.

The two of you, sit by the table in the greenhouse next to each other, working side by side on the potion and a few others, filling her little cabinet with healing potions and other things necessary that might come in useful one day. You work in silence, you watching her in awe as her work is so delicate and she manages to still teach you new things every day, little details, never to be read in any book, simply coming from her experience and bloodline. Occasionally, your hands would graze, as you pass her ingredients, the same feeling in your stomach, butterflies fluttering, a reminder of your feelings for the woman sitting next to you. Hours pass, neither of you getting tired of the work or the silence, simply being in each other's company enough to please you and be enough for you both.

''I think that's all, you really are quite a good teacher'' Cordelia remarks, breaking the silence, apart from the occassional small thank you's exchanged after passing her things, or you asking questions about a potion or spell.

''Quite good?'' you ask, raising your eyebrow and a little smirk now playing on your lips. The supreme nods, meeting your eyes, before standing up to fill her little potion shelf. Meanwhile, you clean the table, carefully closing the books and sorting the tools that were used.

Cordelia halts for a second, after filling the shelf, her eyes landing on you, sitting by the table. Her eyebrows furrow, chin slightly quivering and fighting the tears back that have been hidden deep down. If you were turned around in this moment, you could see Cordelia looking at her whole world, simply sitting there and waiting for her to return to the table. A little smile creeps onto her features, as she watches you clumsily drop some tools, while trying to carry them to the other side of the greenhouse.

You bend down, in an effort to pick them up and as you stand up, you notice Cordelia, standing at the other end of the greenhouse, looking at you with an expression you can't quite read or put together. Her gaze avoids yours and in that moment you realize, something is wrong as Cordelia had never avoiding your gaze, not in uncomfortable moments or moments where the two of you got close.

''Cordelia?'' you ask gently, after you meet each other by the table again. Her brown eyes meet yours for a second and without words needed you can tell something is on her mind, the pain very visible in her brown orbs. It tears you apart, hating to see her in any kind of discomfort and knowing something is on her mind, clearly upsetting her. You wish you could fix her, make her smile again, stop the pain, just like the many times she had done the same for you.

''What's wrong? please be honest'' you plead, your voice breaking in the second half of your sentence. She averts your gaze again, biting the inside of her mouth as if she was trying to bite the words back, keeping herself from being honest with you. Suddenly, it feels as if Cordelia Foxx is back, the shy, innocent and insecure headmistress, too afraid to speak her truth.

''You can be honest with me, you know that right?'' you try and reassure her, knowing the battle the supreme is fighting in her head currently. She nods at your statement, knowing she can fully rely on you but something is still holding her back, maybe the fact she isn't sure how to word what she is feeling, as she doesn't completely understand it herself.

''It's -'' she finally parts her lips, the words trying to spill from her heart but the rational Cordelia still fighting to be quiet. ''I'm here'' you whisper, reassuring her yet again. Your hand wanders to her leg, gently swiping your thumb across it in a comforting manner, reassuring her that she can tell you anything, desperately wanting to make her feel better and stop the aching in her heart and your own, seeing her like this.

''Do you ever feel like there is something missing in your life Y/N?'' she asks, suddenly the conversation turning more serious, her thoughts slightly trailing off and she allows herself to be honest and vulnerable around you, speaking her mind.

You swallow hard, the only thing to be heard for a moment the beating of your own heart as your mind instantly wanders to that feeling, as you know it too well, despite accepting long ago to be grateful for what you have instead of being upset over what you don't have.

''Yes I know Cordelia'' you start ''But I learned to understand to be grateful for the things that I have in my life'' you explain and yet again your eyes lock, her brows furrowing for a second, before her lips part again.

''But don't you ever miss anything?'' she asks, unable to understand how you could be eternally grateful, without missing anything at all. After thinking about it for a moment you reply ''I have everything I need, working here, the academy, an amazing family here and yo-'' you stop yourself, not sure whether naming her of things you need, being too much or too direct in this moment.

''What about love?'' she whispers, completely snapping you out of any thoughts, waking you up like a slap from reality just hit you in the face. ''Lo- love?'' you ask, stumbling over your words and locking eyes with your supreme. She nods, a statement of both reassuring you, you heard correctly but also begging you to explain.

''I have love in my life, Cordelia, it might be a different kind but I'm so grateful'' you explain, feeling confident as she started the subject and conversation in the first place and part of you feeling like this being your only chance to ever have an open conversation about this with her.

''But - do you ever wish it wasn't hidden or silent?'' she asks her lisp slightly showing, taking you by surprise yet again with her statement. Her eyes haven't left yours for a second, your hearts beating in synch, as all the silence is finally about to be broken, your feelings open for each other to understand.

''There is still love in the silence Cordelia'' you reassure her. You watch as her demeanor changes for a moment, as if she just realized what words are being said, for a moment you fear she won't allow the conversation to go further, maybe getting up and walking out into the moonlight or maybe changing the subject, but yet again the blonde takes you by surprise.

''I just-'' you find her stumbling over her words, the usual confident supreme faltering under her walls breaking down in front of you. She averts her gaze to the floor, tears prickling in her eyes and instantly, like an automatic reaction, your hand wanders to her cheek, cupping it gently and averting her gaze back to your own eyes, filled with nothing but love.

''Darling, if you listen closely, you will hear there is still love in the silence'' you reassure her, your hands leaving her cheek but resting on her leg again, showing her you are still right here.

''Y/N I-'' she starts, her breath shaky and words getting caught in her throat. Your eyes scan hers one last time, taking a deep breath, feeling the need to speak your mind and give her the last bit of confirmation she might need to fully understand your feelings and the love you feel for her, as well as the place in your heart that she took from day one.

''I feel love in the silence, Cordelia'' you admit, tears beginning to prickle in your own eyes as you aren't too sure of her reaction. After all, a small insecure part of yourself is still a bit unsure, even after all of these years, all of this silence. You close your eyes, bracing yourself for different ways this conversation to end and at the same time being scared of the outcome of this night.

A tear streams down Cordelia's cheek, the silence finally broken, the emptiness and loneliness in her heart ever since her failed marriage seeing a glimpse of hope right there and at the same time all her insecurities about this crushed as you made your own feelings towards her clear.

''You do?'' she asks, her voice sounding broken and small ''Even after all these years?'' she adds. You open your eyes, trying to muster up a smile but it comes out broken and painful. All you manage to respond with is a nod, a confirmation of her question but quickly realizing a nod could never be powerful enough to make her understand, just how strong your feelings are.

''Cordelia, you are the light in my darkness, that never changed and it will never change, no matter what happens'' you whisper, a tear streaming down your face as you remember all the times she had been there for you and a wave of flashbacks, occupying your mind for a moment.

You feel a soft hand wiping your tears away, snapping you out of your state and the memories, finding the blonde angel in front of you, now inches closer, her own chin trembling at your confession.

Yet again the two of you manage to exchange what is on each other's minds and in each other's hearts through silence. Two sets of eyes locking, two hands intertwining and two hearts beating in synch with and for each other.

''Y/N I-'' the supreme starts but you stop her, a finger gently placed on her pink lips, shushing her gently, part of you not ready to have the confession leave her lips yet, much rather wanting to remember this night through actions.

The minutes seem to fly by, as the white light of the moon fills the greenhouse with light, only adding to how ethereal Cordelia looks right in front of you, her eyes still not having left yours.

''Close your eyes sweetheart'' Cordelia whispers and without hesitating you close your eyes, trusting the supreme blindly with anything. Your heart beats out of your chest as you wait for something, some words filling your ears, something touching you but all you can feel is one of her hands still intertwined with yours, the only thing to be heard each other's breathing.

Suddenly you feel and hear a shaky breath much closer to yours, almost connecting with your own, a split second of hesitation, before your lips part and you feel Cordelia's on your own. Everything stops for a moment, your thoughts, your own heart beating and your lungs stopping you from breathing. Her lips on yours, something you have only dreamed of before, now finally connected with yours, feeling each other for the first time and again a hushed confession of your love for each other.

Opening your eyes, you see the blonde angel so close, her lips still pressed on yours, her eyes closed and a stray tear streaming down her cheek. Neither of you let go until the need for oxygen reminds you both to pull away. You watch as the supreme leans back, carefully and gently, her eyes still closed.

Brown eyes meet yours, a smile plastered on both of your faces, before you wipe her tears, not realizing your own haven't stopped yet. In synch you mend each other again, still taken back by the kiss and both of your senses clouded, while the butterflies in your stomach don't seem to stop fluttering, sending tingles all over your body.

A cheeky smile makes it's way onto Cordelia's features before she whispers ''Now that was much better than silence, wasn't it sweetheart?''. You can't help but smirk, wanting to playfully punch her for the remark but at the same time, loving her for exactly these reasons. ''Much better, darling'' you reply, the same little smirk on your face.

The two of you sit in silence, the moonlight still enlightening the greenhouse, the many plants and details even more beautiful at night but your eyes only being able to focus on Cordelia, still sitting across from you, her hand intertwined with yours, rubbing her thumb over the scar on your hand, like she usually does. After all of these years, you realize it was worth it, all the silence, whispered confessions, worth this exact moment, to have had her lips on your own and even if there are many questions about the future on your mind, you only manage to focus on enjoying this night and feeling content.

#cordelia goode #cordelia goode x reader #cordelia goode imagine #sarah paulson #sarah paulson x reader #sarah paulson imagine #ahs #ahs coven #ahs apocalypse #cordelia foxx #cordelia foxx x reader #american horror story #writing #wattpad #lbgtq

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thediamondgirl17 · 3 years

Text

Okumura Twins x Mother Figure! Reader: A Mother’s Love

Well! This one is a request from @aspergerhero and I hoped you like it! The request was:

“ I would like to request a Blue Exorcist drabble where reader is a kind-hearted young girl who’s tasked to raise the Okumara Twins as if they were her own children “

And I am so happy to have written this! I’m gonna add my own little twists to it so I hope you don’t mind.

Warning: Pg-13

You had always wanted children of your own. Children who you could raise and nurture and teach. However, the life of an exorcist was hard and grueling. You barely had time to make dinner for yourself most nights. And that was no life for a child to be brought into. So for now, you were more focused on your work.

It was only when Shiro Fujimoto showed up at your house with two babies in his arms, that your feelings of wanting to be a mother has re-ignited. You invited him in and took turns holding the children.

“So...They are Satan’s?” You asked looking over to him. He was sipping on his tea after having told you how he had come into possession of the twin boys. “They don’t look it.” You said with a soft smile.

“Yup...born the other day...Only one of them held the powers of Satan...I locked it away.” He said and leaned back in his chair. “Look...I don’t know how to do this parenting thing...But they are my problem now.” He said trailing off.

“Is this my invitation to raise these two boys? Because if so you are doing a horrible job with it.” You giggled a bit.

“Well! Y-you know!” He said rubbing the back of his neck. “Your more into healing people as a doctor than an exorcist …We are gonna need someone like you around.” And that was what marked your start as the stand in mother to the Okumura twins.

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“Th-the monsters won’t g-go away!” Yukio cried in front of you and Shiro in the monetary. You had moved in there a bit after having agreed to help raise them. You opened your arms to the crying child and held him close, gently rubbing his back.

“It’s okay Yukio,” You said softly and hummed to him to calm him down. And once he was calm, you had let Shiro take over. After Yukio had known everything and started studying to be an exorcist himself, you were his biggest role model.

“Mom!” He would call, and you would walk over and help him with his studies. One of your proudest moments was when he had become an official doctor, just as you had.

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Now Rin...had been a bit different. There were long afternoons of patching up his cuts and bruises with a kit and soft kisses here and there. The little boy always had a stern and mischievous look on his face as he went about his business.

“They called me a demon.” He cried and tried holding back his tears as you bandaged his bleeding hand.

“And what’s the matter with being a demon?” You would ask. And after that he would always go silent, looking for the answer to that question.

Through all of it, they had known that you weren’t their biological mother but they knew you as ‘Mom’ either way.

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And now the boys were older. 15 years old to be exact. And you smiled softly with a bag in your hands.

“I promise I’ll see you at True Cross Yukio.” You said kindly. “But I have some work away for a little while. So I’ll give you all of my hugs and kisses now!” You cooed and kissed his cheek. He fixed his glasses and looked away with a small smile. “Go make this world a better place.” You said softly and let go of him. “Now where is your brother? I need to leave soon...,” You let out a soft sigh. Yukio sighed as well.

“You should just go before you miss your bus...He’s probably late because something happened.” The younger twin said and fixed his glasses again.

“Alright. Then I’ll be off!” You smiled and waved.

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When you got back into town, it was for a whole other reason than you had expected. You wore a black dress and stepped out of a car with a black umbrella, it was raining and only Rin and Yukio were by the grave at the moment. Rin had looked different and a little pain went through you. ‘They’re grown up now.’

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Rin said as you walked up behind him.

“Rinny...,” You said putting your hand on his shoulder. His shoulder flamed up a bit and he ripped away from you. There were tears in his eyes.

“It’s my fault he’s gone...,” He whispered.

“No...It isn’t..,” You said softly, and turned to Yukio. “Let’s talk Yukio...,” You said with the same soft tone and pulled the other twin away.

“Mephisto said he offered you a job at True Cross.” He said looking up at you. You nodded.

“Yes...And I’ve decided to take it...I will be head of the Demon Pharmaceuticals branch.” You placed you hand on his shoulder. “I will be your boss from now on...As well as your Mom. We have to keep an eye on Rin as well.” And the boy just nodded.

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After that, you had joined TCA just as you said that you would. You sighed softly as you sat in the staff room. You put up a picture of you, Shiro, and the twins on your desk and smiled. You ran your finger over the image of him and closed your eyes.

“I’ll be there for them Shiro...No matter what...I promise.” You whispered.

#blue exorcist #rin okumura #yukio okumura #shiro fujimoto #x reader #mother reader

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takuyakistall · 3 years

Text

romeo!

Chapter 1

Synopsis: Ace Trappola from the Trappola Kingdom, there was no doubt that he was a great man that was destined to achieve glory in a few years' time. But, there was one tiny problem. Being a prince from his own country meant that he needed to marry a lady from a prominent household. With much reluctance, he ended up choosing a princess from a neighbouring country—only to find out that the Prince of the Spade Kingdom has his eyes set on her as well. Is this... Competition?

Tags: Fem!Reader, Royalty AU, mentions of death, kidnapping, anything else you would find in a romance manhwa

Note: This piece is purely self indulgent and I plan on writing more for it! But I decided to share the first chapter here. There's no action yet so this is just some build-up.

Ace Trappola was never one to abide by the silly little rules of etiquette, he always thought that they were too nitpicky and stiff ever since he was a little boy. He thought that it was useless to keep up appearances for the sake of his reputation—until he experienced firsthand how cruel high society could be to a mere child who had made a single mistake. Of course, they would never dare to utter a single word in fear that their tongues would be cut off by his Highness, the king. But he would never ever forget the cold gazes that laid upon him as soon as he turned his back.

Which is why he donned a mask. He wore it all day and night as a child, hoping that it would be indestructible as he grew up but that brought him nothing but more of the empty and hollow feeling he hated. Despite already being so well-mannered, so educated, and so charming—he was nothing more than the second prince of the country who always seemed to be overshadowed by his older brother, the first prince. He was the definition of Ace's "perfect".

"Hey uncle," little Ace referred to his butler as such as he closed the storybook he was reading. A spark of curiosity sparkling in his eyes as he continued, "how do I become as amazing as my big brother?"

A childlike innocence could easily be tainted by those with such intentions—the old butler could easily plant the wrong ideas in his head and nurture the seeds of jealousy he planted within him. He stared at him for a second before letting out a sigh, strengthening his resolve when he saw Ace's eyes full of wonder.

"His Highness does not have to do anything, you are already a wonderful child just like your brother."

"Really!?"

"Of course, I wouldn't dare lie to you. If you continue to stay on the right path, I have no doubt that you will be as great as your brother in the future." He patted Ace's head, relieved that the second prince seemed to be satisfied with the answer.

"Yeah... I will!" He declared, staring right back at his butler with an uncontrollably big grin taking over his face.

That was the last time he saw that butler.

The palace staff told him he died because of heart failure during his day off. This devastated poor little Ace Trappola greatly—demanding to be allowed to attend his funeral but was stopped by his father, saying that there was no need for someone like him to attend a servant's funeral. The hand-picked white lilies Ace took that day in hopes of paying his respects, withered inside his room as he cried his heart out.

The next day, they had already found a replacement for his butler. Someone who was far younger than his previous one and was definitely less warm—he went by the name "Rowen" and insisted that the young prince should call him that. At first, Ace put up a fight as he tried to resist everything Rowen tried to do—even if it was just a menial task such as him trying to tie Ace's necktie for him.

But, nonetheless, Ace was still a child and children, more often than not, don't know how to deal with grief. You could easily spot him crying in places he shouldn't be yet no one had the heart to tell him that, even more when Rowen asked the palace staff specifically to not approach the prince if they ever spot him like that and instead, call for him immediately.

Stuck inside the garden, Ace was barely trying to keep his sobs in as he rubbed his eyes with his sleeves.

"I miss uncle…" He cried out, perhaps getting a little bit tired of how colder the palace seemed to be towards him. A pair of footsteps suddenly approached him, Ace quickly stood up and patted away all the dirt from his clothes so it seemed like he didn't cry but his swollen eyes were a dead giveaway.

"Your Highness, I was looking for you."

"Oh, Rowen. It's you…" A dejected look took over his face, was he expecting his old butler to appear? He silently crushed his hopes as he raised a question for his new companion.

"Can I ask you a question…?"

"Of course."

"D-Do you think I can still be as amazing as my big brother?" A few seconds of silence passed by as Rowen crossed his arms.

"Forgive me for my bluntness. However, at this rate, you will never amount to what your brother will be in the future."

"E-Eh? But uncle said that—"

"Your 'uncle' was foolish, perhaps that was why he died." Rowen crouched down, his green irises staring right into Ace's eyes—there was something in his eyes that Ace couldn't put a finger on but one thing is for sure, he thought Rowen was scary during this very moment.

"What you need right now is power," Rowen pressed a finger against his lips. "And that's exactly what I can give you."

"Power? Don't I already have plenty of that, I'm a prince!"

"What you need," he pushed Ace back with his index finger, "is enough power to take the throne."

"But big brother is the only one who can take that!" Ace shouted, trying to overpower the nonsense he was hearing from his new butler.

"Heed my words and I can make it happen." Rowen's lips tugged up into a small smirk before delivering his final words.

"After all, you want to be as great as your brother, the first prince."

Ace felt confused. He clutched his chest as he thought about his words—he did want to be as great as his brother but he couldn't help but be a little wary of what Rowen might ask of him. Ace had to slap himself back to reality, there was no reason for him to think about this so seriously! There was no way he could take the throne for himself and why would he even want to do that…? Isn't he happy the way he is right now?

Ace stepped out from the garden with Rowen following him shortly behind. He stared at the castle building, the maids and butlers working about, and a few noble visitors roaming around.

That was when a little devil's voice started whispering in his ear.

Deuce Spade had been anything but happy upon growing up inside the Royal Palace. Being the sole crown prince of the Spade Kingdom, his life never consisted of flowers and rainbows contrary to what many think. If you asked young Deuce himself about his position, he would simply give you a blank stare before properly processing your question. Once he does, he’ll give you a half-hearted smile before answering with: “It’s a duty I must fulfill.”

He’d never been too fond of the fact that his life was already planned ahead of him the moment the royal palace discovered his existence in his mother’s womb. He would undergo proper education fitting for the crown prince, he would be assigned with tasks that were meant for the crown prince, and he would soon rise to the throne once his father was no longer able to rule.

Rather than inheriting the throne, he yearned for something else. Being the heir to the throne meant that there was almost nothing he couldn’t obtain but he found himself dumbfounded when his elders aggressively denied him of his desire for the first time.

His desire to become a knight.

Deuce was said to be excellent with the art of the sword, easily surpassing other kids his age. But that was not the reason why Deuce had the desire to become a knight.

One of the first things they taught Deuce was the fact that he was in a dangerous position and that there might be cases wherein other people might make an attempt on his life. He thought that it was ridiculous because, after all, who would dare try to kill the crown prince? It would be treason!

And because of that, he was too lax.

One night, the prince got kidnapped and threw the whole palace in an uproar. Little Deuce could barely open his eyes when he tried assessing his surroundings, his eyes were blurry and he couldn’t move a muscle as no voice came out from his mouth. He was beyond terrified, he thought he was going to die that night. He pleaded inside his head, begging someone to come and find him. But for days, he was yet to be found.

He thought that perhaps the Royal Palace had decided to give up on him as he lost hope himself, his eyes growing dull and duller. He had to endure the harsh treatment given to him during his abduction, the only thing keeping him sane was the single ray of hope that someone was going to rescue him.

Just as he felt as if the thread was about to snap, he saw a cloaked man barge into the place where he was held hostage with a sword in hand. Ruthlessly, he cut down the perpetrators without so much as a blink. Deuce could only stare at the scene unfolding in front of him weakly. ‘Am I… being saved?’

It took him every ounce of his strength to stay conscious. And even more when he forced himself to ask the mysterious cloaked man. He wasn’t wearing anything that could discern his homeland, Deuce couldn’t figure out where he came from. His face was covered by the hood of the cloak, he couldn’t see his features very well. Deuce was afraid that there would be no way of him figuring out his identity before he passes out, so he forced a voice out of his throat.

“Who… are you?” His voice was hoarse. The man stayed silent, sheathing his sword before walking closer to the prince and unlocking the rope binding his hands together. Deuce could slowly feel himself losing consciousness but just before he could pass out, the man finally answered his question.

“...A knight.” He muttered.

The next time Deuce opened his eyes, he was no longer in a dark place but instead, in an unfamiliar yet extravagant room. He could tell that it was not the palace in his kingdom, he felt himself panic once again as he remembered the past events. When he heard a knock on his door, Deuce flinched as he hesitantly told them to come in.

A small girl around Deuce’s age entered the room with a plushie in her arms. He told himself to calm down upon seeing her, reassuring himself that the probability of this girl doing the same thing as the ones who kidnapped him were very low.

“Are you feeling better now, Your Highness?” She asked, concern lacing her voice. Deuce clutched his arm.

“Better than before… at least. But before that, who are you?” It was only normal for Deuce to become extremely wary considering what he just went through. The young girl understood that and merely gave him a small grin.

She introduced herself as the first princess of the kingdom he was residing in. Deuce was shocked, it wasn’t his own kingdom that found him but another! Did that mean that all this time he was in a foreign country? Was that the reason why no one had found him for days? Countless questions were swirling inside his head.

The princess was the only one who was let into his room, seeing as how Deuce was more comfortable seeing someone around his own age rather than adults. She was as clumsy as she was kind, Deuce found himself being comforted by her even if most of their meetings consisted of him being gloomy.

A few days later, an envoy was sent to Deuce’s kingdom to inform them that he was safe in their palace. During that period of time, Deuce was cooped up inside his room—thinking about a lot of stuff and refused to come out for hours. When it was time for him to go, he visited the princess one last time.

“Is it possible for me to visit you in the future?” Gratitude? Attraction? Personal interest? The reason behind his words was blurred.

When he returned home, he almost gave the whole Royal Court a heart attack when he declared that he wanted to become a knight. Nobody could tell what Deuce was thinking after he was abducted, it was as if he turned into an entirely different person. But he was thoroughly denied of his desire to become a knight, in which he was highly disappointed in. But, somehow, he found a way to secretly train without anyone finding out.

Using the princess as the shield, he went in and out of your kingdom to train under the pretense of meeting her. But she was more than happy to assist him as they became partners in crime. Deuce couldn’t forget the mysterious knight that saved him and so he idolized him ever since, saying how he wanted to be someone who protected people.

“Princess!” He called out, waving his hand as he grinned at her. This was the start of their relationship with each other. Only time can tell if this was to end happily ever after or otherwise.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst writing #fanfic #self indulgent takoyaki #twisted wonderland x reader #heartslabyul #twst deuce #deuce spade x reader #deuce x reader #deuce spade #twst ace #twisted wonderland ace #ace trappola #ace x reader #ace #fem!reader #chapter one so it's mostly. . . A backstory

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couchpotatoaniki · 3 years

Text

Our Fruitless Tree

As children, the three of you were inseparable. To show this, you planted a mulberry tree together--a symbol of your love and ever-lasting friendship that would withstand the test of time. But would it really?

Pairing: Servant!Hongjoong x Royal!Reader x Nobleman!Seonghwa Genre: Royal AU, Arranged marriage AU, Love triangle, heavy angst, fluff, childhood friends to lovers (?), Fantasy AU, Warnings: swearing, mentions of conception, blood, death (unknown terminal illness; tree), unrequited love, extremely poor story-telling, magic torture, Word Count: 5.8k+

@atozfic IT MAY BE SHIT, BUT THIS ONE’S FOR YOU /g

A/N: the bridal bouquet in this is inspired by Princess Diana’s. I dunno, I just really liked it.

“Y/N! Come look over here!” Seonghwa yelled at you, hand waving in the air to beckon you over where Hongjoong and he stood. Even as children, the two were taller than you, as if their bodies had not cared you were of a higher status.

You were the only child of the Kingdom’s royal family, meaning that you had little in the way of friends. Especially when the future crown stuck to you, intimidating any future playmates. Luckily Seonghwa was the son of a family friend--a nobleman with immense power, who’s faithful lineage dated back to the creation of the kingdom.

Hongjoong was similar, the only difference being that he came from that of a servant family than of one of power, a debt made by his ancestors that had sold his life to serve the royal family. But being your servant had taught him from a young age that, unlike what everyone had tried to make you believe, you were pretty much a normal human with feelings, the weight of an entire empire on your shoulders from the day you were born.

“Coming!” you yelled back, hurriedly making your way towards your only two friends, the younger holding something behind his back while the older was practically bouncing with excitement. “What are you hiding from me?”

Grinning, Seonghwa’s hands pulled into sight, unfurling to show off the sapling in his hand. “It’s a mulberry tree! You love mulberries, don’t you?”

You believe that was the first time your heart skipped a beat--at the young age of 11--but you wouldn’t realise until a quite few years later, when life was much different, though the relationship between the three of you had not changed all that much.

That day was a precious memory, where the three of you had planted the young mulberry sapling in a secret garden that your father had built just for you, but you had opened it to Seonghwa and Hongjoong; a place where none of you had to bare the titles hovering over your heads.

Even the Earth was indiscriminate when it came to dirtying your clothes as you all kneeled to plant the young sapling easily becoming the most important thing in your friendship.

Had the three of you acting as if it was your shared child, arguing who would water the roots, talking to it as if it could respond.

As the years went on, life was much different than when you were all naïve children, but the care and love you had never weakened, even during the occasional arguments that burst between you all.

With age, Hongjoong’s untameable burnt-chocolate hair lightened to a gentle chestnut, long enough that he had to tie it back into a little bun. Seonghwa’s hair, on the other hand, had changed from a soft platinum to a dirty blonde, messy strands now pulled down into a neat style.

The two were lean. Both still taller than you, though Hongjoong was only a few inches from you.

The three of you truly believed you could withstand the test of time. That your relationship would never change no matter how long it had been.

“Are you ready for tomorrow?” you whispered, hand clamped to the stone railing of your balcony. “It’s your last chance to back out, Seonghwa.”

You could hear chuckling beside you, deeper than what you used to hear as a kid, though you dared not to look at the boy--the man beside you. “You know very well I can’t do that, Y/N. Would rather it be me that’s marrying you than some officious fool who knows nothing of your happiness.”

Sighing, you leaned over, letting your necklace dangling slightly in the air from around your neck. “Doesn’t mean you have to sacrifice your own happiness.”

You felt two colder hands wrap around your exposed arms, feeling nice against the humid summer night. Seonghwa’s chin rested down on your shoulder, as he looked on the same scene you were. Soft breaths against your skin had it erupting with goosebumps, and you prayed your friend had not noticed.

He did, but didn’t pay much heed to it--as per usual. If only he would put a little more though into the strange quirks you developed over time--developed around him and him only--maybe he would have realised that you loved him.

More than a friend.

Both of you were too lost in the moment to realise someone had entered your room. The final person to complete your trio. Hongjoong, dressed in his crisp cream and gold uniform, overlooked the scene of you two.

He didn’t know why his heart hurt so badly.

Clearing his throat certainly got your attention, ripping away from each other in fear that someone had caught you two a night before the wedding doing something you shouldn’t have. Was nothing like that, but people--especially those in the castle--tended to blow things out of proportion.

Upon seeing that it was only Hongjoong, you two had released a breath of relief. “For heaven’s sake, Hongjoong! You almost gave me a heart attack,” you said. Seonghwa had his eyes averted to the polished marble floor, unable to meet his friend’s, cheeks flushed.

You thought it was because of embarrassment that someone had caught the two of you so late at night.

It wasn’t.

“I think it would be best for you to return to your room, Seonghwa. Before someone actually does come looking for you. Don’t want someone to see you too,” Hongjoong laughed, now an expert at making a light-hearted aura around him with years of practice.

“Alright then. Good night,” the nobleman smiled, finally bringing his sight up to see his best friend, heart beating feverishly when he saw the gentle smile pulling at his lips. Couldn’t tell it wasn’t real, not even as he left the room.

Now it was just you and Hongjoong.

“Come, let’s take a walk.”

For as long as you could remember, the boy had been attentive to your needs (despite his occasional silly behaviour), long before he was told that it was his job. You’d like to think of it as his sixth sense; knowing how you were, what you needed, when you needed him.

Maybe that’s why he could tell that you had pre-wedding jitters, feeling so sick you barely had the life in you--skin looking more dreary than usual. You needed time away, even for a few minutes, to take a breather from all the commotion.

The two of you walked in silence in the sleeping halls, like two thieves in the night, careful not to wake anyone up.

Hongjoong was aware you liked Seonghwa, but he knew it was unrequited. Why, he could not his finger on. You were prefect, a person who deserved all the love in the world--in the universe.

You knew better than to ask where he was taking you; after all, you trusted him. And maybe because you also knew him well enough to know where he was taking you.

To the secret garden.

“She’s withstood all the storms and droughts the earth has threatened her with. No wonder her bark is so thick and her roots so tough.” His voice was tender as the tips of his fingers brushed against the rough bark, the trunk appearing darker under the absence of the sun. “Gotten so big, hasn’t she?”

As if his actions were a trigger, your hand reached out to stroke the mulberry tree too. “She has...” Tender look in your expression had his breath caught in his throat. Your eyes shifted to meet his, which were already gazing at you. “Do you think she’ll bare fruit this time?”

“The frost has long passed, so not this year, I believe.” Hongjoong couldn’t bare the instant hollow look in your eyes, saddened to his core until the light reignited in your irises--almost glowing in the dark like the fireflies surrounding them.

“But she will next year, right?”

“And she will bare the tastiest fruit. Better than those sold on the markets,” he reassured, though he had an inkling of suspicion that this fruit would not come any time soon. Not after all these years. But that spark in your eyes was the only thing he could not bare to extinguish, so he kept his lips pursed.

“I was reading up on the symbolism of the mulberry trees across cultures,” you said, moving to sit on the wooden swing that hung from one of the stronger branches; the rope had rose vines growing around it, which Hongjoong made sure to maintain so it was safe for you whenever you came. This was your favourite spot, after all.

He raised a brow, moving behind you as his hands rested on your back momentarily before pushing you slightly. “Is that so? Mind telling me?” He already knew from his extensive research to look after the tree, but there was no harm in hearing it again.

Excitedly, you let a wide grin play against your lips as he gradually pushed you higher and higher. “So, in Xiqen, it’s seen as a link between Heaven and Earth, and in Mika, it represents a support, nurturing and self-sacrifice.”

“Is that all?”

“Uh...yes.”

“Strange... I could’ve sworn there was some significance of the mulberry tree in Zepheth.” He began to slow down when he saw your back slump over slightly. Probably because he knew that it wasn’t a happy story.

“There is,” you mumbled, eyes downcast to the evergreen grass rather than meet his soft chocolate ones. “Just... it’s very sad.”

He held your hands in his larger ones, both of you loving the warmth it provided despite the slight heat of the night. “Not all stories are happy. Need to hear the sad ones too, to truly understand the picture.”

Words were a bit cryptic, even for him. Regardless, you had continued. “In Zepheth, there were these two lovers who were forbidden to wed, so they secretly arranged to meet under the mulberry tree. However, they were found out, and killed under the tree, staining the white berries red... It symbolises star-crossed lover and the final union of death.”

The air seemed to be still, despite the rustling of the leaves and chirping of the hidden crickets. Hongjoong kneeled down, pressing a hand onto your cheek to soothe even the slightest bit the grief in your face. “Good thing the other two have nice symbols. Cancels the bad things out.”

Chuckling slightly, you rested your own hand on his, nuzzling into his palm as your eyes shut. Stark contrast between your skins, yours being softer than silk while his were calloused and rough. But it felt nice against the supple flesh of your cheek.

You both thought so.

But with the moon so high and hair beginning to stick to your necks from the humidity and heat, you thought it best to return. “Escort me to my chambers? After all, it is a very big day tomorrow and we both have to rise early for the final preparations.”

As if he needed reminding of that. “Very well then.”

Your servant wasn’t happy with the proceedings--not when he knew that Seonghwa’s eyes did not meet the passion you had in yours, despite your many years of friendship. But he had to agree with him on one thing.

Seonghwa was the best and safest choice you (and the kingdom) had in this moment of time.

So Hongjoong didn’t protest when you walked down the isle in the most breath-taking attire, adorned with pearls and jewels, and a gorgeous bouquet of green and white; gardenias, lily of the valley, earl mountbatten roses, freesia, and ivy--and most importantly, white mulberries.

He didn’t challenge when the vows were spoken and Seonghwa promised to love you and only you forever.

He didn’t object when the Priestess gave the crowd one last chance to speak or forever hold their peace before the deal was sealed with a kiss.

Despite his gut and every other fibre in his being screaming at him otherwise.

Another two decades passed, and now strands of white hairs were peeking through, but unlike before, much had changed. You were now a parent of three--triplets, conceived within the first few tries.

Yunho, San, and Wooyoung. The mulberries of your eyes.

You suppose that’s when the rose-tint on your married life began to fade. Though he was extremely affectionate in the beginning, Seonghwa never touched you like that again after the birth of your children. Though the three kids never really noticed it much as it was all they had known, you could see it clearly.

How he would spend more and more time in his office. How he would climb in bed and talk about your day, but doing nothing more. It was if you two had reverted back to friends--that very thought breaking your heart when you had loved him so dearly.

Felt as if he looked at your feelings as if it were a trinket in a shop before putting it back, not finding it suitable enough for him.

But for Seonghwa, that wasn’t the case at all.

He tried--he really did--to love you.

By now, time had made him wise enough to know of your compassion for him and he begged himself to return your feelings. Spent many nights while you were asleep praying to the entities residing in the Heavens, crying on the hard floor of the palace’s temple until his arms grew sore and his legs went numb.

But he could not look at any other. Seonghwa could not stop his heart knocking against his chest, his cheeks pooling with heat, whenever he saw Hongjoong smile, or laugh, or do the most menial of tasks.

Could not stop the thoughts of him being by his side rather than you--and it killed him to think that, especially when you have been nothing but kind and loving to the both of them--never giving your personal servant too much work or being too stubborn in wanting your husband’s affection. Instead of pressing too much, you worked on the kids and kingdom.

You were kind, selfless.

Maybe Seonghwa should have let someone else marry you. Maybe they could love you back for all those times he couldn’t.

But he supposes that the best thing out of this marriage was his children. Despite Yunho’s hyperactivity, San’s clinginess, and Wooyoung’s mischievousness, he loved the three to the moon and back.

Helped you in raising them over the last two decades into great people.

It was the only thing he couldn’t bring himself to regret.

That, and how it had given him the excuse to be closer with Hongjoong too, the two of them learning how to look after the triplets (one already proved to be a handful, but three was a nightmare) while you were unwell or busy with other business.

There were times where he glanced at his childhood friend, playing games with the young kids or feeding them or changing them, and had completely forgotten about you. All that swirled in his head was if this is what it would look like if Hongjoong and he had a family together.

Then Seonghwa would snap out of it a spilt second later, cold shame eating away at the warmth in his chest because how could he ever think of such a thing about the mother of his kids?

Meanwhile, Hongjoong--your intelligent and faithful servant--had figured this out too. Figured out the reason why he felt so sick to his stomach when he saw you be so loving towards a man who doesn’t love you back, and why said man could not reciprocate your feelings.

If Seonghwa felt guilty, then Hongjoong felt a million times worse.

Felt as if he was the reason you were in so much pain--and he could tell you were, because he was the one you came running to in the beginning, when your husband kept his wall up around you and you became so frustrated and upset that you spilled waterfalls of salty tears onto his jacket, mumbling words of pain and heartbreak that stayed within the walls of the secret garden.

It stayed safe there, as Seonghwa no longer visited.

Not even you had visited less, despite being consumed with your children and the work of the kingdom. The tree was a sign of your love for each other, it was your very first child.

Hongjoong, too, had stayed. Continued to care for it, to keep it company on his breaks, to talk about his problems since he certainly could not tell you or Seonghwa. His own tears often landed on the roots of the tree, nurturing it with his pain.

Perhaps that’s why the tree had not bore any mulberries, from the saltiness of the water or the anguish it carried.

But he kept whispering the same thing to you whenever you asked, that the mulberries would definitely come, and they would be tastiest you would ever have. Better than those from the markets.

Five more years had passed and you grew ill. Hid it well, so well that no one except the royal physician knew of your condition. Not even Hongjoong knew, so you took that as an achievement. Rarely anything got by him, especially when it came to you.

Dr Yeosang had looked at you with dreary eyes, putting his equipment away which had signalled the end of your appointment. “Anything?” you inquired, coughing into a blood-stained napkin.

“I’m afraid there is still no diagnosis. None of the symptoms match up to any known illnesses and it appears that it is not spread by people since everyone else in the palace is as fit as a fiddle.”

Your smile was small as you chuckled. “Everyone except me, it seems,” you joked in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Yeosang simply sighed. “I believe it’s time. Tell your family before it gets even worse--which it has been doing since the first appointment. At least Hongjoong.”

“You know very well I can’t do that. We’re in the middle of a drought and there’s raids going on in the North--”

“Every kingdom faces those, and yours has already dealt with such situations in the past very well.”

You looked away, cheeks now starting to sink in from the lack of appetite. “I know,” you whispered, ”but I can’t bring myself to say it.”

He licked his lips in contemplation, understanding why you wouldn’t want to tell anyone. A monarch is as strong as the kingdom--any instability in the family will cause instability for the nation. And the same goes for a parent and their family.

“I suppose I can try to hide it a little longer... but a month is all I can do--from the rate your illness is progressing.”

Lips tightening in a thin line, you nodded. There was never going to be enough time. Would go greedy, wishing for a month, then another, then another. But your timer was non-negotiable.

So the first thing you did when you left the royal physicians was go see your sons. If there were anyone who needed your attention, they would be your boys.

Short on breath, you tried to travel swiftly through the hallways--bones, now weary with age and sickness, no longer moving the same way as you used to. As you made your way to the royal family’s private wing, you overheard wisps of conversation through a nearby door.

Slowing to a halt, you listened closer, recognising the voices but not seeming to put names to them--brain too muddled to think straight.

“--know.”

“You can’t do that, Seonghwa. Not to her.”

“I can’t force myself to stop caring about you, Hongjoong!”

Your heart stopped mid-beat.

“Keep your voice down!” There was a pause while the floorboards of Seonghwa’s private office creaked, most likely Hongjoong’s habit of pacing while he was thinking. “You need to. I care about you as a friend, but nothing more.”

“You think if I could, I would’ve done so already?” your husband’s voice was seething. “Heavens know how hard I have tried to love her, b-but I just can’t!”

“Well I can’t love you back, if that’s what you’re asking for.”

Another stretch of silence passed, and you could almost imagine the two glaring at each other as they normally did in a fight. “Because you love her. Am I correct?”

A soft sigh came from who you assumed was Hongjoong, quiet but still loud enough for your ears to capture (greatly timed to cover your own gasp at the revelation).

“I don’t know...”

“What do you mean by that?”

“...Nothing.”

“Hongjoong, you know you can tell me anything. Regardless of our positions before or after this conversation, we will always be friends.”

“This is better kept between me and the Heavens.” He sighed once more. “All you need to know is that we can’t be together because I don’t love you and I have my loyalty. End of discussion.”

Had it been anyone else, Seonghwa would’ve had them arrested for speaking that way to their king. But neither of you could ever so that to him. He was your rock, your old friend--his loyalty shining bright even after all these years of serving you.

Before Hongjoong could open the door, you had fled the scene, not wanted to be caught eavesdropping on such a private conversation--even if the topic had concerned you.

Just before entering the Princes’ linked chambers, you caught your breath, willing your pounding heart to stop beating so feverishly.

There was too much going on. Too much, and your brain can’t seem to wrap itself around it all.

“So that’s why,” you whispered, lacking breath in your lungs. “His heart belongs to another...” Then a fit of coughs burst once more and your hands scrambled to retrieve a fresh napkin tucked beneath your sleeve to catch the blood.

Upon hindsight, it was a bad idea to stop in front of your son’s private room, because your extreme coughing had caught his attention. Yunho’s confused eyes melted away to concern, especially after seeing the dark red liquid tainting the pure white cloth.

“Mother!”

His cry had attracted the attention of your other two sons, who swarmed around you as Yunho cradled his arms around you, guiding you to his bed.

San brushed the strands of hair that had escaped from your tight bun away from your face while Wooyoung rubbed your back in attempt to sooth your violent coughing. “What’s wrong, Mum?”

“We need to tell Papa!”

“We need Dr Yeosang--”

“He knows,” you tried to say, doing your breath to bring your breathing back to normal. “The doctor. He’s known... for a long time.”

“What do you mean ‘a long time’?” San asked, his hands clasped around yours, a desperate look in his eyes begging for an explanation. “What’s going on, Mama?”

Not right now. You were supposed to have a month extra. They weren’t supposed to find out so soon. “I...” you throat felt tight and dry, “I’m very unwell. The doctor doesn’t know what’s wrong because he’s never seen anything like it before.”

“Then we get a new doctor!” Yunho piped in, voice raised and slightly frantic. You really didn’t need them panicking.

“If Yeosang doesn’t know, then no one will.”

“What about Dad?” Wooyoung asked. “Does he know? Uncle Hongjoong has to know, right? Uncle Hongjoong always kn--”

“Neither of them know. We must keep it that way. So you need to pretend that I’m healthy and well for just one more month. That’s all I ask for. One month.”

You looked between all your children, trying to memorise their faces because Heavens know how long you have left.

As promised, the boys kept your secret for as long as they could--caring and tending to you as much as they could without arousing suspicion from Hongjoong or Seonghwa.

But before your month was up, you had collapsed just after a dinner--slipping in and out of consciousness while your old friend carried you up to Yeosang’s office, the rest of your family in tow, beyond worried.

Yeosang later explained, when you were fully awake, that whatever illness you had was growing at a much faster rate than he anticipated, and you had a few weeks at most.

Now, you were bedridden in your chambers, limbs too heavy and painful to move, lungs feeling like they were being pressed down from the gravity and it got harder and harder to keep your eyes open.

Not a day went by where your sons or husband visited you, and Hongjoong had rarely ever left your side. As strong as they all tried to be, their puffy crimson eyes and sniffling noses were all too obvious.

“Seonghwa? Hongjoong?” you said, voice faint and dry. “Could you go out... for a few minutes. I need to... talk to the boys.”

They exchanged glances, before following your quiet word. “What is it, Mama?” San said, crouched beside you as he held your hand once again.

Even as a man in his mid-twenties, your little baby still called you ‘Mama’ and refused to let go of his mother’s hand. Found you as the most comforting thing in the world.

“Remember... the mulberry tree? The one I showed you?”

“Yeah, Ma,” Wooyoung said leaning against the wall that faced you. Despite his playful and nonchalant nature, you knew he was the most emotional one out of the three. Which was why you were very concerned over his silence for the past few days until he finally spoke now.

“I want you three... to look after it once I’m gone.”

“You’re not going, Mother,” Yunho sniffled, tears in his eyes threatening to drop. He was the oldest (by a few minutes) and was still the most respectful. But even then, he was still a kind and soft-hearted boy, much like his brothers.

“But promise me... regardless. That you’ll look after her. And when she finally bares fruit...”

“It’ll be the tastiest fruit,” your sons recited in unison, eyes glossy with unshed tears, “better than any other on the markets.”

With the little strength you had left, you mustered a weak smile. “My good boys... You will become... fine kings one day. I have no doubt.” You let go of San’s hand, hand instantly being consumed by the cold from the lack of insulation and warm blood pumping through your veins. “Now... call in your Father and Uncle.”

And they did so, leaving the room to leave the three of you alone. “What is it, my dear?” Seonghwa caressed your cheek lovingly, but you both knew that it was more of a platonic gesture than a romantic one--more for you than it was for him.

“I know...about your love for Hongjoong.”

You could feel the tension in the air thicken to such a degree that you could slice it with the letter opener that resided on your bedside table. It was Hongjoong who spoke up. “Y/N, you need to know that we never--”

“Did anything... I know.” You look to him, that same weak smile plastering on your face. “Such a loyal friend. Never did deserve you, did I?”

He shook his head as he came down to hold your hand. “No--don’t say that. If anything, I didn’t deserve you as a friend.”

You chuckled softly, careful not to trigger another one of your coughing fits. “If I can’t say things like that... then neither can you. But I would like you both to do two final things for me.”

“Anything,” his voice was still strong, unwavering, but you knew Hongjoong long enough to see the stormy ocean behind his calm gaze, the turmoil he must be feeling right now from losing his closest and oldest friend.

“First thing is.. be happy,” you shifted your gaze over to your husband, “and you too. If you can’t with me... then at least with each other.”

For the first time, your servant let go of your hands, denying your request. “I can’t be happy without you.”

“Then learn to do so. After all, you have... the rest of your life.”

He couldn’t verbally agree to that, not when what he said was true. Not when his own heart lay in your possession--and would to until the day he passed as well. So Seonghwa took the painful step in asking what your second wish was.

You recalled the Zepheth’s symbol of your most beloved possession. Star-crossed lovers and the final union of death. Though the three of you were stuck in a sick triangle of unrequited love by the Heavens, it felt fitting for your story.

And perhaps, with your permanent presence, the fruit would finally grow.

“Bury me under the mulberry tree.”

Extra, alternative ending below If you’re not a fan of fantasy or torturous spirits or man-eating trees, just stop here.

Two young travellers searched around the ruins of a lost palace, greenery overflowing, filling every nook and cranny of the battered stone walls--a rather beautiful sight of Mother Nature reclaiming her lands.

“Where even are we, Mingi?” the shorter, more muscular one of the pair said, stumbling over vines and rubble as he followed the much taller man.

“Not where we’re meant to be, I think,” he quipped, looking at the architecture to find some clues of their whereabouts.

The other rolled his eyes. “This would’ve been a lot easier if you didn’t drop the map in the river.”

“Hey! In my defence, it was really windy and the rain made the ground slippery. Leave me alone, Jongho.”

“Not until you give me a damn map.”

Like the archaeology student he was, Mingi studied the tattered tapestry and engravings on the walls until it had hit him. “Holy mother of fresh, sweet hell.”

“What?”

Without answering his best friend’s question, the man too off running, as if he already knew the layout of the place. Jongho ran after him, screaming and almost tripping over the vegetation in the way of his heavy boots.

Once Mingi stopped, his friend held his knees, heaving to catch his breath. “What... the hell... was that for?”

Swivelling on his heel, the tall explorer had sparkles in his eyes. “This is it! The Lost Kingdom! The thing we’ve been looking for!”

Jongho’s head snapped up. “You mean you’ve been looking for? I was just dragged along by your antics as usual.” He narrowed his eyes when he finally saw where his friend took him. “A tree? You took me to see a goddamn TREE?!”

Mingi got closer the enormous mulberry tree, gazing at it as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. “Not just any tree. It’s the Queen Y/N’s tree!”

“Okay, let me get this straight,” Jongho sighed, feeling the rage burn within him like a furnace, “you took me to see a dead woman’s tree?”

“Yes, but--”

“WE ALMOST DIED, MINGI! TWICE!” He held up two fingers, expressing his point further. “AND ALL THAT FOR A GODDMAN TREE?!”

“The lore surrounding it was well worth the trip,” a voice said, the two boys’ head spinning to see a person dressed in old, fancy clothing, perched upon the swing--now completely covered with vines and moss. Both of them swore they hadn’t noticed them there. Yet, they brushed it off anyways, thinking that they just had silent movement.

“Who are you?” Mingi asked, head cocked to the side as he became familiar with the sight of them.

“The protector of this tree,” they replied. “Who are you?”

“Some travellers...sightseeing,” Jongho piped in, sceptical of this person who looked like they were in their twenties, just like them.

“You were talking about lore?” The older of the two inquired, already greatly invested in the whole place. “Are you familiar with it?”

“Why, I must be. After all, I look after her,” they said, lovingly stroking the trunk of the tree. “Would you like to hear it?”

“Yes, please!” Mingi sat down, like a child excited for story time despite knowing the book by-heart, while Jongho stayed stood up beside him.

“Well, once upon a time, there was a very strong and powerful Kingdom--”

“The Lost Kingdom!” the child-like man shot out, too giddy to hold back.

The person giggled, his antics reminding them of someone they used to know. “Yes, I believe that’s what you call it. Well, there were three children that lived here; one was of royalty, one of nobility, and the third was a servant--but they were the best of friends, despite their status.”

The muscular boy narrowed his eyes at the childish tone the person was using, not liking how it sounded--how it started to make him feel weary.

“They planted this tree,” they tapped the trunk with their hand, “right here, and nurtured it for as long as they could. As they grew older, the royal and nobleman got married and had children together, while the servant dedicated his life to helping them.”

Jongho sat down, feeling more dreary than normal, coughing a little, while Mingi did the same, not feeling so well either.

“They were all still close, regardless of personal disputes between them, but their love for each other began to weaken only once the tree remained barren of fruit. But they kept up hope, saying that it will the next year.”

The travellers had found it hard to breath, as if there was a pressure on their lungs, squeezing them flat.

“But then, the royal found out they were dying, so they asked to buried under the mulberry tree. In their mind, their body would give the tree the nutrients it needed to finally bare the mulberries they so desperately craved. But no fruit had bore, making the spirit of the royal restless.”

Jongho coughed violently, thick red liquid dribbling down his chin, looking over to Mingi who was hunched over in pain. "But... that’s a fruitless... mulberry tree.”

It appeared to be the wrong thing to say, as their brows furrowed, scowl pulling at their lips, the swing stopped swinging. “And who are you to say that?”

“Because I study... goddamn plants.”

Then it clicked in Mingi’s head--what was going on. “Jongho... shut up--” His chest squeezed harder, a yelp escaping his lips as he toppled to the side.

“Carrying on from that rude interruption,” the person glared at the younger of the two, who was now lying on his side, curled into the foetal position, “the nobleman and servant then died a while after, and were buried side-by-side with the royal.”

Overgrown roots of the tree began to soften, becoming more flexible like snakes as they began to slither their way to the two young boys.

“But even their bodies weren’t enough. So the royal’s spirit swore to use whatever they could to make the tree finally bare fruit.”

The roots wrapped around each boys ankle, spiralling up until it wrapped the two of them in a cocoon. And neither of them could do anything, too tired to yell or move around, succumbing to the sweet release of sleep.

Getting up off the swing, the person rested their forehead on the trunk of the tree.

“And it will be the tastiest fruit. Better than any other on the markets.”

A/N: If you didn’t get it, the tree not growing any fruit was a metaphor of unrequited love. I feel like I didn’t really explain that properly, but there you go.

135 notes · View notes

bucky-hues · 3 years

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sambucky fic recs

hellooo!! i've been wanting to do a sambucky fic rec, so i thought i'd do one for @fuckyeahsambucky ‘s fic yeah friday! here are some sambucky fics i love <3 do read the warnings on each fic!

one-shots

when i'm in a room with you (that missing piece is found) | @omg-just-peachy

sam x bucky

Three times Bucky falls asleep on Sam, and one time Sam asks why.

double dare | @omg-just-peachy

sam x bucky

Bucky follows his therapist’s advice to cultivate friendship, Sam makes him work for it, and by the time he’s sure they’re friends, Bucky has an entirely new problem on his hands.

press conference | @sammy-souffle

sam x bucky

Sam watches from a distance a journalist from Denver, Summer, puts her hand on Bucky’s arm and laughs at something he says. Her hand trails further up and squeezes his bicep which Bucky doesn’t seem to mind at all. If anything, he laughs along with her and leans in closer to her to say something. Sam closes his eyes briefly and swallows back his anger.

accidentally | @sammy-souffle

sam x bucky

x | @sammy-souffle

sam x bucky

request: during the time when sam is tracking bucky in romania, after sam and bucky get caught up in a fight against some hydra agents who were also tracking bucky

sam gets hurt and bucky feels guilty so he carries him inside to patch him up, they talk some stuff out, its all very intimate and both start to fall for each other a little

acquiring alpine | @sammy-souffle

sam x bucky

prompt: alpine being cute

x | @sammy-souffle (18+)

sam x bartender!bucky (modern au)

regrets | @sammy-souffle

sam x bucky

x | @jeffersonshattricks

sam x bucky

Bucky being completely oblivious that him and Sam have been dating for like 6 months and Bucky finally understands why Sam has been kissing him, sleeping in the bed with him, and being an all around sap with him.

reckless idiots tend to fall | @jeffersonshattricks

sam x bucky

Bucky and Sam are arguing cause Sam did something reckless on a mission and Bucky freaks out but oblivious Sam genuinely has no idea why. And then Bucky accidentally yells ‘because I love you’

tell me a secret | @jeffersonshattricks

sam x bucky

Every time Sam gets drunk he finds Bucky and asks him for a secret. Bucky always gives him one.

fucking ridiculous | @jeffersonshattricks

sam x bucky

Sam is pining and a bitter grumpy grump, Bucky is mostly oblivious but also pining. misunderstandings happen, feelings get hurt, people get hurt (like physically), and then confessions happen and all is well. yay! also the other avengers are just their nerdy selves for the most part!

come to the ocean, even when you're broken | @liminalmess

sam x bucky

“Bucky, hey, man, fancy meeting you here!” he said with an exaggerated enthusiasm that he probably knew would get under Bucky’s skin, clapping him on the shoulder as he sat down.

“I thought we were taking separate vacations,” Bucky grumbled back.

Or, in which Sam and Bucky go an accidentally not separate vacation to the Bahamas.

feelings | @yaksomins

sam x bucky (modern au)

sam crossed his arms and inspected the lobby. they were indeed the only people there, not including the few staff members seated at a table near a magenta-tinted arcade area with their noses buried in their phones.

"i think i can help with that," a voice said from behind sam.

sam turned and found himself face to face with the clerk they'd bought their tickets from earlier, the scruffy-looking man that seemed a little out of place amongst the younger staff. sam gave him a quick scan, his eyes catching the name plastered to his chest via a paper name tag, scribbled by hand using a marker.

"and what exactly can you do for us...bucky?" sam frowned. what kind of name was ‘bucky’?

"i can be your extra," he said, removing a hairband from his wrist and swiftly tying up his hair into a tidy bun. with more of him now visible, sam could get a better view of his face, all hard lines and soft eyes. "and it's a nickname," bucky added, smirking and moving past a puzzled sam towards the game room. "c'mon, let's suit up."

x | @yaksomins

sam x bucky

prompt: leaving each other notes

x | @yaksomins

sam x bucky

bucky takes sam for a ride on his motorcycle

i'll make this feel like home | @buckywilsonbarnes

sam x bucky

sambucky domestic fluff

x | @transjoaquintorres

sam x bucky

sam loves bucky's handwriting

just let me adore you | dharmainitiative (AO3)

sam x bucky

“Alright, what gives?” Sam demands. “Why do you turn down every single person I try to set you up with?”

He expects Bucky to avoid the question, come up with all sorts of excuses. What he doesn’t expect is for Bucky to start laughing.

“C’mon, Sam. Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously.”

“Sam,” Bucky finally says, slow and deliberate. “I’m not interested in anyone you’ve tried to set me up with because I’ve been gone on you for ages.”

watch your words | dancer_in_the_rain (AO3)

sam x bucky

sam insults bucky and then loses his shit when someone agrees with him

love, punch | @clintbartonswife

sam x bucky

Bucky can get protective, but Sam reminds him he doesn’t need to be defended - a confession is made

exchange rate | @joycesully

sam x bucky

Bucky's older memories are coming back, sometimes at the cost of more recent ones. What he cannot forget is tearing the wings off Sam Wilson. Too bad Bucky just let Steve talk him into staying with him and Sam. Consumed by guilt, the only thing Bucky knows to do by way of apology is to let Sam hurt him back. Fortunately, Sam has better ideas.

stubborn wounds | @constantwriter85

sam x bucky

When Bucky’s badly injured after trying to protect his partner, Sam realizes that he needs Bucky more than he’d care to admit.

nurturing | the_buzz (AO3)

sam x bucky (pre-slash)

Bucky isn't the only one who feels alone after coming back from the Blip.

keep the ashes from my heart (and walk away) | @coffeeinallcaps

sam x bucky

In which Sam starts dating someone who is not Bucky, and Bucky pines, gets seriously injured, and proves himself wrong.

you're blowin' my mind (with the things you say to me) | @jemgirl86

sam x bucky

After getting an earful from Bucky at the cookout, Sarah suggests Sam and Bucky have a chat... and they do.

(sometimes) all i think about is you | @softhauntedwinds

sam x bucky

Bucky discovers Sam Wilson's pre-blip media content and things escalate.

when the wheels come off (i'll be your spare) | @returnsandreturns

sam x bucky

“What, the government doesn’t pay you enough to buy some art?” Bucky asks, a minute after Sam lets him into his apartment, gesturing at the blank walls. “It still looks like you just moved in.”

“Uhm, I’ve been busy being a national treasure,” Sam says. “The government doesn’t pay you enough to buy a shirt that fits?”

Bucky glances down at his long sleeve t-shirt for a second before he looks back up with a grin.

“I’m just a part-timer,” he says, shrugging.

forever and a day | @returnsandreturns

sam x bucky

When he sets the needle, Ella Fitzgerald croons and he glances over to see Sam sitting up, looking interested as she sings it’s very clear. . .our love is here to stay.

Bucky can flirt and he can really tell that he’s still got it by the way Sam’s mouth drops open for a moment when he saunters up and offers a hand, smiling with all the potential of where this could lead and asking, “Care for a dance, doll?”

Sam stares up at him before he sighs and mutters, “Fuck, that’s really working for me somehow,” and lets Bucky pull him onto his feet and into his arm.

world's greatest uncle | @novembermurray

sam x bucky

Rhodes arrives in Delacroix to bring Sam up to speed on their newest mission and deliver the bad news: Bucky Barnes has gone AWOL. He's in for a few surprising discoveries.

panic | alienspronkles (AO3)

sam x bucky

When Sam and Bucky go to Sarah's place for a get together, Bucky's anxiety starts kicking in. And he's trying to hide it from everyone there.

series

sam and bucky first date 2: electric boogaloo | ObsessiveExplosion (AO3)

sam x bucky

Sam is gearing up to ask Bucky on their first date, but he is interrupted by a bullet wound to the shoulder.

sam and bucky go to a fourth of july party | ObsessiveExplosion (AO3)

sam x bucky

Sam and Bucky, recently engaged, make an appearance at the annual Delacroix Fourth of July Block Party, and Sam ends up partying a little too hard.

the gang navigates and airport | ObsessiveExplosion (AO3)

sam x bucky

Sam and Bucky have to navigate an unexpected layover on their way home from a mission, made more difficult by the fact that Bucky has just taken a sleeping pill designed for Super Soldiers.

he followed me home one day | AshaCrone (AO3)

sam x bucky (au)

He was supposed to be starting fresh.

Sam Wilson was moving from New York to Washington and picked the worst possible Friday to finish his move. But he does what he does best- stops to help.

And asks a passing stranger for a little muscle to get some trapped people out of a car. Feeds the stranger a protein bar.

Now a lost cyborg has followed him home. And he isn't quite sure what to do about it.

#sambucky fic #sam x bucky #sam wilson x bucky barnes #sambucky #fysbfriday #fysambuckyweek

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purebarnes · 3 years

Text

courage to change—

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ ➢ when one man gets a chance to go out and date but something is stoping him, wether it’s his guilt taunting him or the girl he was meant to be with.

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ➢ 1.8k

ᴅɪꜱᴄʟᴀɪᴍᴇʀꜱ ➢ angst, mention of death, therapy sessions.

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ ꜱᴘᴇᴀᴋꜱ ! ➢ just enjoy.

all on his mind was his nightmares, he would constantly have them and when he had them, he wouldn’t tell anyone about them. especially his therapist, dr. raynor even though she needs to know so that she could help him. after he was brainwashed and turned into a assassin that all he thought himself as. she was on his mind constantly and nothing could change that—she was the girl for him.

probably the most bizarre combination of people to ever get together but if it was meant to be then that’s all that mattered. bucky always wanted to be with y/n but after her dad passing then he couldn’t bare to see her again. no calls, no notes, nothing which was common for someone like james. he would go to his court-appointed therapy sessions to get help so that he could be free. it was the usual, he wouldn’t talk to her and she would have to take down notes.

most people would cooperate but when you’re in his situation then it would be extremely difficult for you as well. he would sit across of dr. raynor just staring, “did you call her?” she asked and he tensed up staring at the ground intensity spreading throughout the whole room. she shook her head as she new the answer but she need something. he would constantly bring up sam and y/n but mostly her and it was like he couldn’t forget all the passion they had. “james. have you called her?” dr asked once more getting no answer from the man, this time he shook his head at her meeting her eyes. he wanted to call or do something to make sure she knew that he still cared about her. “i can’t call her—why not?” she interrupted him and honestly he didn’t have a answer on why he could talk to her.

she moved passed the topic of y/n and went to go to tell her about the nightmare that he indeed had last night as she knew that he had one. he would do the same, not say anything but this one was easier to dodge. “are you still having nightmares?—no.” he told her while he knew that he was and it would taunt him ever night. “well, you seem a little off today. i don’t want to mention her but—it’s not about y/n.” he tried to tell her, “did something happen recently?” she asked bucky getting another no from his lips trailing off like it was smooth.

bucky hated constantly saying no and lying about everything that was bothering him, “you’re a civilian now. with your history, the government needs to know that you’re not gonna...” the dr said putting up her first to show that he wouldn’t hurt anyone. he stifled a smile while she continued, “so, tell me about your most recent nightmare—i didn’t have a nightmare.” dr. raynor sighed deeply before clicking her pen to write into her notebook, bucky groaned. “oh, come on. really? you’re gonna do the notebook thing? why? it’s passive aggressive.” he mumbled.

“you don’t talk. i write—okay. okay, i thought about her but every time i see anything there she is. everywhere i go she doesn’t disappear.” he told the therapist slightly telling the truth and he never told her about the nightmare he had. “but like i said, i didn’t have a nightmare—look.... one day, you’re gonna have to open up and understand that some people really do want to help you and that they can be trusted.” she told him.

she wanted bucky to open and finally figure out that he needed to be able to trust. “i trust people—yeah? give me your phone.” bucky groaned reaching his back pocket to reach for his phone to pass it across. she went to check the contacts he had, “you don’t have ten numbers on this thing. oh, and you’ve been ignoring the texts from sam and still nothing to y/n. look, you’ve gotta nurture friendships. i am the only person you have called all week. that is so sad.” she passed the phone back to him as he caught it waiting for her to continue. “you’re alone. you’re a hundred years old. you have no history, no family, no girl—are you lashing out at me, doc? because that’s really unprofessional, you know? i mean, when did that start? yelling at your clients? the notebook. that’s great.” he sighed when he saw her pull out the notebook into her lap to write a few things.

“all right, give me a break. i’m trying, okay? this isn’t... this is new for me. i didn’t have a moment to deal with anything, you know? i had a little... calm in wakanda. i had her and i just lost her.” he explained to the doctor sighing at the thought of bringing her up again, he wanted to be able to just forget her but nothing could do that for him. he lied, he wanted her back and he wanted to feel her but he couldn’t do anything. he thought it was too late, “and other than that, i just went down one fight to another for 90 years.” she knew he had gone through a lot, it was a lot and she wanted to help and asked him what he wanted. “peace—that is utter bullshit.” she spat out honestly, “you’re a terrible shrink—i was an excellent soldier, so i saw a lot of dead bodies, and i know how that can shut you down. and if you are alone, that is the quietest, most personal hell. and, james, it is very hard to escape.”

if he knew what he wanted, he could of done something to make it all happen. bucky was a man of trauma and he wasn’t going to get better by not helping himself. “you have your mind back, you are being pardoned. i mean these are good things. you’re free.”

wednesday’s were the days that bucky and mr. nakajima would go out and eat lunch at izzy, a little bar that they would love to go and eat at. it was a couple times that he loved to go out and eat with the older, younger than him man. as they talked, yori suggested to ask out the lady in front of him. “you should ask her out—i can’t.” he knew he wasn’t ready to go back and date some girl that wasn’t y/n, sure he thought she was pretty but he wanted an excuse to not date her. it wasn’t that he didn’t like her, “He would like to take you out on a date.” he told the young lady as she looked up and bucky shook his head, not understanding why he would do that. “I’m really sorry about him—why are you sorry? i’m game.” he was taken back and he clicked his tongue while being intrigued, “tomorrow night then?”mr. nakajima said as she agreed on going he sighed, knowing that it might be time to move on.

maybe not move on entirely but to see what would happen in the date that he would go on. he turned back to mr. nakajima, “i can’t believe you did that. it’s a dance to these things. you gotta warm up and i haven’t danced since...” he said then automatically thinking about y/n and all the times she would laugh with him or giggle at him. he froze then looked back at him. it didn’t hurt if he would just go on one date and for her to never find out even though they would probably never be together again.

it was around ten o’clock and the gentle men brought flowers for his date tonight thinking it would be a nice gesture thing to do. they met back into the bar where they were talking and laughing like they would have known each other for a long time. it was almost like he has been there before—she brought up dating and asked if he had dated before and he couldn’t just not tell her anything. when he didn’t say anything, she kept staring until he spoke up drink his drink. “what’re you doing—what’s her name?” he looked started on what she meant, “was she special?” she asked another question. this time he understood what he was talking about, “y/n.” he just said not trying to make anything awkward by talking about his ex lover to the girl he was on a date with.

he was unsure on how she knew that he was thinking about her on their date, “she must be special if you’re thinking about her right now.” she joked chuckling but bucky stayed quiet finally understanding how he felt. he wasn’t ready to be with someone else and it don’t make it easy when she would be in his head everywhere. bucky looked at the wall zoning out to anything at that moment, the girl tried to snap him out of it but nothing worked. she told him that he would bring games so that they could play to pass the time. he went back in that zone.

she was dressed in a black t-shirt and a pair of shorts that showed of her curves easily to distract bucky. she didn’t mean for him to feel this way between her but he could help it. she would go over to her bathroom and starting putting away her essentials until she felt a vibranium metal arm. the coldness hit her shown skin as she shuddered as he went to wrap his arms around her waist. y/n looked up from her position and met his eyes through the mirror and smiled widely, he went to place small kisses on her shoulder—she groaned at him.

she turned around with his arms still placed on her waist, he moved his arm up to meet her back. she pulled up her arms and wrapped them gently around his neck, “stop staring like that.” she said looking into his blue eyes falling in love even more. he chuckled slightly caressing her check with his hand running it back and forth with his thumb. he couldn’t help but pull her in for a kiss which she accepted kissing him back. he let go of her then placing his head on top of hers telling her to go to bed. “let’s go to bed doll.”

he grabbed her hand leading them to the bed and getting ready to sleep with each other, in their arms. y/n unfolded her sheets jumping on the bed with bucky on the other side, she turned off her table light and turned to get closer to bucky while she moved to lay her head on his chest. she chuckle making bucky look down on her, “i love you.” bucky told her then falling asleep together.

the man looked to see the girl from the bar and he stuttered looking at her, “i, uh, i... i gotta go.” bucky got up from his stool and went to go straight the door before heading towards his own apartment. he went to open up his phone and he thought he would go and text her asking her how she was or that he even missed her. he wrote down a message but nothing came out, he would just fail to express how he felt.

#bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #sam tfatws #tfaws #tfatws series #marvel #mcu phase 4 #mcu imagine #fatws bucky #bucky imagine

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pillage-and-lute · 3 years

Text

Thicker Than Water (Part 4)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 (here) Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Ao3 link HERE

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He awoke sore and badly rested, tears dried on his face.

Jaskier made it through the next day. He ate a little of the food Ciri offered him, only because when he tried to decline the first time her eyes got large and her bottom lip showed just the barest hint of a tremble. He couldn’t bear it. The dry horse bread that was usual for traveling rations crumbled in his mouth. He was so hungry, it was one of the best things he’d ever tasted.

Jaskier couldn’t bring himself to even unsling his lute from his shoulder during their trek. His fingers itched to play, of course. He continued his story for Ciri and in his mind he played music for the background, he just couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t sell his lute in this next town, but before they reached Kaer Morhen he would have to. It would give them money, and he wouldn’t be a burden. He swallowed down the lump in his throat and continued telling Ciri the story.

He noticed a bit before mid day that Geralt was watching him. That wasn’t out of sorts, of course. Yennefer and Ciri were watching him too, he was an excellent storyteller and the tale was enthralling. Geralt didn’t seem to be paying attention to the story though. He was staring-- glowering--brow low and furrowed, at Jaskier.

Jaskier felt hurt lance through him and he almost staggered, avoiding Geralt’s gaze. He knew Geralt didn’t want him along, didn’t want him at all, but he couldn’t even pretend? He couldn’t go back to their relationship before? Not the warm, almost companionable silences that had been nurtured between them, but the grunts and stone faced silence of the beginning of their acquaintance.

Jaskier breathed through the pain in his chest. Twenty years of silences, all kinds of them, stony and friendly and sleepy and painful and quietly nice. But they were back to the beginning, or worse, Geralt angry and Jaskier’s voice filling in places it didn’t belong.

“Jaskier?”

That was Ciri, and Jaskier realized that he’d actually trailed off mid-sentence.

“Sorry little highness,” he smiled and gave a funny little bow. “I’m but a simple entertainer, a poet and a fool, sometimes my mind runs away from me.”

“Fool is right,” Yennefer snorted. It wasn’t totally unkind, but it still stung. It stung even more when Geralt, so taciturn all day, snorted with laughter at her comment. Jaskier felt his ears burn and his chest ache.

“Now, where was I?”

“The king’s son met the North Wind,” Ciri said, matching Jaskier’s steps. “And he has to beat him in a game of wit to gain knowledge of where the sorcerer’s daughter was taken, that’s what you said, but you didn’t tell us what game yet.”

At least someone treasured his words, Jaskier thought. Although they weren’t worth much, he threw one out after the other.

Like garbage, whispered the back of his mind.

“Ah yes,” he said instead. “the North Wind sat before the king’s son, and laid out a chess set made of ice and wind.”

“How can chess pieces be made of wind?”

Jaskier smiled, Ciri asked questions at all the right places. “The North Wind wanders, he goes everywhere, blowing cold breath across The Continent. When the North Wind is present and we breath our breath can be seen.” Jaskier smiled here and added an aside, “My little sister used to call it dragon smoke. But by the same magic that gives the North Wind a body to walk the world, he can take our frozen breath and turn it cold and solid as glass.”

Jaskier let himself tell the story on autopilot. His feet ached. He’d been darning the socks he was wearing for a year or more, but he wasn’t good at it and the lumps were rubbing his toes raw. Worse than that, the soles of his boots were almost worn through. Just one more thing he’d have to buy.

He felt ashamed of himself. His boots had been going thin for a while, and instead of saving his coin and getting them repaired or just buying new ones, he’d drowned himself in drink, feeling sorry. Oh, he hadn’t known he would be making a trip up a mountain, but he needed boots regardless. No wonder Geralt had always been upset with him, he always put pleasure over sense, couldn’t even spend coin sensibly.

Couldn’t darn socks, couldn’t budget his coin, couldn’t shut up. A fool.

He stumbled on a tree root and nearly swore. Couldn’t even walk right. One of the blisters building on his foot had burst, he was sure. It was easy to tell, the pain had gone from a rubbing ache to stinging and warm. Only years of practice and performance kept him from interrupting the story.

Something must have shown on his face though, or his scent changed or whatever because Geralt was staring at him intently. That face, always so unreadable.

Jaskier wasn’t going to give him anything else to scowl about. He kept walking, keeping the story rolling and his voice light. His bones ached. He had to stop for just a moment when a button, long past hanging loosely on his doublet, finally pulled free. He picked it up and the head rush nearly took him to the ground. He’d eaten little, slept poorly, and the only food he’d had in a long time before this was ale. He blinked the grey from his vision, trying not to let the panic show when it didn’t go away as quickly as he’d have liked.

It was okay. It was all going to be okay. They’d make it to the village by nightfall. They wouldn’t sleep there of course but he could get proper food. Maybe even slip away and catch a quick nap in a stable or hayloft or something. His whole body was buzzing with a sort of exhausted energy and his heart was pounding.

Jaskier reflected that he hadn’t been well before meeting up with Geralt and his little family. He’d been sick with drink and heartache and had not enough food then too.

Smile through the pain.

This wasn’t even bad as performances could go. Once he’d actually broken a finger just before a set at Oxenfurt. Simple clumsiness, he’d closed his index finger in a door, but he’d played his whole set, with a perfect score from his professor.

It grew darker, the sun just setting when they reached a field at the edge of the town. It was a large open field and, in warmer months, it was likely home to fairs and large market days. Probably in these rural areas people traveled for a week to bring their goods and livestock to this town. It didn’t matter now, mid autumn settling into late autumn. To Jaskier the town was nameless.

They set up camp in the field. It left them exposed to being seen, but they hid themselves behind a small rise on the edge of the field, blocking them mostly from sight. Still, Geralt seemed on edge. Jaskier wasn’t sure it was about the camp. Geralt kept looking over at him with his eyebrows pressed together. Whenever he did that it formed this little crease right between his brows that Jaskier wanted to kiss away.

Jaskier bit his lip, hard, to focus on anything other than that.

The three of them sat, too tired to talk much more. Jaskier had finished most of the story and decided to leave the rest for the next day they were traveling a lot, to give Ciri something else to think about. She was definitely Calanthe’s blood. They traveled all day and she never complained, but also told them when she needed to stop, advocating for herself in no uncertain terms. It was the princess herself who interrupted his thoughts.

“You said you had a sister, do you have lots of siblings?”

“Not really,” Jaskier said, settling down on the ground and feeling his bones pop. His blisters were definitely bleeding inside his boots too. “Two older brothers, Henrik and Teodor, and I had a younger sister, Lotte.”

“Had?”

“She was sickly, always too small for her age,” Jaskier said quietly. “I learned the lute for her, at first. She liked music and was often bedridden. A fever took her when she was about your age.” Jaskier looked down at his battered boots.

“I’m sorry,” Ciri whispered.

“It’s allright little highness, it’s been almost thirty years now. Time flies.”

“I didn’t know you had siblings,” Geralt said. It was growly, but Geralt always used that tone.

“You never really asked.”

Dinner was a quiet affair. Jaskier ate the last of the rations in his pack, waving away Ciri’s offerings and showing her his food as proof that he had some. It didn’t really settle the hunger that had been eating him from the inside out all day, but at this point he figured he could eat a mountain and still have room for dessert.

“Tomorrow,” Geralt said gruffly once dinner was cleared away. “We don’t all enter the town as a group. Yen and Ciri go together. I go alone. Jaskier goes alone.”

Jaskier nodded, so did Ciri and Yennefer.

“If we see eachother, act as though we don’t know eachother,” Geralt said, then he turned his gaze on Jaskier. “Don’t attract too much attention.”

Jaskier bristled at getting his own private reprimand. “I’m a bard, Geralt,” he said. “How am I supposed to earn coin if I don’t play.”

Geralt grunted. “I didn’t say don’t play just no... don’t do the whole...” he gestured a vauge hand.

“The whole...me?” Jaskier said sarcastically. He was pulling at the lion’s tail he knew, but he was in pain and tired and hungry and Geralt had no right to be so cruel.

“The whole bright colors, loud and annoying thing. Country bard, not court bard, got it?”

Loud and annoying.

“Got it,” Jaskier said, looking back down at his boots. He didn’t say that none of his clothes could have passed for courtly anymore anyway.

They set about getting ready for bed. Ciri gave him a quick hug before she and Yennefer disappeared into their magical tent. Jaskier sat and pulled off his boots, not letting a single flicker of pain show on his face. He knew Geralt would be able to smell blood, but Geralt had gone to get water from the nearby river. He had to peel his socks off and yes, there was blood there, by now stuck into the threadbare fabric. He let himself wince then. He rinsed off the wounds but he was without bandages, so he just dried off the area and put his other pair of socks on. He only had the two pairs anyway, but at least the blisters would stay dry.

He rolled himself into his bedroll and thought of tomorrow. At least there were no tree roots here.

The next day dawned slowly, instead of bright pinks and oranges it was a kind of runny yellow that just leeched into the sky before fading into early morning blue. Jaskier watched in admiration as Yennefer changed Geralt’s hair to short and dark, and then gave herself brown eyes and a slightly different bone structure. To look at both of them was odd, because Jaskier could see the similarities. Yennefer’s nose was changed and her cheekbones were a little different, but it was still her, and Geralt just looked like a different, although quite handsome, version of himself. Ciri was simply given mousy brown hair and some extra freckles.

Just like that, the perfect and all powerful family looked like two normal people and one witcher who was still clearly a witcher but not the white wolf. Jaskier shouldered his lute. He’d cleaned up the scruff he’d been growing into a more respectable look and with his longer hair and tatty cloak he looked like any poor traveling musician. If he’d traded the lute for a shortbow he could have looked like a woodsman, totally nondescript.

He was entering from a different direction, so as not to arouse suspicion, and so was Geralt. Jaskier began walking around, so that he could enter from the east. Yen and Ciri would walk into town the closest direction, and Geralt was entering from the west. This early, it was unlikely they would have been seen all together.

Jaskier made his way to the eastern edge of the town and walked in, scanning the streets. If this were a farm people would be up and awake long before now, farmers wake well before dawn, but this was a town, and so few people wandered the streets. Shop keepers were just beginning to open up. Jaskier bought a couple pears, slightly overripe but cheaper because of it, off of a fruit seller and had breakfast. He tried to lock into his mind all the shops around so he could find his supplies easiest later.

His mind was resisting him though. In spite of the softer ground, Jaskier had still slept badly last night. His body ached and he wished he could find somewhere warm to lay for an hour or two. Instead he found the well.

As wells should be, this one was right in the center of town. He set down his lute case beside it, tuned his lovely lady, and began to play.

In his very first few months after leaving Oxenfurt he had learned this trick, and used it often. If you get into a town early, play at the well. People get their water first thing in the morning and there you are.

A few young women with yokes and buckets smiled at him and he nodded in return. The day brightened a little further as the sun crept above the buildings and more people came to gather in the town square. They weren’t there to hear Jaskier, not at first, most of them came for water, or to chat with neighbors, or discuss business. Many of them gathered around him though.

Coins clattered into the case. Mostly coppers, but in a little town like this that was quite normal.

“As sweet Polly Oliver lay musing in bed, A sudden strange fancy came into her head. "Nor father nor mother shall make me false prove, I'll 'list as a soldier, and follow my love,” he sang.

“So early next morning she softly arose, And dressed herself up in her dead brother's clothes. She cut her hair close, and she stained her face brown, And went for a soldier to fair Rinde Town.”

Sweet Polly Oliver was one of his favorites, a simple country song about a girl and her lover in wartime. This town was far enough north that with luck Nilfgaard wouldn’t attack, but the anxiety threatened.

Jaskier gave a good performance, perhaps not his best, but he was tired and cold and the flagstones beneath his feet were very hard. He danced about, playing sweet folk songs and jigs and reels, delighting in the people who swept up and danced along. Still, though, he felt his feet bleeding inside his boots. He played from just after dawn until perhaps an hour after noon before bowing away and taking his coin.

He’d done better than he’d expected, but there wasn’t nearly enough coin for all the things he’d need for Kaer Morhen, and extra food to help Geralt and Ciri. He’d buy what he needed now, and they’d stop again in Ard Carraigh before the keep. He’d sell his lute there, it was a large city, and he’d get a good price. The thought still made him ache, though.

It wasn’t just his emotions causing him pain, he realised. The aches he’d been experiencing were in his chest lately, and both physical and emotional. He just needed more rest.

Jaskier slipped through back alleys and bent streets. He’d seen a stable on his way into town. He stepped in quietly, startling a stable hand, no more than a boy, who’d been quietly talking to a horse.

“You’re the bard,” he said. “Saw you in the square jus’ this morning.”

“That’s right,” Jaskier said, bowing a little. “I’m afraid I’ll be moving on this evening and--”

“And you want to have a kip in the stables,” said the boy. “Yeah lots o’ musicians and peddlers do that. Rule is though, I got to get a coin off ‘em first as payment. I’m sorry, but I get a beating if’n I don’t.”

“No worries,” Jaskier said, he’d expected as much. He handed the boy two copper coins. “There’s pay, won’t have you getting beaten for my sake, the second coin is to wake me in two hours.”

The boy gave him a lopsided grin. “You got it sir, thanks.”

Jaskier snuggled up in the hay loft. He’d often done it, it was pretty common, if you couldn’t buy a stay at an inn or especially if you just needed a ‘kip’ as the boy had said, during the day. He’d slept in haystacks once in a while on the road too. They were sort of comfortable and surprisingly warm and, best of all, robbers didn’t get you if you kept yourself mostly under the hay.

The scent of hay and oats and horses lulled him to sleep.

He dreamed about haystacks. For some reason Roach was in the haystack with him. Geralt and Ciri too, even Yennefer. It was a crowded haystack indeed, and it grew smaller and smaller until Jaskier had to leave it and sleep on the ground so that the others weren’t squished.

He awoke to the stable boy nudging him.

“Pardon me mister,” he said. “But it’s been two hours.”

Jaskier thanked him and brushed off his clothes.

The shops were doing a good trade this afternoon and he’d be sure to be a face in the crowd. He bought a small cooking pot and plenty of ground oats and barley for porridge at one shop. They were light to carry and owner packaged them nicely, first in one cheap, cloth drawstring bag, and then in another such bag, but with the drawstring on a different side, so he was unlikely to lose food.

In another stall he bought plenty of nuts, walnuts were cheap here and would keep well. Good for traveling and they had protein. Some dried jerky, dried peas, and dried lentils finished his food shopping, and also most of his coin.

It was three days to Ard Carraigh, another week to trek up to the keep. The food would sustain him for that long, and they’d probably just pool their food to make sure everyone was fed. Still, he wasn’t being a burden, not too much.

He couldn’t afford new boots, gloves, or a cloak right now, but with the last of his coin he bought a new pair of thick, warm socks, a small roll of bandages, and a couple pieces of candied ginger in a little paper twist. He tucked them all away and left the town, disappearing back to the field and their little camp well before the sun set.

Jaskier’s heart sunk to see that he was the last to arrive. Everything was packed up, they couldn’t risk staying in the same place two nights in a row. Geralt grunted at him, but didn’t unleash any thoughts on Jaskier being a burden, so he counted himself lucky.

He hung his head a little at having delayed their parting and trekked after the perfect little family, his pack much heavier than it had been. Ciri slid her hand into his and they walked on in silence. The hand was nice though.

In an odd way, it hurt, too. He wasn’t part of the family, so he didn’t really deserve this, but it was painfully good to have just a taste of being wanted.

What would happen, he wondered, when the winter was over. He was a danger to Geralt and Ciri if Nilfgaard found him. He wasn’t wanted by Geralt at all. Jaskier was reminded once again that it would be so much easier for Geralt to kill him, or for Yennefer to wipe his memory. Maybe he could fake his death to get Nilfgaard of his trail.

“Jaskier?” Ciri asked. “How did you become a bard?”

Jaskier looked down at her, maudlin thoughts interuppted. “Oh, well, it’s not as though you have to register, you just become one. Walking into an inn and saying ‘let me play for you pretty please I need food’ is a good start.”

“No,” Ciri giggled. “I meant, you said you learned the lute for your sister, but you write your own music and stuff too.”

“Oh, well, anyone can write music if they have an instrument and a good enough memory,” Jaskier said. “Indeed, many of the greatest bards had little education at all, I, however, studied at Oxenfurt.”

“Did you like it?”

“Sometimes. It was school, and some parts were dull but I learned much.”

“I heard some of the maids giggling once about a young scholar who’d come to stay with us,” Ciri said, matter of factly. “He was always in the library and was kind of snooty with me when I asked questions, but the maids were saying he certainly had a lot of ‘carnal knowledge’. Did you study that too?”

Jaskier was choking on thin air.

“I, um, no it was more of a hobby,” Jaskier said before his head could catch up with his mouth. “Little Highness, I suspect you weren’t supposed to hear that conversation, and no, I studied the seven liberal arts.”

“So it was about sex, I was never sure,” Ciri said.

Jaskier coughed awkwardly. “Yes, princess.”

“It’s okay, I know about that stuff, Grandmother explained it.”

Jaskier let out a breath, at least he wouldn’t have to be the one to explain anything to her.

“When you went to school were you scared to leave your family?” Ciri asked.

“No, pet, I was excited to go,” he wasn’t about to get into all his trauma with her, she had enough of her own, poor thing. “I couldn’t wait to learn about music and poetry.”

“Grandmother said all poets were silly romantics and dreamers, but I think that sounds nice. Do you have a moose?”

“A what?”

“I read it in a book, a moose, somebody you love and you write about it.”

“Oh, that’s one of the trickier words Ciri, it’s said ‘muse’, and yes, I had one or two.”

“Only one or two? In the book the poet had hundreds,” Ciri sounded almost disappointed.

“I only ever needed one,” Jaskier said quietly. “One that mattered anyway.”

“And your Countess still left you,” Geralt said, rather coldly. He was doing his annoyed face and Jaskier could have kicked himself. He’d been talking too much. The reminder that the Countess de Stael had left him too hurt, but Jaskier wasn’t going to risk Geralt’s ire to say that she wasn’t the muse he was talking about. That was maybe something he should keep to himself.

“Do muses often leave?” Ciri asked, wide eyed. “If somebody was writing me poetry I wouldn’t want to.”

“No, usually the poet does the leaving,” Jaskier said. “After his muse asks him to go. There’s a shelf life on a bard, you know. We only have so many stories and songs before we’re used up and no one wants us around anymore. That’s when we move along.”

“I’ll hear your stories again and again,” Ciri said. “I won’t ask you to go.”

Jaskier’s heart curled up and whimpered inside his chest. He’d have to go sooner or later, he’d have to leave her. Geralt would get sick of him, too sick to bear even for Ciri’s sake. Or Jaskier would just have to leave of his own volition, lest he shovel shit into her life too.

If he could give her life one blessing...

“This’ll do for a campsite,” Geralt said. It was a tiny, clear area. Jaskier almost groaned. It was surrounded by oak trees, with dropped acorns that would dig into his bedroll and mottle his back with bruises come morning. He’d had a good rest in town, though, so another bad night of sleep wouldn’t be too bad, he told himself.

The others had eaten in town. Jaskier said he had too, so he wouldn’t waste rations. He had plenty, but strangely, he wasn’t so hungry lately. Anyway, always best to save.

He pulled off his boots and his freshly bloodied socks. Ew. Ciri retired to the magic tent early, exhausted from their long days of walking. Jaskier listened to Yennefer and Geralt talk.

“We’ll need lots of supplies in Ard Carraigh,” Geralt was saying.

“We don’t have any money,” Yennefer replied.

Jaskier had his back to them as he cleaned the wounds on his feet, but he could picture grave expressions.

“We’ll get some, I’ll do a quick contract there, something. We’ll need a cart and pony to get Ciri up The Killer, it’s too much for her, it’s too hard for some witchers even.”

“That’ll cost,” Yennefer said. “But you’re right. I wish I could portal us but--”

“Tracking, exactly. There’s always plenty of contracts in cities, it’ll be fine.”

Jaskier looked at the blisters on his foot, they’d opened more with his long performance that day. It was no matter, he wound the bandages around them and put on his new, thick socks. At least his feet would be warm.

Not too warm, though. He spotted a hole in the bottom of his boot that he hadn’t noticed before.

And they needed lots of money for Ard Carraigh. No matter. He knew how to get some.

He pretended his eyes filled with tears from the pain of blisters, not from heartache, as he pushed his feet back into his boots and opened the lute case. He pulled out his beautiful girl. He wouldn’t play her, it would annoy Geralt. He’d always hated Jaskier’s music, although he hated to hear Jaskier sing even more.

Pie with no filling.

Jaskier wished he could play her, though. It was going to break his heart to part with her, and he didn’t think he’d ever played another instrument as fine. If he could, he’d play her every second until he had to sell her.

Probably for the best, though, if he was going to fake his death. She was distinctive.

He brushed a hand over the beautiful wood work on her front. There was a little bit of linseed oil left, and he poured it on the rag he kept in the case and began to work over his girl lovingly. His eyes teared up again, but he fought it back. He would have smashed his lute if it meant helping Ciri. And Geralt.

Jaskier longed for Geralt to forgive him, to take him back and let him stay by his side, but he’d meant what he’d said, bards have a shelf life, and Jaskier’s time was up.

He wished Geralt would at least speak with him, though. His heart was aching. In a completely different sense, so was his chest.

“Play us a tune, bard,” Yennefer said.

Jaskier turned around. Yen and Geralt were sitting beside eachother, close together. She looked so beautiful in her fine cloak that Jaskier wondered how he ever thought he could catch Geralt’s eye when beings like her existed.

“You know,” he said. “It’s late and I wouldn’t want to bother Ciri.”

“Tent’s soundproof,” Yennefer said, waving her hand.

“I mean, really,” Jaskier protested weakly. Disobeying Yennefer’s request/command was like bathing your brain in lava, but Geralt was looking angry again. Some would say there wasn’t much change from Geralt’s normal expression, but Jaskier knew his face better than he knew his own. Something had made Geralt angry or upset. The only possible answer was Jaskier. It was always Jaskier.

“Play us a song, bard,” Yennefer said. “You’ve been so quiet other than stories, I’d almost think you were a doppler, Melitele knows no one could have taught you to shut up.”

Jaskier swallowed the lump in his throat.

He began, slowly, to pick out a gently tune on his lute. It was a song about winter and home, and he knew the lyrics well. Yennefer had only asked him to play, so he would. His music was at least less offensive than his voice.

He reveled in the feel of his lute beneath his fingers, letting the feeling wash over him, committing it to memory.

When he was finished Yennefer said, “I suppose your voice was tired from your performance, I heard in the town how the bard had played such a long set.”

Jaskier smiled grimly back at her. “Just earning my keep.”

He went to bed, feeling the cold seep into his bones.

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Tag List!

@frywen-babbles @mordoriscalling @thedarkestangel1 @kerfufflezz @live-long-and-trek-on @holymotherwolf @gryffinqueen

@samukai @charlies-dragon I can’t seem to tag, but they’re on the list

#geraksier #adhd Jaskier #the witcher #angst #jaskier #geralt #yennefer #ciri #platonic yennalt #yennefer is a good mom #and deserves nice things #kaer morhen #soon but not yet #emotional hurt/comfort #just hurt now #the comfort is yet to come

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flirtyhyuck · 3 years

Text

a night's escape

; in which you find home in a stranger

; dysfunctional families, angst, comfort, strangers, mention of donghyuck and johnny.

; jaemin x gender neutral reader

; 3.4k wc

The shouting is the loudest you’ve ever heard it, the sound of your father’s resentful voice pushing against the thin walls of your old home to pound in the chambers of your heart, later drowned out by your mother’s shrill screams and the crash of her favourite flower vase being thrown to the ground. You can see the blue porcelain shattered on the floor, water puddling around the shards to help the pink carnations survive only a little longer, a mirror image of the last time she had done just the same.

You stare at the smashed open earphones that lay by your feet, a product of your mother’s previous rage from when she had had enough of you ignoring her yells, now unable to block your ears from the noise just outside your room. Not even blasting the loudest songs could distract from the way you flinch as they raise their voices, battling to be the loudest, most controlling.

You curl up and throw your hands to your ears, staring into the pitch black of your room and mumbling assurances to yourself, desperate to tune out your parent’s screams. It’s a second later that your mother lets out her true frustrations, making the guilt build up in your chest like bile after overeating.

“It's your fault I'm stuck here. I didn't want a family. You made me unhappy.”

A choked sob leaves your lips and your ears ring, more piercing than the words of regret you overheard just a moment ago. Your father responds just as passionately, just as fired up, roaring back about how it was not his idea nor his wish to start a family. You aren’t his fault.

You need to get out.

Throwing a coat over your shoulders, not bothering to change out of your two-day-old pyjamas, you put a hand on your bedroom door knob and hesitate, listening to their curses and shouts, before forcing your room door open. The volume increases the moment you pull on the door, your heart constricting painfully tight as you will your way into the main area of your home. You can feel the headache coming on and you rush to leave as soon as you can, scurrying to the front door where your parents are too busy trying to prove each other wrong to notice their child throwing on a pair of old sneakers. A small spark lights itself up in your heart as your father glances your way. He does nothing to acknowledge or assure you but the small motion is enough.

So, you decide to make the effort.

Your lips tug up into a timid smile, hand raising up into a half-hearted wave, and you keep in the fear when your mother shoots you an angry look. “I’m going to go out for a bit.”

You inwardly scowl at the shakiness in your voice but it seems it doesn’t matter, neither of them spare you another second of their time. Your mother waves you off with a flick of her wrist and you can’t help the disappointment that overcomes you with the dismissive reaction. You hate yourself for even caring - for taking notice of how they don’t think twice about letting you out so late at night or worry about exposing you to their broken relationship - for wanting to be nurtured when even they’re at their lowest.

Ignorance seems bliss right about now.

The evening is apparent, the air still and freezing cold. The yellow street lamps are the only things providing a sense of life in the empty suburban street. The front door doesn’t fully muffle their yells and you wince at the thought of neighbours unwillingly witnessing your weak home.

Glancing to the left, you see Donghyuck’s house just a few blocks down and contemplate seeking his comfort. Not even two steps later, you backtrack immediately and begin to walk in the exact opposite direction, imagining his mother’s offer of dinner and his older brother Johnny’s invitation to join them for a game of Monopoly, it has your lungs tightening up in embarrassment. On the way to whatever’s on this side of the street, you continually argue with yourself, bouncing between feeling like a burden and knowing that Donghyuck would be nothing but happier to give you a sense of home. Though, none of your best friend’s comfort could help to drown away the shame that comes with running away, the envy of not being part of his loving family or the guilt of throwing all your problems onto someone who deserves nothing but good. Your arrival would only shatter the stable home.

You end up at a park, away from Donghyuck’s warm hugs and blissful smiles.

You’ve seen this playset in passing the few times your mother wants to invite you shopping. There are no children being pushed on the swing set so late at night, the slides and seesaw unoccupied and wet. Strange, you hadn’t noticed that it rained today. Despite the droplets that threaten to soak through your sleep pants, you step forward and make to sit in the small cubby house by the monkey bars, cramped because the space wasn't made for anyone over the age of ten in mind.

Apparently that was the wrong move. The crunch of playground bark under your foot alerts someone already here and in turn, their movement startles you. A hooded person, tall and nimble that you hadn't noticed before, stands up and calls out, glancing around before landing on your frozen figure.

“Hello?” His voice is deep and firm, not shaky like you know your own would be. You stare as he slowly comes closer and you feel your fingers loosen from the fists they were tightened into, fear lessening when you notice he isn’t much older than you, maybe the same age or slightly younger. Yet that air in your throat doesn't loosen up in the slightest and you force out your next words.

“I promise,” you hiccup, sniffling, “I’m not trouble, just wanted to- uh- hang out.”

He glares.

"Alone," you reaffirm, "I wanted to be alone."

He loses the tension in his shoulders when he hears the tremble of your words and steps forward. You move back protectively and feel your breath catch in your throat, regretting your decision to come here rather than Donghyuck’s house. The embarrassment seems so much nicer than this threat.

“Are you… okay?” he asks.

Somehow, you feel safe instantly, his voice just as deep but holding a softness in it that you hadn’t heard anyone use when speaking in so long. Maybe it’s the desperation or the loneliness but you feel all your worries melt away immediately, wanting nothing more than to let in the stranger. It's pathetic and you think back to all those safety videos and those ugly statistics that come up on the news often. Yet you can't help but let yourself trust.

You swallow harshly. “I’m not.”

He nods and gives a little snicker, amused at your honesty, and comes closer. With the street lamps now able to reach him, you can finally put a face to the voice. “Are you crying?”

You nod.

He chuckles again but this time, you can see the small smirk that forms on his mouth and the sliver of straight, white teeth that shines through the slight part of his lips. Your heart pinches but you find yourself enjoying the feeling this time. He runs his fingers through his hair, knocking off the protective hood of his jumper and revealing the washed-out blue colour of his locks. Without the shade of his hoodie, his eyes are considerably more visible. They’re dark brown, almost black, but have a glimmer that’s able to shine through the hair that falls past his brows and into the empty night. His nose is tall and slim, lips thin and chapped.

You gulp and fail to hear what he said, distracted with only the movement on his lips to show he was speaking at all. You mumble an apology and ask if he can repeat himself, unknowingly wandering closer to the attractive stranger.

He sighs impatiently but looks at you with just as much kindness as before, looking to have dropped any fear as well. “If you’re here to hang out, want to hang out with me?”

It’s weird and very suspicious of an invitation but the slight purse of his lips and expectant raise of his brows are terribly convincing. You give in to the offer and nod again, not feeling the need to speak and watching him drop on the ground right there.

“Well?” he murmurs, looking up at you from where he sits criss-cross applesauce, “are you going to join me?”

“Right,” you cough, rubbing your eyes red and shaking off the strange feeling of security that comes with settling by his side.

“I’m Jaemin,” he introduces, raspy and slow.

“I’m Y/n,” you give back.

“Y/n,” he lilts your name, dragging out the last letter with an ending hum, “pretty.”

“Thanks.” You hope it’s dark enough to hide the shy smile that works itself on to your lips.

His hands, veiny and strong, pick up a piece of bark and toss it away, toward the footpath behind you. Not looking away from where he picks for another piece worthy enough to be thrown, Jaemin regards you in a hushed, thoughtful tone, “what are you wandering into a park late at night for?”

You stare down at the empty patch he’s created and offer a tight laugh, “I could ask you the same.”

“Yes,” he nods slowly, calm, and looks up at you with a teasing smile, not breaking his strong gaze even when you turn away, “but I asked you first. Shoot.”

“Oddly demanding of you.”

Jaemin flings another bit of damp wood over your shoulder, dangerously close to scratching your cheek, and falls back on his hands, scoffing. The bark is sure to be digging into his palms painfully. “It’s good to get it out.”

You glare, challenging, before scowling at his know it all attitude and dropping your head to face the ground. “How do you even know it’s something I’d need to vent?”

He laughs with a humoured shake of his head, loud and genuine. “You were crying just a second ago.”

“True.” It isn’t like you know Jaemin properly, you won’t see him every day after this and be able to feel shame or regret – like a diary page you’ll chuck out the next day, tangible evidence gone.

You tuck your knees into your chest, circling your arms around your legs to lace your fingers together at the front, holding your own hands tight. You bite your bottom lip harshly, not worried about your skin potentially splitting under your teeth, and feel your eyes dart from his own patient gaze to the swing set to the empty road.

“Whenever you want,” he whispers, knowing you’ve given up on arguing.

Dropping your forehead on the steadiness of your knees, effectively balling up, you try not to worry about whether or not Jaemin’s judging you and begin speaking. “Parents don’t want to be with each other. They regret having me- forced to stay together for a child they didn’t want. They love screaming about it every chance they get.”

“Yikes,” he hisses, unsure how to respond, “sorry you have to go through that.”

You dismiss him with a shrug, so used to being nonchalant about the topic with Donghyuck or worried friends who catch sight of your parents arguing in the car. Jaemin's response is nothing different from the default that you've always been met with, a fake pinch of pity in their eyebrows. “It’s whatever.”

He pouts, clearly not agreeing, but doesn’t bother to scold you on your act of apathy. “For what it’s worth,” he begins, stopping all motion of his hand to show a careful grin, “I like having you around.”

“Thanks,” you smile playfully, not taking the comment to heart but enjoying the good hearted change of pace, rocking back and forth as he laughs along. “Just sucks to know I’m here out of necessity rather than love. Doesn't really feel like my existence has worth.”

“Right,” he agrees, breathless. You don’t think he really understands but the way he goes along with it, listening without argument or a rush to correct your dejected feelings, it’s nice. It's more polite than anything else you've ever been told and you can't find yourself appreciating it more. “Some people just aren’t ready to be parents and don’t know it until it’s too late.”

“Correct,” you applaud quietly, “but that’s not what I mean.”

Jaemin tilts his head in confusion and goes to apologise but you cut him off, not wanting him to feel bad for not understanding, “it’s more so that being parents- my parents- is what’s keeping them from happiness. I'm holding them back or whatever.”

His head bobs up and down slowly, fully processing your words before settling into an understanding frown. “That sucks,” he mumbles, looking at you with sorrowful eyes. You refrain from balling yourself up anymore, his gaze reminding you of Donghyuck’s pitying smile and hesitant looks. Though, you feel yourself lighten up a little with his next words, “I’m proud of you… for enduring that every day and still having a sense of worth- no matter how much it may have weakened. You’ll be able to get out of that situation one day, the future is your oyster.”

It sounds genuine and your brain racks at the sentiment of being listened to properly.

You smile, small and flattered, in place of verbal gratitude and turn away, tired of his twinkling eyes. “I don’t think that’s the saying."

“It works, doesn’t it?” Jaemin grumbles, kicking at your foot.

“I suppose so.” You click your tongue and kick at the little heart he’s drawn into the now exposed soil. He glowers and slaps at your shoe, mumbling about how ungrateful and mean you are before sighing, giving up on drawing any more. “Now,” you begin, tilting your head to rest your cheek on your knee, “why are you here?”

Jaemin huffs, upset it was already his turn to share his sob story. “Would you believe me if I told you that I’m just here for some fresh air?”

“Not a chance,” you grumble, giving a half smile before sighing yourself, “I know a miserable loser when I see one. You're one of me.”

“Miserable loser?” he repeats with wide eyes, offended and disbelieving.

“Alright,” you loosen up, apologising with a simper, “that was an exaggeration.”

“I’m…” he stutters, hesitating a little. He meets your eyes and you offer a wide grin, cheesy and light hearted, and laughs. “I’m here for the same reason as you.”

"Tomato pasta?” you cut him off, joking. Hopeful that it'll ease the tension in his shoulders.

It seems to work, his brows furrowed in confusion and lips parting in slight amusement, pupils darting around to study your face for some kind of explanation. “What?”

"That’s why they fought,” you giggle, finding it stupid now that you’re finally out of the situation itself, “dad asked for fried rice today but mum said she’s been craving pasta.”

“That…” he spaces off yet again, completely lost. The thoughtful pout of his lips is adorable and you find yourself inwardly cooing, feeling light. “That’s a weird thing to have a such a big fight about.”

"I agree,” you nod, toes dancing in a fiddle, “crazy how angry you can get when you hate someone.” You decide against explaining the escalation of the argument, letting Jaemin create his own story in his own head. “Anyway, you were saying?”

“Right,” he clears his throat, “here for the same reason as you. Can’t stand my parents.” There’s slight hesitation to his words, the way he rubs at the back of his neck and the guilt that shows in the way he smiles but won’t look you in the eye. He glances in your direction once before darting away the moment he meets your analysing eyes, wondering. It's wimpish when he mutters, “hate how in love they are.”

The words leave his lips and you freeze, frowning ever so slightly and allowing your eyes to drift away from his apologetic stare, self conscious. “Way to rub it in,” you mumble. You feel your body lean away from his, suddenly insecure and regretful about what you’d just shared.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, licking his lips with a harsh breath, pushing out an open hand to rest on yours before pulling back when you flinch, reminded you had only just met. “It’s more than that, I swear.”

“What?” you scoff, hurt, “you can hear them having sex at night?” You let out a laugh but Jaemin finds it isn’t at all pleasurable to listen to this time.

“No,” he sighs, head falling in his hands. He looks up and sees you observing the empty road, unable to look at him but too tense to get up and leave. He gives up and gets it out, hoping you’ll understand if he gives you the context all at once, even if you've already decided you hate his privilege. “My stepdad. I hate him.”

A second father. Your eyes drift down to your feet and you ask him a question, it’s only to reassure yourself but he doesn’t mind, understands the curiosity. “Is he a jerk?”

“No,” Jaemin chuckles painfully, watching your frown reappear, distasteful, “he’s an alright guy if I let him be.”

“Then why-” you choke, punching at the ground and feeling the bark dig into your knuckles, the pain distracting you from your outburst for a small moment.

He doesn’t let you finish, desperate to clear the air and have you see the full picture. Wanting your approval and not for his sob story to be pitied but for you to be on the same page, he values your perspective of him already. “My stepdad’s a homewrecker,” Jaemin blurts, holding his breath and watching as you let your guard down, angry scowl fading into a look of realisation. You dart your head up, wide-eyed and rushing to apologise, but he sighs in relief, waving you off with an understanding smile.

You don’t look any less regretful as he continues to explain himself but Jaemin finds it sweet, not at all offended by your previous attitude. “I don’t like seeing my parents happy together. My mum doesn’t deserve it,” he hisses at the blunt words and laughs at himself, digging a hand in his hair, “I wouldn’t mind her moving on and finding love but she found him when she was still with my dad- pursued that relationship behind our backs.”

“Jaemin," you struggle to find the words, "that sounds like such a hard situation." He nods in confirmation and you purse your lips at the pained smile that comes with it.

He stares down at the ground, unsure why he can’t look you in the eye but loving the feeling of a weight being lifted off of his shoulders, his feelings finally being let out into the open. “I don’t know whether or not to hate my mum for breaking up our family. I think she already hates herself for it- she's never talked to me about it… I don’t even know if she knows I know- but she has to settle or else she’s alone.”

“Whatever you feel,” you say slowly, carefully, “is complicated but valid. It’s understandable.” It's a shit response, sounds like a script but it's the best you can do with how unprepared you are. Jaemin a lot better at this than you seem to be.

“Thanks,” he whispers back, finally looking up at you.

You meet eyes, lips parted and breathing steady, neither of you making a sound but giving the other words of thanks with your steady gazes. Both of you are grateful. The way he stares, silent and caring, makes you wonder if you’d prefer to see him more after this, if having him in your tomorrow would be good for you, if he’s thinking the same. But for now you just sigh, delighted you can look at him in this moment and feel some sense of normalcy, feel understood, lost.

“You’ll be out of there soon,” you chuckle, blinking slowly. With a hushed tone, you reach for Jaemin’s hand and remind him, “the future is your oyster.”

#jaemin x reader #jaemin #na jaemin #nct #nct x reader #nct dream #nct angst #jaemin angst #nct fluff #jaemin fluff #jaemin fanfic #nct fanfic #jaemin smut #nct smut #jaemin imagines #jaemin scenarios #nct imagines #nct scenarios

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juniorgman187 · 3 years

Text

Love & Other Drugs (Spencer Reid Imagine) Part 1

*not my gif

Summary: Toxicologist Reader meets her match in the ever intriguing Doctor Reid. Category: Fluff Couple: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Content Warning: drug addiction, love addiction, neglect Word Count: 4.1k

This is going to be a two-part series.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Love is an addiction.

Not only is there behavioral evidence that suggests love can be addictive, but thanks to recent studies, we also have neurochemical and neuroimaging evidence to support the theory. Multiple feel-good chemicals are released when we are in love. These include dopamine, serotonin, and oxytocin.

The roots of love addiction extend back to early childhood. A history of abandonment, neglect, or inadequate/ inconsistent nurturing can lead to a love addiction. Like other addictions, a love addiction is often the result of insecure attachment patterns.

It may sound strange to equate love with addiction. After all, love is perhaps the most positive of emotions; it results in many health benefits and has life-lengthening effects. It may only be, then, that a dysfunctional relationship to love is necessary in order to consider a person "addicted."

Love is like a drug and we don't care about the long term side effects; we just care about how high we can get.

So with that being said . . . how high could I get?

A question that I would soon find the answer to following a visit from the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.

“I’m Agent Hotchner. We spoke on the phone briefly.”

The dark-haired man with the gentle eyes and dimples greeted. I recognized his voice, despite it being deeper in person. No complaints, though.

“So what was it you needed a toxicology report on?”

Fully expecting the same gentleman to respond, a younger man behind him cut into the conversation, answering for the agent.

“This cloth,” He dangled the evidence bag in front of my face and practically let it drop when I took it from him, rather than making sure the bag landed safely in my hands like he should’ve given the fact that this was something vital to their case. So valuable, even, they requested to have the results expedited.

“I suspect it’s chloroform, but they said we should bring it to a professional to be sure.” He finished his statement by pursing his lips into a thin, straight line, which oddly enough, I think was his version of a smile, and a not very agreeable one at that.

Simply by the way he handed me the evidence bag and the tone of his voice as he said, “professional,” like the word stung his tongue and tasted like acid, I knew he was offended that he wasn’t deemed fit to analyze the chemical on the cloth. He surely thought of himself in the highest regard and to ask for help from someone else, much less a woman, was insulting to him. I was certain that he wasn’t doing this out of his own will, but that his superior most likely assured him it was just a precaution so as not to bruise that fragile ego. I had a feeling the only person he would listen to was a male superior, most likely from the absence of a proper one. A father.

I could be a profiler, too, you know?

“Great. I’ll let you know what I find when I’m done.”

“I’ll come with you.”

I should’ve anticipated he’d have the audacity to invite himself as if this was a social gathering of some sort, which it was most certainly not. If anything, it was degrading to me that he insisted he come. Like he didn’t trust me to be on my own, like he was doubting my intelligence. I didn’t need a babysitter, chaperone, or supervisor, and I was going to make sure he knew that.

“What’s your name again?” I asked, merely as a subliminal reminder that if he had said his name, I forgot it within seconds because he was that forgettable.

“Dr. Spencer Reid.”

He didn’t ask for my name in return, and I had to ponder if it was his way of saying that he just didn’t care. How classy of him.

Two can play that game.

When he stepped foot into my beloved lab, or my lair as I liked to call it, I could feel the environment being tainted with his passive-aggressiveness, and I almost wanted to push him right back out the door so the dark cloud in the room would leave with him, but I settled for a kinder approach, politely asking if he could wear the appropriate protective gear if he insisted being so close to the chemical - the chemical I was to inspect. Again, the chemical I was to inspect - me. Not him - me.

“No, it’s alright. I’ll just be right here.”

I suppose his refusal to abide by my simple precaution of wearing a coat, goggles, and gloves was made up for by his promise to maintain a distance away from me, so I didn’t push the topic any further out of fear that he might change his mind and come closer and meddle with my space. I had my own personal bubble around me and I would go feral if he invaded it, whether it was knowingly or unknowingly.

We’d spent probably two hours or so there in silence, which I quite liked, but I couldn’t help but notice how often he’d excuse himself to leave for the bathroom. I let it slide since I was too busy with my toxicology report anyway, and why would I complain about those few extra minutes of peace I got when he was away?

“This is so old fashioned,” I said in sheer awe as I inspected the small square of fabric that had clearly been doused with a euphoriant. “I haven’t seen this being used as a sedative since like the 1920s in those soundless black and white movies.”

I was too engaged with the findings of my microscope to pay attention to the “info-dump” that was brewing from the lanky doctor so it came as a shock to me when all that I had said in light of the situation would be refuted with facts.

“Actually, Chloroform was a popular anesthetic from the mid-1800s to around 1900, mostly around the time of the Civil War - not the 1920s.”

I pulled my eye away from the lens of the microscope to inspect the speaking specimen. He looked quite proud of himself for knowing and saying what he did, and for that, I was almost perturbed all the more by his bravado, but given his physical stature, I suppose the skill of his brain was how he compensated for what he lacked in appearance, so I let it pass to boost his ego.

“Yeah, I was never really a history buff. I guess that’s why I got degrees in Chemistry and Toxicology instead.” Hitting him right back with that pursed-lip smile at the end, mirroring his own.

My comment didn’t settle well, and I could tell from the way he scratched at his arm like my words were making him itchy as they seeped into his skin. But I liked to make people uncomfortable, as awful as that sounds. Yet I had a sneaking suspicion, I wasn’t the true cause for why he was itching his arm.

“But um, you . . . you were actually right about the silent films. Those were exceedingly popular in the 1920s.”

His sheepish words seemed to suggest a surrender. As if he was giving me the satisfaction of knowing I was right about something so that I might not be closed off to him entirely, which I was most certainly not, even if it seemed like it. He might have aggravated me slightly with his coldness, but he was arguably the most interesting character out of that team, and I had a feeling he didn’t usually act like this.

Antsy, fidgeting.

Unkempt in appearance.

Often lost in thought.

Depressed breathing.

Pinpoint pupils.

The signs were all there, but that wasn’t what surprised me. I was just surprised that in a team of profilers, no one else seemed to notice him and his addiction, and if they did - they just didn’t care.

“What drugs are you on?”

I asked bluntly with a slight head tilt to deepen the notion of my harmless curiosity to which he definitely misinterpreted as a harmful curiosity. I was never one to address things with subtlety and grace, but it seemed like a waste of time to approach this situation with any other attitude than candidness. If my intuition was correct, which I knew it was, he was months into his substance abuse and at this rate, if he wasn’t receiving any help, he’d need to soon.

“Excuse me?”

“I may not be a profiler, but I’m a toxicologist and I can tell when someone’s on drugs in the same way you can tell when someone’s lying - through studying their behavior. And so far, I’ve noticed that the left cuff of your shirt is unbuttoned, which makes sense considering you’re right-handed, giving you easier access and making it faster to inject whatever it is your taking, but I should warn you - you’re not fast enough. Even though your ‘visits’ to the bathroom have shortened minute by minute, I haven’t been blind to the fact that you’ve gone there at least five times since you’ve been here, and don’t even bother lying. I know you aren’t peeing because you haven’t touched that cup of coffee or the bottled water whatsoever. So let me ask you again - what drugs are you on?”

From the baffled look on his face, I could tell he had never met his match.

Not until now.

His eyes were narrowing in on me darkly, and I feared to see his “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde” duality, but I was also curious if the oncoming switch in personality would reveal anything more to me about what he was using. However, that was quickly cut short by his sudden burst out of the room, giving me no opportunity to see his fit of rage unfold, and I had to believe that he knew if he stayed a second longer, I would’ve easily been able to distinguish the drug he was on. I wouldn’t put it past him, he was smart enough, that much I could admit.

I followed him with my eyes as he flew out of the lab, dodging the stupefied Agent Gideon.

“Reid?” Gideon called out to him, as if he was a dad checking on his hormonal teenager, but neither I, nor the agent, heard a response back.

Now, turning his attention back to me, Agent Gideon entered the lab, clapping his hands together and rubbing them together in anticipation, completely disregarding what happened only moments ago. It wasn’t even like he was truly uncomfortable and trying to brush it aside so that I wouldn’t be uncomfortable, it just genuinely seemed like he didn’t care. He didn’t feel the need to bring any more attention to the situation, but judging from his reaction, I had doubts on if there had been any attention being paid to the doctor’s drug addiction - ever.

“So, what do you got for me?”

“Two things - first, this is clearly Deuterated Chloroform, which is an isotopologue of Chloroform with a single deuterium atom. CDCl 3 is a common solvent used in NMR spectroscopy-” I paused when I realized my toxicology jargon was flying right over his head. “So in other words, this type of Chloroform can daze or knock out people even when it's consumed in small doses.”

“And the second thing?”

Without missing a beat, I asked, “What’s up with that guy?”

His hands unfolded to reach out on either side of him in a shrug as a sign of incomprehensiveness. “Spencer?” He finally pointed with his thumb to the door, which Dr. Reid had just stormed out of.

I nodded.

“Ehh, I prefer to leave it alone.” He threw his hands up in surrender, but I wasn’t about to let him maintain his attitude of ignorance.

“Why? Isn’t it better if he talks about it? I mean, it’s obvious there’s something going on. He’s clearly displaying habits of an addict.”

The room was shot dead with silence. I could tell he couldn’t believe I’d just said that so bluntly, addressing what I assumed he had yet to even come to terms with.

“Agent Gideon, I mean this as no insult to you, but I’d surely hope that, even as someone that analyzes behavior for a living, you were sincerely unaware of his addiction and not deliberately avoiding addressing it only because it makes you uncomfortable. Addiction is a very common thing, more common that people would like to believe, and I would hate for Dr. Reid to feel that he’s alone in a room full of people that could help him - that should help him. Or that he can’t turn to any of you without being treated like he's a victim in one of your cases.”

I wasn’t exactly sure which of my words was the one that crossed the line, but I knew, as a whole, I ventured far beyond the boundary. He didn’t even answer me verbally, but his body language did the talking, and if I heard it correctly, he was dumbfounded by my audacity.

“You have a good day, Miss.” He finally said with a forced smile, while snatching the evidence bag from my hand.

Amicably, I had to let it go the minute Agent Gideon left my lab. I shouldn’t care more about the doctor’s wellbeing than his own coworkers, than his own team - than his own family. And even though I was incredibly passionate about proper drug use, I couldn’t be too invested in the care of Dr. Reid. At least not until he started caring about me, too.

After my minor back-to-back confrontations, I was more than ready to go home. Once I cleaned my station and removed my gear, I was out the door. When I got to the parking lot, I saw that on either side of my car, there were two black SUVs I’d never seen here before. The government license plates were all that I needed to see to come to the conclusion that they belonged to the BAU. Having just instigated something with both Spencer and Agent Gideon, I knew I had to leave before they did, otherwise I might risk running into them, which would’ve been utterly humiliating.

It was the sudden chirp of familiar voices that caused me to bolt into my car and try and start it, but naturally, buried somewhere within the Bermuda Triangle that was my purse were my keys, and I couldn’t find them in time.

“Hey, I’ll catch up with you guys later.” I faintly heard from behind me.

Keys! Keys! Keys! Where are you?

With animalistic speed, I rummaged through my purse, literally starving for the feeling of my fingers touching the jagged metal and the remote of my keys before I’d have to -

“Looking for these?”

I tore my eyes away from my purse to peer up at the sound of my jingling keys as they hung from the index finger of the man I shouldn’t care about. I wryly chuckled, taking them with a goony smile when he handed them to me with much more caution than earlier when he handed me the evidence bag.

“I saw you left them behind in the lab and I figured you might need those. Especially if you’re trying to run away from me.”

“I’m not trying to run away from you.”

My words were unaffecting, only leaving him with more reason to doubt me, evidenced by his deadpan stare.

“Really! I wasn’t!” It was beyond me why I thought speaking more loudly would make him digest my words any better, but at any rate, it did.

“Okay, okay, relax. I believe you.”

We shared a brief laugh, the euphoria of which was fleeting, and then, we were right back to where we were before. Back to square one - not knowing what to say. The uncomfortable silence pressed me to leave, but he must’ve registered my sudden movement as a tell that he needed to say something so captivating, so shocking, so bewitching, that would stop me from leaving.

“Thank you.”

To say that I was baffled would be a gross understatement. I was in complete awe and disbelief. Hearing those words from his lips was enough to stun me, but even more so because of how sincere it sounded.

“I was going to come back and apologize when I overheard you and Gideon talking about me. You left before I got the chance to thank you for what you said back there. So . . . thank you.”

And yet again, he thanked me, and surprisingly, it wasn’t any less pleasing to the ear.

“Yeah, of course. I was just worried about you that’s all.” Unknowingly, I revealed too much out of the blinding bliss of the moment.

“You were worried about me?”

His own question brought me to the realization of what I’d just said, and in his tone of voice, I also became aware of the connotation behind it. He already knew the answer and just wanted to hear me say it again, so I nudged him playfully to avoid reciting my confession.

“Actually, I take that back. Why should I worry over someone who didn’t even bother to know my name?”

He looked quite offended; his neck recoiled in distaste.

“I know your name.”

“You didn’t ask me for it.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t know it, (y/n).” Drawing out my name just to demonstrate his honest knowledge of it.

“Actually, it’s Doctor.” I corrected, earning a hearty laugh from him, one that made him throw his head back with an open mouthed smile.

In my playful jest, he was reminded of himself and his own uncannily similar humor. He could see himself in me. (Mind you, this distinction was completely unknown to me). It was only he that could see we were foils of each other - parallel lines that ran side by side, never fated to intersect but forging a connection in spite of that; a connection formed on the basis of close proximity and congruence in shape.

“Anyway, thanks for bringing my keys. I’ll see you later.”

Our goodbye was too quick, I knew that, but I couldn’t, in good conscience, keep talking to him and avoid bringing up the conversation of his addiction. I wasn’t nuanced like that. I was too eager to solve problems head on to keep my determination at bay. I couldn’t dance around the very thing that was killing him slowly. I just couldn’t. Had I drawn out our conversation any longer, I’d sooner touch that tender wound he restlessly picked at; a wound that might never properly or fully heal if he kept doing so. I knew he was too stubborn to let me clean it, so in favor of his pride, he insisted he could fix it himself and simply put a band-aid on it in an attempt to do just that, foolishly thinking it would be enough. However, like a real gash, tear, or cut, it may only be worsened by the lack of adequate disinfection. He could just as easily reap the benefits as he could suffer the consequences of the absence of a proper enabling agent that stings badly, but successfully targets the root of the problem. The choice was up to him. Would he suffer the consequences or reap the benefits? To be quite frank, there’s no way around that disinfectant. It’s that or nothing, and I found myself to be the confrontation to the problem that he lacked. So now that I’d addressed it, it was up to him to decide what to do. I had done all that I could, and I had to accept that.

Maybe a minute more of talking to him and I might’ve even seen that connection he was seeing. I assure you, a few more soulful glances was all it would take to kill me in cold blood. If you could get intoxicated on someone’s eyes, I’d be drunk on his. I saw worlds behind them - raging waters of words unspoken bursting from overflowing dams, calm seas of his thank you’s, maybe even lazy rivers of useless stored information and memorized book passages I could dawdle in forever. An overwhelming guilt consumed me when I realized I’d only been staring at them for as long as I had to probe further and satisfy my own selfish desires. I felt all the worse for the unsuspecting object of my gaze who was led to the hopeful, naive notion that I was looking at him out of admiration. He had no clue what I was really doing.

I was profiling him.

Earlier in the day, I would’ve gloated about my ability to use his own job against him by employing the skill of profiling, but now, it was different. He was different. The guilt was escalating quickly and I made haste to get in my car, not even waiting to catch his reply to my sudden goodbye before I shut the door. If I had to assume, he must’ve said something in agreement because the minute I turned on my ignition, he stepped out of the way, letting me leave with no protests. Quite haphazardly, I drove out of my parking spot, reducing him to just a blurry figure in my rear view mirror that would haunt my dreams at night and occupy my thoughts in the day. Consider it merely a precaution to part from him so promptly. I needed my distance before I did something we both would have regretted.

Before I started to love him.

. . .

“Positive for Alprazolam. Positive for Carboxy-THC,” I mumbled to myself while I jotted down the results of my preliminary toxicology report. You’d often find me in this state and by that I mean, it’s been more than one occasion where someone walked in on me talking to myself. I found that it was easier to make note of things when I spoke it out loud, even if just to myself in a hushed tone. “Negative for -”

“Am I interrupting you?”

I pulled my eye away from the lens and upwards to the voice beckoning me at the door. To my surprise, it was Spencer.

“No, not at all. What’s up?”

As he made his way to my station, I instinctively shot up in my seat to fix my posture into one more ladylike and graceful, pulling my shoulders back as if there was a string tugging at them. It was a stark contrast to my previous hunched over position that rounded my back out almost to the point of looking like a half-circle. It was the most natural position for me, and arguably more comfortable, too, but now in Spencer’s presence, I wanted to assume a more flattering position. For what reason? I didn’t know.

“I, um . . .” He cleared his throat and adjusted the collar of his shirt frantically. “I’m going to see a film tonight in Sky Meadows State Park. I was wondering if you wanted to come.”

It was easy to meet his eyes until he said what he did. Reflexively, I looked down at my microscope to shy away from his gaze so he might not see the color forming on my cheeks.

“That’s really sweet of you,” I began. “But I should probably get this report done first.”

I wouldn’t have noticed I was tapping my pen on my paper anxiously had it not been for Spencer’s eyes drifting to the motion. After consciously stopping it, he looked back at me, seeing that similarity again.

I was just as nervous as he was.

“Yeah, yeah of course. Next time, then.”

My heart sank at the visceral blow to his ego. I didn’t intend to shatter his confidence, but by the time he turned on his heels with his hands sheepishly shoved into his pockets, I knew it was not the first time someone declined an offer of his.

“Actually,” One word was enough to draw him in. “I can finish this up another time. I’d much rather catch that movie with you instead.”

I wish I could tell you that my intentions were pure. That I was going because I knew I would enjoy his company and he would enjoy mine, but that wasn’t it at all. It was that familiar itch again that made my ‘yes’ easier to say.

The itch to dig deeper and to know more.

“Great. I’ll wait outside for you.”

The rational part of me knew that if I couldn’t let his addiction go, it’d be the death of me. But if I did, it’d be the death of him. Literally.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

PART 2 HERE!

#spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds #spencer reid fluff #soft angst #love & other drugs

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whump-town · 3 years

Text

Hospital

A hurt Emily fic for idk anyone. I just wrote it forever ago and just got around to finishing the ending... Hotchniss and whump soo I’m also like obsessed rn with retired Hotch and Emily still working but also like old Hotchniss is really soft

“Hotch!” His large dark figure jogs down the hall. Even aged, cheeks covered with a soft greying beard, and hair a little longer than what used to be typical, it takes Garcia only a glance to know that it’s him. A single glance to recognize the distinct way that he exists in space. She rises to her feet to meet him as he comes to a breathless halt. “What’re you doing here?”

He’s shaking, eyes scanning over the little crowd of them. “Where--” he recognizes them even if he doesn’t know them. Luke Alvez, Emily’s always going on about him. Hotch had hired the young man and Emily never stops reminding him of that. He’s surmised the younger man is to her what she used to be to him-- a pain in the ass. Matt Simmons, tall, charming, and looks exactly the same as the first time Hotch met him years ago. Tara, whom he knows, and respects for her ability to work so flawlessly with Emily. Then JJ and Reid.

“Where is she,” he asks. A few years ago, he would never be putting on the show that he is right now. He certainly wouldn’t be standing here. He’d be off hidden somewhere, reeling with emotions and probably being an ass to anyone unfortunate enough to run into him. But not today. “Where’s Emily?”

They’ve been doing this little dance for ages. For longer than it even matters to count. He hadn’t been brave enough to say anything, never has been. So, even after thousands of letters back and forth from London, Emily coming home to help the team, and stopping Scratch… She’d found him, though.

Weekends started revolving around her schedule. She and Jack spending time together, to make up for how she left things after Doyle. Then… they didn’t even need Jack. They started texting again. She’d tell him about Luke and Reid getting into trouble. How Matt has the cutest kids. That Garcia is dragging them out for a girls’ night.

And, standing in the middle of this hospital corridor, he finally understands what it’s like to be on the other half. What it must have been like for Haley and Will and Luke’s wife. To not know if the other half of you is…

Dave appears from the hall, calm. He smiles when he spots Hotch. “Aaron,” he calls, with a small wave. For old friends, he hasn’t seen much of the man since his retirement. More than the team, Jack’s a very big fan of weekends spent up at Dave’s house but still. It’s been a while.

“Dave,” Hotch breaths. He steps up to the older man, twisting and anxiously pulling at his hands. Trying to work the stress out of his body. “Is she okay?”

Rossi looks the younger man over. In this state, he’s not going to be nearly as soothing as Dave needs him to be. Emily’s hurting and she’s asking for Hotch but they’re going to be like gas on a house fire if he lets them near one another right now. “Sit down,” he instructs, motioning to the chairs.

Hotch’s bottom lips trembles, his voice thick as he barely manages to form Rossi’s name. “Dave, please,” he rasp.

Rossi doesn’t budge.

Knees shaking under him, Hotch sinks heavily into the chair. He leans over himself, elbows on his knees. “I don’t have time for this,” he complains, working his fingers through his hair. He rubs at his face, sniffling as he roughly wipes the tears that fall against his will.

He glances up when a hand falls on his back, Tara offers him a smile. “She’s strong,” Tara informs him with a strength that he wished he had. “I was with her the entire time,” Tara inhales calmly, drawing her shoulders up with the breath. If she wants to reflect the calm that Hotch needs, she needs to look the part. With a nod of her head she adds, “she was aware the entire time. Trying to give orders and keep us calm.”

He nods his head, bottom lip still trembling and eyes rimmed with the tears that he refuses to let fall. “Sounds like Emily,” he manages, eyes shifting to the team as they nod agreeance. Her team. He’d left the BAU to her and she’d nestled and nurtured like she does everything. Looking at them, gathered around him and just as worried as he is, he can’t imagine why she’d ever been so afraid to take over.

“Alright,” Rossi sighs. He sits down beside Aaron, preparing himself. He’d seen her. Not her power of attorney but still trusted enough that his name was the second one she thought of when she woke up. She needed someone and Aaron hadn’t been here. “She’s sedated--” he holds up his hand when Hotch tries to cut in. “I know, I’ve already requested they pull her off the medication. I know she doesn’t like it.”

Pushing his hand through his own hair he sighs, “she’s… tired but she wants to see you.” Hotch nods. “You have to be calm.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Dave shakes his head but caves, “alright.”

She’d taken a hit straight to her vest. Laid out on her back struggling to breathe, she’d realized that she’s way too fucking old for this. She remembered all the times Aaron had tried to convince her back to bed in the early mornings. Practically begging her to just take the day off. To stay here with him.

When she wakes up in the hospital, stiff and in pain, all she wants is him. Someone to hold her hand and to pull her hair off of her back. It’s itchy and she hates it.

Seeing Dave, she could have cried. So certain he was going to deny her and tell her Aaron wasn’t coming.

“Aaron,” she whispers, a sob bubbling its way up out of her throat. She’s too weak and hurting to reach out for him but he doesn’t break stride when he sees her. “There you are,” she can’t remember what happened between taking that shot to the vest and now. There’s a faint, faint, memory of the feeling of her blood pooling around her. Fear. She’d been afraid. Now, face pressed into his shoulder and his arms wrapped tightly around her, she’s not afraid at all.

Pressing her face into his clothes she smiles, “you smell good.”

He laughs but it’s chocked and sounds more like a scoff. “Thanks,” he croaks. Sniffling, he pulls back from her hug. There’s a fleck of blood on her neck, leftover from the wound on her side. He’s already mapping out ways to keep her comfortable when he gets to take her home. The couch isn’t any good but their bedroom is on the second floor of their house. He’s a little too old to be carrying her but he already knows he’ll pull his back out before he makes her walk up the stairs.

“I like the beard,” she whispers dreamily, fingers scratching at his facial hair.

He places his hand over hers, cupping her hand there.

“Aaron--”

He covers his mouth, looking away as his breathing hitches his tears to fall.

“Honey,” she whispers, tugging his hand when he keeps himself turned from her. Trying to hide his tears. “You don’t have to hide,” she reminds him softly. He still keeps his head turned. “Well, if you’re going to hide your tears will you at least make yourself useful and come over here and cuddle me, huh? I’m tried and I’m in pain and I don’t sleep alone.”

He shakes his head, pulling his hand from hers, wiping at his face.

“I wasn’t playing,” she clarifies. “I need another blanket and your big dumb butt up here with me.”

Rubbing his tears away, Hotch forces himself to breathe. To calm down. Clearing his throat, he goes to the closet on the other side of the room. Retrieving her second blanket. “There’s not enough room on there for me,” he informs her, spreading the blanket and draping it over her delicately.

She frowns, sadly looking down at the room between her sides and the railing. She’s pouting. Very childishly so but he can’t stand to see her sad and she knows it. “Please,” she whispers. “Won’t you just try?”

He sighs and she knows she’s won.

He’s terrified he’ll hurt her but she’s completely okay with that.

“How,” he’s half on the edge, scratching at the side of his face as he tries to figure out how to lay on his side or--

“I don’t care,” she replies, head leaning on the pillow as she watches him. She’s always thought his thinking was rather hot. So analytic and logical. Funny thing is, both of those traits also annoy the hell out of her.

With a nod of his head, she can see he’s come up with his plan. He’s got his “business” face on, or, as she calls it, his “Agent Hotchner” face. It’s very distinct and cute.

“Oh careful with the hands mister,” she giggles, smiling when he places a hand on her stomach, carefully maneuvering himself around her. His thumb grazes her breast and she’s only in this hospital gown. He rolls his eyes but she knows he loves her little jokes.

When he stops moving, he’s successfully managed to get mostly behind her, allowing her to lean back against his chest. A favorite cuddling position of hers. He’s very content with himself. She’s happily moving herself to nestle as closely as she can.

“You’re very warm,” she informs him, wincing when she pulls on her sore side. He rubs her back and she can feel herself relaxing again. Everything is warm. Her head is on his chest, she can hear his heart beating, and his breath running down under her gown across her skin. She’s not going to be able to stay awake like this.

“Emily?”

His voice has thickened again and she can hear the tears in his voice. Without opening her eyes she finds his leg and pats it, trying her best sleepy and hurting to comfort him as best she can. “What is it, my love?” She doesn’t make a habit of using little monikers like that in their day-to-day life but occasionally it’s the best way to remind him she loves him.

“I love you,” he whispers, “you know that, right.”

She smirks, he’s always so anxious. Terrified one day she’ll wake up and doubt every minute of the last decade. “I know,” she assures him. “Most of the time,” she amends with a smile, “I doubt it a little when you wake me up snoring or leave the toilet seat up.”

He smiles and shakes his head.

Good, she thinks and sighs contently. They’re going to be okay.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #hotchniss #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss

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highsviolets · 3 years

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INTERVIEW NO. 1: RACHEL @djarinsbeskar

hello hello! i am so happy to announce that rachel — aka the immense talent that is @djarinsbeskar — has agreed to be my first interviewee for this new series! thank you to rach and to each one of you for all of your support. to read more about the project, click here, and to submit an author, click here.

| why rachel? |

Rachel captured my imagination from the first time we interacted as mutuals-in-law. She’s bursting with energy and vivaciousness, with a current of kindness just underneath everything she does. Her work is no exception. Oftentimes gritty, raw, and exposing (in … ahem…more ways than one), Rachel challenges her readers to dig deeper into both the story and themselves. Her smut brings a particular fire as it’s laced with need, desire, and mutual trust that leads us deeper into the characters’ identities and how physical affection can mimic other forms of intimacy. She’s a tour de force in this fandom and an absolute joy.

| known for |

Engaging with and encouraging other authors, cultivating inspo posts, attention to world building & character development

| my favorites |

Stitches

Boxer!Din

Full Masterlist • Ko-Fi

| q & a |

When did you start writing? What was that project, and what was it like? Has that feeling or process ever changed over time? Why?

I can’t remember a time I wasn’t writing. I was an avid reader, as I think most writers are—and I remember, after picking up Lord of the Rings—that I could live so many lives, experience so many things, all from the pages of a book. I could make sense of the world through words and ink and paper. And it offered me a level of peace and clarity I wanted to share with others. So, I started writing.

My first project I remember to this day, was a short story about a dog. I had been so heartbroken when I learned that dogs were colourblind. I must have been about seven or eight at the time, and I was fixated on this idea that dogs couldn’t see the vibrant hues that made the world beautiful. It was something I wanted to change—and with all the righteous anger of a child not getting their own way, I sulked over the fact that I couldn’t. Until I wrote it down.

“How do dogs see colour?”

And much like my writing today, I answered myself.

“Dogs don’t need to see colour. Dogs smell colour.”

And so, I wrote a story, about a puppy being brought on different walks by its owner. And with every new street it walked down—colour bloomed with scent. Colours more beautiful and vibrant than we could ever hope to see with our eyes. And it gave me solace and helped me work through an emotion that – granted was immature and inconsequential – had affected me. To this day, I still smile seeing dogs sniffing at everything they pass on their walks. Smelling colour. It gave me the key to my favourite thing in life. I don’t think my process has changed much since then. Much of what I write is based on a skeleton plan, but I leave room for characters to speak and feel as they need to. I like to know the starting point and destination of a chapter—but how they get there, that still falls to instinct. I think I’ve found a happy medium of strict planning and winging it that suits me now—and hopefully it will continue to improve over time!

When did you start posting your writing, and on what platform? What gave you the push to do that?

I mean, fanfiction has always been part of my life. I think anyone who was growing up in the late 2000’s and early 2010’s found their way to fanfiction.net at some time or other. The wild west compared to what we have now! My first post was for the Lord of the Rings fandom on fanfiction.net. It was an anthology of the story told through the eyes of the steeds. Bill the Pony, Shadowfax—it was all very innocent. That was probably in 2010 when I was fifteen. I had been wanting to share writing for a long time but was worried about how it would be received. I didn’t really have a gauge on my level or my creativity and – one of the many flaws of someone with crippling perfectionism – I only ever wanted to provide perfection. That was a major inhibitor when I was younger. By wanting it to be perfect, I never posted anything. Until that stupidly cute LOTR fic. It was freeing to write something that no one but me had any interest in, because if I was writing for myself then there was no one to disappoint, right? And that was all it took. I had some pauses over the years between college and life and such, but I’ve never lost that mindset when it comes to posting.

What your favorite work of yours that you have ever written? Why is it your favorite? What is more important to you when considering your own stories for your own enjoyment — characters? fandom? spice? emotional development? the work you’ve put into it? Is that different than what you enjoy reading most in other people’s fics?

I don’t think it’ll come as much of a surprise when I say Stitches. While not original, I mean—it follows the plot of the Mandalorian quite diligently, it is the piece of work I really hold very close to my heart. Din Djarin as a character is what got me back into writing after what must have been five years? He inspired something. His manner, his personality—he resonated with me as a person in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time. And gave me back a creative outlet I had been missing.

It’s funny to say out loud—but I wanted to give him something? I spent so long thinking about his character that half my brain felt like it belonged to him—how he reacted and responded to things etc. and of course, like every dreamy Pisces—I wanted to give him love and happiness. So, Stitches came along. Personally, when writing—it’s a combination of characters, emotional development and spice (I can’t help myself) and when we can follow that development. With Stitches, it’s definitely the spice that is the conduit for development—but I adore showing how the physical can help people who struggle to communicate emotions too complex for words.

I don’t usually read for Din, as most people know—but I do enjoy reading the type of work that Stitches is. Human, damaged—but still with an undercurrent of hope that makes me think of children’s books.

You said, “much like writing today, I answered myself.” Could you talk about that in relation to Stitches?

So, I’m endlessly curious, it has to be said. Especially about why people are the way they are. Why people do A instead of B. Why X person’s immediate thought went to this place instead of that place. And I’m rarely satisfied with superficial explanations. One of the most exciting parts of writing and fanfiction especially, is making sense of that why. There can be countless explanations, some that are content with what is seen on the surface and some that go deep and some that go even deeper still.

Stitches is almost a – very long winded and much too long – answer to the questions I was so intrigued by about Din Djarin, about the Mandalorian and about the Star Wars universe as a whole. I often wondered what happened to people after the Rebellion, the normal people who fought—the people in the background. What did they do next? Did some of them suffer from PTSD? What was the galaxy like right after the Empire fell? That first season of the Mandalorian answered some of those questions, but I wanted to know more. So, I created a reader insert who was a combat medic—and through her, I let myself answer the questions of what happened next.

Regarding Din as a character, I wanted to know what a bounty hunter with a code of honour would do in certain situations—what made him tick, what made hm vulnerable. I wanted to explore the discovery of his identity. Din Djarin didn’t exist after he was taken from Aq Vetina. He became a cog in a very efficient machine of Mandalorians—and it was safe there. I wanted to see what – or who – might encourage him to step into his own. Grogu was that person in a familial sense, but what about romantically? What about individually? There’s so much to explore with this man! So many facets of personality and nuances of character that make him so gorgeous to write and think about.

Talk to me about the Din Djarin Athletic Universe. How does Din as all of these forms of athlete play off who you see him as in canon?

The Athletic Universe! How I adore my athletes. Despite being in a modern setting, I have kept the core of Din’s character in each of them (at least I hope I have!). I like to divide Din’s character into three phases when it comes to canon because he’s not as immovable as people seem to think he is. We discussed this before, how I see Din as a water element—adaptable, but strong enough that he can be as steadfast as rock. But I digress, the first phase is the character we see in the first episode. Basically, before Grogu. There’s an aggressive brutality to Din when we see him bounty hunting. He works on autopilot and isn’t swayed by sob stories or promises. He has the covert but is ultimately separate. Those soft feelings he comes to recognise when he has Grogu are dormant – not non-existent – but they haven’t been nurtured or encouraged. This is the point I extracted Boxer!Din’s personality and story from.

Cyclist!Din on the other hand—is already a father, a biological father to Grogu. And his personality, I took from that moment in the finale of Season two where I believe Din’s transformative arc of character solidified. He was always a father to Grogu, but I do believe that moment where he removes his helmet is the moment, he accepts that role fully in his heart and mind. And that is why I don’t believe for a second, that removing his helmet was him breaking his Creed. In fact, I believe it was the purest act he could do in devotion to his Creed—to his foundling, to his son. The Cyclist!AU is very much the character I see canon Din having should Grogu have stayed with him. This single dad who isn’t quite sure how he got to where he is now—but does anything and everything for his child without thought. It’s a natural instinct for him, and I like exploring those possibilities with Cyclist!Din.

You also said, “he has the covert but is ultimately separate.” What does it take for him — and you — to get to that point of being ‘not separate?’

I mentioned this above, but one of the biggest interests I have in Din as a character is his identity. He’s a Mandalorian, he’s a bounty hunter, he’s the child’s guardian but those are all what he is, not who. I think Din is separate while being part of the covert because he doesn’t know. I don’t think anyone can really be part of something if they don’t know who they are or, they struggle with their identity. It’s curious to me—how you can deceive even yourself to mimic the standard set for the many. In the boxer verse, he identifies himself in relation to his boxing—and every part of his outward personality exhibits those qualities. But when he’s given a softer touch—an outlet of affection, and comfort—we see the softer side of him surface. It’s very much the same with Stitches Din. Identity is like anything, emotions—relationships, bodies. It needs nurturing to thrive, an open door—a safe space. At least, that’s what goes through my mind when I think of him.

Who is your favorite character to read?

Frankie because there are so many ways his character can be interpreted and there are some stellar versions of him that I think of at least once a day. Javi because he reminds me of kintsugi-- golden recovery, broken pottery where the cracks are highlighted with gold. I also adore reading for Boba Fett, Paz Viszla and the clones!

Is there anything else you want your readers to know about you, your writing, or your creative process?

Hmm... only that I am quite literally a gremlin clown who is always here to chat Din, Star Wars, literature, book recs and anything else under the sun! I like to hear people's stories, their opinions etc. it helps me see things from alternative points of view and can truly help the writing process! Other than that, I think I can only thank readers for putting up with my ridiculously long chapters and rambling introspection. Thank you for indulging me always! ❤️

#pedro pascal #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x f!reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x you #djarinsbeskar #chat with cris #author interview series #tuserdaniela #userastrid #usernobie #userhai #pedrostories

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