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#plus its so cold and the way everything is just so...... gray
notapradagurl7 · 5 months
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Back To You.
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Taglist: @megamindsecretlair @planetblaque @wide-nose-and-wonderful @soft-persephone @henneseyhoe @hxneyclouds
Pairing: Franklin Saint x Black chruchgoer! / Plus Size Fem!Reader.
Word Count: 3,499k.
Warning: cheating, dirty talk, spanking, exhibition kink, soft Franklin, dominant reader, oral, (male receiving) a submissive Franklin, praise, begging, raw sex, (wrap it up) size kink.
Summary: After ending the relationship with Franklin on the same night he murdered Kevin, he got out of jail, he realized that he had gained control of everything except for the fact that he needed you back. Upon returning, he discovered that you had become a committed churchgoer and were torn between him and your boyfriend who was a youth pastor. However, Franklin wasted no time in proving you're still his.
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The night remains etched in your memory, as if it happened just yesterday. The streets of Los Angeles South Central were lit up by red and blue sirens. Tears welled up in your eyes, streaming down your cheeks and mixing with the taste of salt, as you helplessly watched Franklin being taken away from you by police officer Wright. As you stood outside, a brisk and cold wind brushed against your skin. The ink black-sky shimmered with myriad shiny stars. The bright orange glow from the streetlights illuminated the neighborhood.
Amidst this heart-wrenching scene, you tightly hugged his mother, finding solace as she wept, her tears leaving stains on your gray tee shirt and shorts. You stared intensely at the police car as it drove away, its dark blue color reflecting in your deep brown eyes. You longed for this to just be a bad dream, but it was all too real.
You were aware that you had mentioned waiting for him until he came back, but you couldn't sustain the commitment. Instead, you resorted to sending him a couple of letters to update him on your life.
However, he always seemed to have an uncanny ability to find out everything. He was too intelligent to be oblivious, wasn't he?
Franklin softly pushed the brown double doors and they shut loudly behind him. all eyes were drawn to Franklin, causing a collective gasp among the church attendees. Even the choir halted their singing. Franklin gracefully maneuvered through the group of black women, who instinctively made way for him, as if he were Moses walking through the Red Sea that God parted for him.
Franklin's gaze fixed on you as he noticed your conversation with a tall young man, with his smooth brown skin and deep brown eyes. The brown-skinned male with you was clad in a deep blue blazer and matching dress pants, sleek black slim-heeled loafers. It was evident that he was around your age, as his radiant smile met your presence. Unexpectedly, the young man tenderly pecked your knuckles, his actions not going unnoticed by Franklin's watchful eyes.
As Franklin's intense gaze met his, the young man returned the fearful stare. Franklin recalled his name, having conversed with Jermone about him before. He was none other than Xavier.
He carefully observed your attire as you wore a maroon cream colored blazer and a matching pencil skirt, which accentuated your curves. Additionally, your raven box braids were tied up in a ponytail. The church folk were astounded, their eyes grew wider, and the whole church fell into a hushed silence, as if witnessing Satan's unexpected entry into heaven, without seeking God's approval.
Amidst the embrace of walnut wood pews, adorned with plush red cushions, you spun around on your heels, gazing upon the majestic sight before you. Your brown eyes fixated on the man stepping toward you with a sly grin curled upon on his beautiful face, Below your jet-black heels, the brown hardwood floors. A pair of sturdy brown doors beckoned towards the outside world, while the four snow-white walls enclosed this sacred sanctuary.
He was standing before you, and it was hard to grasp the fact; that he was still so handsome. His rich dark skin was beautiful, and his lips remained full and tempting, inviting a gentle nibble. The divine touch of The Creator was evident in Franklin's form, leaving you silently speechless.
He had not changed out of his deep blue collared tee shirt paired with sleek black pants, crisp white Adidas shoes, and black socks.
“F-Franklin?…” you spoke softly in confusion, your gaze lingering on his.
You approached him, encircling his slender waist tightly with your arms, experiencing the comforting touch of his embrace against your skin. In response, Franklin reciprocated with a gentle smile and replicated the same gesture. embodying a familiar warmth you thought you would never feel again.
“Hey Y/N, I've missed you," Franklin whispered, his voice filled with genuine emotion, as he pulled you closer into his embrace. Resting his chin atop your head.
"I missed you too, Franklin and how are you?" you asked in delighted tone, your voice slightly muffled against his chest.
Franklin chuckled softly, his warm breath tickling the top of your head and moved his head to take a look at you, "I've been good, handlin’ business as usual.” he grinned, his eyes sparkling with a mischievous glimmer.
Xavier cleared his throat as he watched the two of you from across the room, a small frown formed on his lips. He could sense the magnetic connection between you and Franklin, and it made him uneasy.
But Xavier knew better than to interfere, he strolled casually over to join the pastor near the red cushioned pews.
“Is there someplace else we can talk?” Franklin asked softly, aware of the number of eyes on the both of you.
“Of course, we can talk at my place..” you suggested, your voice filled with both anticipation and uncertainty.
As you both exited the church, a leisurely stroll ensued down the sidewalk. Paying no mind to the eyes following both of you, your steps instinctively veered right on the concrete pathway to your door, guiding you up the solid concrete steps. The rhythmic click of your shoes resonated on the chilly surface as you halted in front of your cherished home.
Retrieving your keys from within your black tote purse, you deftly inserted them into the keyhole and turned them with a slight jingle. your free hand rotated the brass doorknob and gingerly pushed the door ajar, granting both of you passage into the warmth and comfort of your home.
"Make yourself at home Frankie," you added, shattering the stillness as your voice resonated. you closed the door behind you with a gentle click. enveloping the room in a comforting embrace.
He smiled to himself at the nickname you'd called him from when he was younger. As he stepped into your house, a wave of familiarity washed over him. The warm chocolate brown and toffee decor greeted him, instantly making him feel at home.
The air was filled with the aroma of vanilla and rosemary, lingering from the extinguished candles. The brown couch sat proudly, facing a sleek television, inviting him to relax and unwind. under the brown hardwood floors and carpeted rug.
The walls were adorned with a soothing toffee hue, a snapshot of the two of you, captured in the innocence of youth and the bliss of love, before that fateful night that changed everything.
“I got the letters you sent to me while I was in the pen, you wrote how you missed me and wished I would've stayed with you that night…” Franklin mentioned softly, his eyes locked on you.
You knew it was already too late when you assured him that things would be fine - you couldn't stop yourself from begging him to stay, because any slight deviation and he would be out of your grasp. Unable to endure the waiting any longer, you missed him. Franklin wanted to keep you away from his drug trade.
Although you weren't entirely innocent, you were aware of his involvement in drug dealing and his retention of Leon as a protector.
You took a seat on the armrest of the couch and faced him, “Why didn’t you stay with me Franklin? I know you did what you needed to done but I could've helped you or protected you…” you pleaded with a shaky voice, your hand resting on your chest.
You took a seat on the armrest of the couch and faced him, your face softened upon gazing at his beautiful face. Fuck, he was so handsome.
"Franklin, why didn’t you stay with me? I understand you had your reasons, but I could have helped or protected you..." you implored, your voice quivering with emotion, your hand instinctively finding solace on your chest.
“I’m the one who’s supposed to protect you Y/N, I didn’t want you in this shit, if Kevin would've listened to me then maybe things would've been different. But I can't change what happened," Franklin sighed, his voice heavy with regret.
Tears welled up in your eyes as you listened to his words. The pain and regret in his voice were palpable, and it tore at your heart.
Franklin hesitated briefly, inhaling unsteadily, before locking his gaze upon you. He moved nearer to where you were perched on the armrest, raising his index finger to lift your chin.
His deep brown eyes met yours, using the pads of his thumbs to softly brush away the tears that almost trickled down your face. "I hate to see you cry like this, especially when it's because of me," he whispered, his voice filled with genuine remorse.
He cradled your face softly, feeling immense sadness as he witnessed your tears, observing how the shiny streaks of tears marked your beautiful brown complexion.
You looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of deception. But all you saw was raw vulnerability and love. It was a risk, but you couldn't deny the pull you felt towards him.
"I still have a boyfriend, Franklin," you admitted, your voice trembling a bit with uncertainty. "He's a youth pastor at the church."
Franklin's thumbs swiped over your cheeks, his eyes pleading with you. "Y/N, I know I messed up. I know I hurt you. But I can be the man you deserve. Just give me a chance."
You took a deep breath, feeling torn between the two men in your life. But deep down, you knew that your heart still belonged to Franklin. He was a part of you, and no matter how hard you tried to move on, you couldn't deny the love you still felt for him.
“We both know that I'm the one you want to be with, not that church boy..” he whispered, his voice filled with emotion.
You let out a small sigh, your voice filled with a mix of frustration and affection.
"Franklin, Fine, I'll give you a chance. But you better not fuck this up again, or I swear I'll kick your ass."
Franklin chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Oh, trust me, Y/N, I've learned my lesson. And if I do, you have my permission to kick my ass all the way to Timbuktu."
You feel a sense of relief wash over you, As you moved closer to kiss him, your lips effortlessly moved over his full lips, which felt gentle, moist, and comforting, as you gently nibbled on his lower lip. The room was filled with the gentle smack of your lips meeting his.
He tasted the sweet mango flavor of your lip gloss, a low moan escaped his lips. You playfully nibbled on his teeth once more. weight of the past seemed to fade away, replaced by a glimmer of lust.
“I missed you so much..” you whispered, your voice barely audible against the hushed ambiance of the room. Before kissing your forehead, Franklin sank into the plush, brown suede couch, his arms casually draped over the headrest.
"I'm here now, come closer," he invited, his voice taking on a seductive tone. It had a low, husky rasp that sent shivers down your spine. His hands skillfully unbuckled his sleek black belt, his teeth gently biting his bottom lip in anticipation.
You sauntered over to the couch, a mischievous grin playing on your lips. Standing before him, you watched as his pants and boxers slid down his legs. His dick sprung free from the deep blue fabric and stood at attention, his sheer length made your cheeks grow hot, “Aww, you're so big..” you cooed, you pecked the tip of his dick. You heard him say 'fuck' under his breath.
His discarded pants landed softly on the rug, while his hands swiftly removed his shirt, throwing it across the room.
Meanwhile, you unbuttoned your shirt slowly, savoring the anticipation. The sound of the buttons coming undone mingled with the soft rustle of fabric as you unzipped your skirt. Your clothes gracefully cascaded onto the carpet, joining his in a heap of liberation.
“Aww, did you get this big for me?” you cooed amusingly, your tongue grazing your fully glossed lips.
Your hand stroked his length with the veins of his dick protruding against your fingerprints, Franklin threw his head back onto the plush cushion as his hands instinctively gripped the headrest of the soft couch, “Y-yes I-it’s all for you. I promise..” he moaned raspily, He thrusts his hips into your hand. In desperate need of friction.
You watched his glossy precum seep from his slit, and your tongue eagerly tasted it that flowed, eliciting a moan of pleasure from you.
“Good boy, you taste so good just like I remember..” you praised, cradling his face in your hand.
His hips buckled forward in your hand, his moans escaped in raspy breaths and a flurry of ‘fuck’ spilled from his lips. Your tongue flicked along the tip of his manhood as your other fingers gently caressed and played with his balls, causing a trickle of saliva to cascade down to his wetted balls.
"you look so pretty like this.."
With deliberate movements, you circled your index and middle fingers between his wet balls, eliciting a hitched gasp from his lips. "Please, fuck me baby," he pleaded, his voice filled with need. Your gaze met his, witnessing his face scrunched up in pleasure and the tightening of his balls between your fingers.
“I want to hear you beg for it baby..” you mumbled, taking him in your mouth. Your head bopped up and down on his length gradually, moaning around him.
“Please fuck me..” he moaned again, his lips quivered in response.
“Again..” you urged on, stroking his length faster with your spit sticking to your palm.
“Baby girl, I want you to fuck me… please!” he groaned, his brows knitted together in pleasure.
Franklin desired friction and sought to feel your walls around him, his dick slick with your saliva. He encouraged you with hoarse cries to intensify your suction, as your cheeks formed a hollow around his penis.
Franklin craved you like a drug, he watched your saliva trickle and coat his dick. His gravelly moans urged you to suck harder, you moaned around him. Just as his dick reached the back of your throat, a prolonged, breathless moan escaped him, his hand pushed your head deeper. “Just like that, oh fuckk..” he groaned again.
The pinnacle of pleasure drew near for him, evident in the way his face scrunching up. As his warm ropes of cum erupted onto your tongue, you instinctively swallowed every ounce. The intoxicating sound of his whispered praises enveloped you, heating your skin and electrifying your thighs as you pressed them together.
You pulled away from his dick with a wet pop, You made him struggle for breath, his chest rising and falling as you gasped for air. you took a seat onto the couch, you chuckled at Franklin, “You’re such a nasty woman..” He chuckled with a grin, pecking your lips twice.
You were lying comfortably on the couch, while Franklin turned around as he hovered over you, gently pulled off your mismatched pink underwear and playfully tossed them across the living room, as your back reclined against the soft cushions. He unhooked your black bra, causing your full breasts to sag gently, while his tongue glided over his full lips.
"You're so beautiful Frankie," You whispered to him gently, while your thumb caressed his cheek tenderly, his lips planted a warm kiss on your palm.
Franklin showered your knuckles with affectionate kisses, savoring each gentle touch of his full lips as he adoringly locked eyes with you.
“Not as beautiful as you..” he whispered, his voice filled with adoration.
“oh f-fuck..Frankie..” you moaned lowly, your hand resting on the nape of his neck, feeling more of his warm mouth around your nipple. He watched you break apart in pleasure underneath him and put back together in bliss.
Franklin's hands gently cupped your breasts, bringing them closer together. Leaning down, he delicately flicked his tongue against your nipple, causing it to respond eagerly.
He enveloped your areola in his mouth, suckling it with care. Simultaneously, his other hand massaged your other breast, leaving a trail of saliva on your now-sensitive nipple. Overwhelmed with pleasure, “Oh shit, Franklin…” you kneed lowly.
Your hand rested on the back of his neck as his warm mouth continued to rub between your sensitive peaks. As he observed your body shaking, he reveled in the joy of bringing you both pleasure and contentment.
“You're still mine?” you asked playfully, a smirk curled up.
“All yours, gorgeous..” he replied with a grin, there he goes again. Showing off his handsomeness.
He tenderly pushed his dick between your labial folds, causing you to let out a soft gasp of pleasure. Franklin filled you completely, and you instinctively held onto his shoulders for stability. Sensing your reaction, he paused, his concerned gaze fixed upon you.
"Are you okay?" he asked gently. You nodded, your voice barely a whisper. "Y-yes..." you whimpered. In response, he lovingly kissed your tears away and your lips twice, expressing his affection.
He resumed thrusting with an intense desire, fully immersing himself in the moment. Leaning closer, he observed your face scrunched up, as your essence enveloped his member, saturating the cushions beneath your thighs. Your fleshly walls embraced him tightly, providing a perfect fit. "Does he fuck you like this?" he whispered hoarsely, his thumb pinched your sensitive nub, now coated with your arousal. He moaned again, overwhelmed by the warmth of your pussy.
He swiftly turned you over and spanked your ass, admiring the jiggle as he firmly held your asscheek in his hand. “Would it turn you on if he saw getting fucked like this?” he asked, watching himself fuck you deeper, you gasped in response. Meanwhile, he continued thrusting into you from behind and planted tender kisses along your back.
"Does he?"
Your hands cradled his face, drawing him nearer. "Oh god, no he doesn't.." you whined, mentally consumed with thoughts of him filling you completely with his essence. Franklin desired to fuck you so profoundly that Xavier would fade from your mind.
He intensified his movements as your loud moans echoed, resembling as if you were dying. ”I know he doesn't..” he groaned lowly, He threw his head back.
Your stomach was tied in knots with your nails clawed at his back once his tip kissed your cervix over and over again, “I-i’m so close..” you whined, your mouth went ajar before you could utter a peep. Your essence gushed around his dick completely, “that’s my girl..” he spoke with pride.
He gradually withdrew from you as both of you stood up from the current position, After painting your tummy white with his warm cum onto your stomach, Franklin wiped away the remnants of his essence using a moist green washcloth from the nearby closet. In a state of exhaustion, he panted heavily. He threw the washcloth in the hamper.
You were certain that you heard enchanting melodies from angels resonating in your ears, although your physical presence was in the living room with Franklin. You understood the need to inform Xavier, but for the present, you could savor this instant spent with Franklin.
"You're gonnna leave that church boy right?" he teased, his smile curled up.
He nestled his face affectionately in the curve of your neck while Franklin snuggled up to you. "Yeah, i just gotta find a way to tell him..." you whispered softly, your voice barely audible.
Both of you held each other tightly, wrapping your arms around each other, as he lovingly kissed your warm brown skin.
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buriednurbckyrd · 1 year
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Nothing Stays the Same Forever: Chapter 1
***author note: I have not played either one of the games. I loved S1 and I’m trying to keep from potentially spoiling the rest of the show for myself so I thought I’d focus my energy on writing a fic. Plus, like the rest of the world I’m absolutely feral for Daddy Pascal rn and since I haven’t felt like writing anything in a hot minute and I do now I’m seizing the moment.  As always, your feedback is greatly appreciated and will definitely help inspire me to keep going with this. Cheers!
Every single step was agony. The air was so cold it burned in her throat and lungs, and when she forced one leg in front of the other her muscles screamed and spasmed from the old hunting knife lodged in her side. She gritted her teeth and swallowed down her screams of pain. Stopping now would mean death, if she paused to chase a moment of relief she would lose the strength to continue. After everything that had happened… There was a part of her that desperately wanted to drop in the snow that very moment and let the darkness finally consume her, putting an end to the struggle and suffering. 
You promised. 
Was that steam rising from the hot tears rolling down her frozen cheeks? Or was it just her labored breaths forcing their way into the waning sunlight? 
The settlement exists. It has to. Don't you dare fucking stop moving! 
Her hand grips the handle of the knife, trying to somehow stifle the pain. It had been a brutal mental battle to not try and pull it out like her instincts demanded she do. It would only make her bleed out faster, leaving it gave her at least a small chance to find help and survive. 
Was she losing her mind or did she hear a dog barking? And… footsteps in the snow? She tried to move faster, fear turning into a lead ball in her stomach. In her haste, she slipped, and only just managed to turn her body so she didn't land on the knife. The fall knocked the meager amount of air from her aching lungs. She tried to be quiet but couldn't help the loud wheezing as she tried to catch her breath. 
The footsteps crunched closer, and she heard a voice call out. She strained, attempting to push herself up on the arm that wasn't still holding onto the knife, but all of her remaining strength had abandoned her. She started crying in earnest then, and shame washed over her. After everything, this was how she faced the end? Sobbing in the snow, unable to fight off whatever new hell was about to find her?
She felt the cold, wet nose of a dog prod her cheek. Her eyes squeezed shut and she waited for the animal to tear her throat out. Instead she heard a low whine and the dog laid down and rested its head on her chest. She opened her eyes as it began to snow again. The edges of her vision were starting to go fuzzy and gray but before she succumbed to the dark embrace of unconsciousness, the face of a woman looked down at her. She was talking, but she couldn't make out the words. 
That was a year ago.  And if she was being honest, she had no idea how she survived. Even though the woman and her group managed to get her back to their settlement, which definitely existed, she had been in terrible shape.  Hospitals were a thing of the past, they had disappeared along with the rest of the civilized world twenty years ago.  But somehow, the residents of Jackson were able to nurse her back to health and welcomed her as a new member of the community.  Maria, the kind but no nonsense woman that had been the first person to find her after the dog, had been an angel.  She was married to a handsome man named Tommy and the two of them were expecting a baby within the next few months.  He was a sweet guy, perhaps a little rough around the edges, but who wasn’t after an apocalypse? 
A while ago another man and a teenage girl had passed through.  Y/N had stayed away when she heard that the man was Tommy’s brother.  Maria always insisted that she was practically family, but there was something about the reunion between the two men that felt fragile and like the presence of another person would be the thing that pushed them over the cliff.  The two hadn’t stayed long, but afterwards Maria and Tommy had a lot of hushed conversations.  She decided it wasn’t her place to ask questions, telling herself that Maria would bring up the topic if she wanted a friend’s ear.  
So she continued her little routine.  Before cordyceps, she had worked in alterations at a wedding dress boutique.  Jackson didn’t have many people who knew how to sew much past mending a seam or taking up a hem.  Somehow they were able to find a sewing machine that still functioned and she became the seamstress of their little village.  There was nearly a daily stream of repairs for her.  When it was no longer possible to pop over to the local Walmart when your jeans ripped, clothes were kept and repaired for as long as the garment could still be worn.  But she did have down time, and would often take scraps of old clothing and make quilts for residents or stuffed toys for the children.  
She never gave things out herself.  The old taunts from the QZ still played on repeat in her mind whenever she didn’t wait long enough for the dining hall to empty out.  Maria and Tommy were the only two people she could bring herself to trust, and no amount of reassurances from the other woman had convinced her to give the others a chance.  
Joel and Ellie were back.  Both alive, with a plethora of new scars both visible and invisible.  Tommy was obviously relieved to see his brother in one piece again, and thankful that he still had Ellie with him.  The bond between the two had strengthened, neither one of them the same person that had originally walked through the gates.  Maria sensed an underlying tension in the air but chose to let it lie.  Why disturb the peace when it was so damn hard to come by these days?
Now that they were there to stay, the little house they had used on their first visit was their official home.  Y/N saw Joel and Tommy talking on his and Maria’s porch on her morning walk to work.  The girl was fidgety and clearly bored.  Her hands were stuffed into the pocket on her hooded sweatshirt and she scuffed her boots against the ground, muttering to herself.  
“Can I go see the horses?”  She called out to the men.  They turned to look at her, Joel’s face annoyed, Tommy’s amused.  
“Can you just wait for five goddamn minutes?”  Joel growled.  Ellie snorted.  
“You said that five minutes ago you grouchy asshole.”  Y/N wasn’t awake enough to stifle her laugh at the girl’s sharp words.  Ellie whirled around and narrowed her eyes.
“Something funny?”  Y/N felt the mirth dry up in her throat.  Did the girl think she was laughing at her?  
“N-no, I’m sorry.”  Ellie looked her up and down and Y/N found herself absolutely terrified at what the child might say next.  
“Y/N!”  Tommy pushed his way past his brother and strode up to her with his arm outstretched, taking a gentle hold of her arm when he reached her.  “This is my brother Joel and his uh…  This is Ellie.”  She felt her face get hot as she was led closer to the house.  “They’ve decided to stay this time.”  
“Oh, um.  Nice to meet you.”  She looked down at her shoes, wishing she had started out earlier, or waited another ten minutes to walk over to the commissary.  
“She’s lived here about a year, and she’s practically family.”  Tommy told them with a smile, clearly happy to have found a way to shift away from whatever he and Joel had been discussing.  “If you ever need any o’your clothes fixed up she does it all.  Don’t know how we managed before we found her.”  
“Huh.  Could have used you when I had to sew his guts back together..”  Ellie said flippantly.  She crossed her arms and kicked at a loose stone.  
“Jesus, Ellie.”  Joel scrubbed his hand over his face in exasperation.  
“I um, didn’t mean to interrupt you all.”  Y/N said quietly.  Tommy swung his arm around her shoulders and side hugged her.  
“Don’t worry about it.  We were just talking about when Ellie might join the other kids at the school.”
“Without Ellie’s input!”  The girl rolled her eyes.  
“There’s no point in stalling, kid.  Might as well go over there today.”  Joel told her.  
“I already know how to read and write and shit,”  Ellie spit out.  “I can do other stuff, help hunt or patrol or something.”  
“And I think maybe she could take a few days to get settled before she starts going to classes.”  Tommy was trying to be the voice of reason.  Ellie was frustrated with both men.  Joel looked like he was ready chew glass.  
“I should really get going,”  Y/N started, trying to pull away from Tommy without it being too obvious that she wanted to bolt.  “I think a group went out during the night and they always come back with tears…”  Maria chose that moment to open the door and see what was going on.  
“Hey, lady!”  She smiled at Y/N.  “You wanna come in for some tea before you start your to-do pile?”  She felt trapped.  Tommy wanted her as a buffer between him and the school argument, and it felt like Maria was giving her a silent plea to accept the invitation.  
“I… Sure.”  Resigned, she started towards the porch.  The closer she got to Joel, the more it felt like there was a group of frogs jumping around in her stomach, he had an intimidating aura around him.  To her horror she stumbled on the first step and he caught her by the arm.  His grip was far more gentle than she expected.  
“Okay, there?”  He asked her in a quiet, gravely tone. Not trusting herself to speak, she only nodded in response.  He looked at her, and she felt an uncomfortable sensation, like she was about to give a speech in front of a large group of people.  He gave her a sharp nod and let go of her arm, striding down off the porch.  “Let’s go see the damn horses.”  He muttered to Ellie and the girl’s face broke into a triumphant grin before she scuttled after him.  
“You two enjoy your tea.  I’ll meet you for lunch at the dining hall, yeah?”  Maria waved.
“I should be there around one.”  Tommy saluted the two women and started on his way towards the center of their little town.  Maria ushered Y/N into the house and took her coat to hang up by the door.  
“I’m glad you wandered by, the three of them would still be arguing.”  She walked into the kitchen and took out a slightly chipped mug, dropping a tea bag into it.  
“You don’t have to go through the trouble, I probably have a pile of stuff to start working on.”  Maria shook her head and pointed at the table.  
“Everyone here’s got a spare pair of pants, you can sit for a few minutes.”  Y/N knew better than to argue and settled into a chair.  Maria poured hot water into the mug and slid it over to her with a spoon.  “I still have some of that honey we harvested, help yourself.”  Y/N smiled to herself when she noticed the swell of Maria’s abdomen as the other woman cut herself a couple slices of bread.  There was already a soft flannel teddy bear squirreled away in her house, and she was collecting scraps to make a quilt for the baby.  She hoped that they would like them.  The couple had already done so much for her, and she wanted nothing more than to somehow pay back even a little of what they had given her.  With a quiet sigh, she scooped up a spoonful of thick, golden honey and stirred it into her tea.  The morning sun shone through the kitchen window and reflected off the liquid, and she felt foolish that it made her think of Joel’s eyes when she had looked up at him after almost falling on her face.  She rubbed at her arm where he had saved her from total embarrassment.  Maria sat down across from her and spread some of the honey onto her toast.  When she looked up at Y/N, the almost dreamy look on her friend’s face made her wonder for a moment, before she smiled and took a bite of her breakfast.  
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sometimes watching supernatural feels like the summer I was nineteen and my best friend from high school called me up to tell me that there was construction happening at the convenience store we used to frequent after school and that when they'd ripped up the parking lot to lay a new diesel line, they'd found human bones.
same old story, you've heard it before; sometime in the 80s, two guys beefin' over a girl who neither one ended up marrying, one stabs the other sixteen times in the head, neck, and groin and tucks him away under the rebar and dirt where they're pouring concrete later that week. and then for thirty-plus years after that, people parked their cars over him and sat on the egg-yolk yellow parking blocks to smoke their first (dozen) cigarettes over him and poured tiny airline bottles of vodka bought by soccer moms who wagged their fingers and laughed at underage kids day-drinking, "don't do anything i wouldn't do" into their styrofoam cups of coke over him and nobody knew.
sometimes it feels like that.
like there's something about where and how I grew up that I -- not necessarily forget, but between active suppression when I first left and the relentless passing of time, it gets buried. and then this fucking network tv show comes and rips it right back open.
watching supernatural as somebody who grew up in and around the midwest feels insane. feels all sorts'a unhinged. never have I ever seen popular media treat my childhood playground states like this. the midwest isn't sexy; the midwest isn't cool; and it's not in supernatural, either, but it's... something.
far be it from me to romanticize americana and its role in supernatural (I am not the first and sure as hell won't be the last) but what the fuck. it's so strange to look at these characters and go, "oh. he gets it."
he knows what the liminal space of a car interior feels like on a january day when the roads are covered in dried salt and the fields are blanketed with snow and everything -- everything; the sky, the ground, the road stretched out forever in front of you -- is the exact same shade of pale gray. there's no topography, so there's no horizon; just this endless gray void only broken up by the double-solid yellow line in the road.
he knows how it feels to stand in a gravel turnout and watch the six-day-bruise green of a three-mile-long wall cloud bear down on you. how the air gets heavy and thick-wet enough to drink and you can see lighting way off in the distance, no sound from this far. how if you turn around, the sky over there will still be the most perfect, palest blue,"it's a boy!" birth announcement blue. that it's animal fear that makes your heart pound under your ribs, and birthright that makes you lean back against your car to take in the view. storm's coming and nothing you do is gonna stop it. this is your privilege; soak it in.
he knows what it's like to be cold and stiff and traipsing through woods, following the blood trail of something maybe-still-alive you've tagged in the lung. how lung blood in dead leaves will show up frothy, and so red it almost verges over into pink.
he knows that there's no better place come that inevitable stretch of hundred-degree days in july than in the driver's seat of your own car, windows down and radio cranked so high the frame vibrates under you and a cold drink wedged between your thighs, leaving condensation-wet patches on your jeans, keychain brushing against the (ticklish, but you'd never admit it) skin of your knee where the denim's torn.
he knows to avoid the interstate during migratory bird season; that people are flocking (wahn-wahn) from both coasts and multiple countries to see snow geese, cormorants, cranes, whatever. he knows that the back roads are where you'll see these birds, anyways; scavenging cut-down cornfields that'll be white with gulls and pelicans and terns; sea birds of all sorts, about as fucking far from the sea as you can get, swarming and screaming overhead.
anyways. not an essay, not a love letter, just. some thoughts.
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#6 indruck nsfw? (or sternclay but in that case probably not a Christmas-themed party)
I actually ended up going with Sternclay! Content note: smoking.
06. (1950s) I’m supposed to be at this Christmas-themed singles mixer to meet someone of the opposite sex but I can’t take my eyes off you
When he was a boy, Joseph’s winters were snow-coated. Tonight, there’s no white draping the hillsides; it’s just heaps of cold, gray fog, so thick that it’s only because he just crossed it that he knows the bridge to San Francisco is even there. 
The party isn’t his idea; it’s his mothers, even though she’s hundreds of miles away. When he jokingly pointed out that if she wanted him to meet a nice, Jewish girl, a Christmas mixer wasn’t the best place for it, she’d gone quiet a moment. 
“What I want is you happy. I don’t care much how that’s managed, just that you are.” Her tone tries to lighten, “after all, I met your father in a movie theater.”
What she meant was that she’d sat down on him accidentally in the dark when she was supposed to sit in the next seat over. His father always jokes that true love just fell into his lap.
He turns the car down a street of tall houses bejeweled in colored lights. As empty curb sides become scarce, he decides he must be close to the Owen’s house and pulls into the next empty space. A quick glance in the rear view mirror to straighten his tie and run a hand over his hair, and then he steps onto the sidewalk. 
431 Washington Drive is lit up even brighter than its neighbors, laughter and music reaching him while he’s still two houses away. He follows a pair of young women in red and white dresses up to the door and smiles at Mrs. Owens as she welcomes him in. 
“Joseph! Oh I’m so glad you made it, Louisa was just telling me how terrible the traffic is tonight.”
“It wasn’t too bad, and I was looking forward to tonight too much to miss it.” 
She takes his coat and hangs it by the door, then waves for him to follow her into the living room. A table sporting more food than a grocery store sits against the far wall, a tall, tastefully decorated tree stands in the corner, and the fireplace crackles beneath the clinking of glasses. 
He’s only fifteen minutes late, but pairs and quartets are already forming, and as he walks to where Alex Owens is tending the bar, he counts the number of women eyeballing the room with the same searching gaze he is and doesn’t love his odds when it comes to meeting his true love tonight. 
“Finally decided to try your luck huh?” Mr.Owens slides a martini glass to the man on Joseph’s left, “This is Joe, used to work at the Presidio with me. Joe, this is Rick, Jerry, and, oh, Cynthia, come over here” he waves until a woman with brown curls and a green dress joins them, “this is Joe, the guy I was telling you about. He’s real swell, plus” Owens pats his shoulder, “he’s the real deal; got a medal of honor and everything.”
Cynthia casts an interested smile his way, “You must have done something very brave.”
“I don’t understand. I thought we weren’t involved with the war?”
The man on the other side of the desk looks at Joseph as if he’s a child who still believes in fairies, “We are not at this time. But we have to take all possible measures to be sure we’re prepared for all possible outcomes. And you come recommended to us by the head of our Japanese translation project.”
Well, that confirms his theory that the program isn’t just to train people for diplomatic purposes. 
“Tell me, Mr. Stern, how many languages do you speak?”
“Four, sir, if we count English. Then it’s German, Japanese, and Korean.”
“An interesting combination.”
“I learned two from my family, and Japanese from a neighbor who used to babysit me-”
“And you’re confident in your ability to speak all these languages as well as a native?”
“Yes. If you’re in need of translation in other languages I’m certainly happy to help.”
The man across the table looks at him again. Joseph looks at the desk, searching for any sign of what the man’s name is.
“We need people who are willing to enter German-controlled territory. Including people who could pose as Japanese allies of Germany. Something you could do easily.”
Joseph wants to point out the flaws in that assumption but decides not to get into an argument with someone who seems like he could make him disappear. 
“Are you asking me to be a spy?”
“Perhaps.”
“I, I suppose I’m flattered, sir, but I’m just a nobody clerk who happens to be good with languages.”
The man stands, opens a drawer, and slides a manila folder across the table. Joseph opens it to find five, familiar names on immigration visas.
“Am I correct, Mr. Stern, that those are your family members who fled Germany?”
“Yes, sir. We’ve tried everything we can to get them out, they’re stuck in France and my mother and grandparents are worried sick.”
The man looks at him and he understands how a fly must feel in a web.
“If you accept our offer, those visas will be issued tomorrow.”
“I’m afraid my work overseas is still classified.” He plasters on a smile, “Besides, I’m sure you’re much more interesting than all that ancient history.”
Over the next thirty minutes, he proceeds to have some variation of this conversation four separate times. Each woman he chats with is perfectly nice, and two seem to think he’s very charming, but nothing compels him to keep talking other than the sense it’s what he should do. 
He excuses himself to the punch bowl, internally cursing Owens for telling everyone his name is Joe. He’s Joseph, Joseph Stern, serial number–
No, none of that tonight. Breaking down and ruining someone’s nice Christmas mixer is the antithesis of being polite. 
He’s distracted enough getting his mind right that he doesn’t notice the hand going for the ladle alongside his own. 
“Oh!” He pulls it back with a start, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, I was busy making sure the record didn’t need to be flipped.” An apologetic smile parts and auburn tinged beard and Joseph’s tongue forgets how to make words.
How did he not notice him before? How has the whole room not noticed him and devoted their attention to him? The man is actually taller than him, with hair the same color as his beard and full lips that Joseph wants to sink his teeth into. His deep brown eyes remind Joseph of coffee, warm and soothing as they glitter with the lights from the tree. It’s only when they blink, concerned, that Joseph realizes he’s been staring. 
“No harm done. Here, let me get some for us both.” He ladles out two glasses, passes one over and extends his hand, “I’m Joseph.”
“Barclay.” The hand around his own is warm and big, god what a man could do with hands like that, “are you, uh, enjoying the party?”
“Yes. But between you and me,” he lowers his voice to a whisper, “so far the food is my favorite part.”
“Really? Did you have a favorite?” 
“Those little slices with the salmon mousse. Or the round cookies, those ones, I think they’re called wedding cookies-”
“Uhuh, that one’s an old family recipe.”
“You made them?”
“I made everything except the dips. Mrs. Owens reigns over those let me tell you..”
Joseph stares at the veritable feast of small bites, “All the rest? God, it’d take me a week to do all this.”
Barclay’s smile turns shy, “Nah, it’s not all that hard. A lot of rolling deli meat and sticking toothpicks in things.” His voice is so deep Joseph wants to dive into it and never surface. 
“Mrs. Owens should still count herself lucky that you were around. Are you a friend of the family?” He steps away from the table to let others get a drink, and Barclay moves right along with him. 
“Yeah. I, um, I help them out with things like this.” Barclay stares into his glass and Joseph understands. 
“You’re from the program.”
Barclay winces, “Is it that obvious?”
“No. You were a suit better than anyone here.”
“Not sure that’s true.” Barclay gives him a pointed, appreciative look.
Joseph sips his drink with a smile, “What I mean is, I put it together from the fact you seem sort of separate from everyone even though every woman at this place should be flocking to you.”
Barclay goes pink and all Joseph can think about is chasing the color down his throat and across his chest with his tongue. Then the other man sighs, “Maybe they would, but you’re not the only one who pegged me. Turns out when they find out you did time, most people suddenly have somewhere else to be. You’re the only person who’s said more than two words to me after you worked it out.”
“From what I’ve seen, most people wind up in jail for things that pale in comparison to the real evil of the world.” (And if anyone talks down to Barclay in his earshot they’re getting a shiner that will last a week.”
Barclay raises his eyebrows, “Thought all that was classified.”
“You heard me say that?”
“No, Mrs. Owens was chatting with one of the other guests about it. Oh, here, do you want to sit down?” He tilts his elbow at the small couch near the tree, then moves a pillow out of the way so Joseph can sit first. 
“Yes, well, everyone is very interested in my time overseas.”
“What do you do now?”
His glass pauses halfway to his lips, “you’re the first person to ask that all night.”
Barclay frowns but continues waiting for his reply.
“I teach at the University in Berkeley. Languages, mostly,  for the college of applied arts.”
“Fuck, that sounds terrifying.” Barclay actually covers his mouth, “sorry, we’re not supposed to swear around company.”
Joseph shrugs, “I don’t give a shit”  This marks his greatest accomplishment of the week: making Barclay laugh.
“Now, what was that about my work being terrifying?”
“Having to stand in front of all those people, with all those eyes on you” he shudders, “And be ready to answer any question from people who are convinced they already know everything? No, thank you.”
“I’d say it helps to picture everyone naked but it really doesn’t.”
“Hmm, I guess picturing yourself naked doesn’t work any better.”
“No, but I do have a dream like that at least once a week.”
“Freaky. I have one about trying to make a souffle with only an apron for cover. Which I guess could be scarier if, like, I was cooking bacon or deep frying something.”
Joseph snickers to distract himself from the idea of Barclay in nothing but an easily yanked off apron. 
“Do you cook for a living?”
“Yeah, I’m over at Bettys in Berkeley. Spent most of my life cooking at Amnesty Lodge but, uh, the whole” he mimes a key locking a door, “took me away from there.
“It’s not in the city?”
“Nah, it’s a couple hours up the coast. Have you ever gone up there?”
“From what I hear I���m a bit too square for that neck of the woods.”
Barclay moves a centimeter close, “If you ever wanna go, you can take a ride with me. I’ll make sure no one razzes you too bad.”
The conversation winds here and there, stopping only so they can cede their seats to a couple that’s ten seconds from doing something indecent and to refill their plates. Joseph knows this isn’t what he’s here for, that at this point he doesn’t want to speak or even look at anyone beside Barclay for the rest of the night. 
Fuck it. There will be other singles mixers. Other parties. But there’s no guarantee Barclay will be at any of them. 
As they’re stepping onto the back porch for some air, they’re waylaid by another guest who wants to thank Joseph for his bravery and tell him about his brother who never came home. Joseph offers thanks and condolences in the appropriate order, then excuses himself to the darkest corner of the deck. Barclay joins him, taking a position that means Joseph isn’t immediately visible to people coming out of the house. 
Joseph’s nerves get the better of him, “Do you have a cigarette?” 
Barclay pulls a box from his inside pocket, “I don’t smoke, but having these is a great way to make all the other cooks like me if I’m somewhere new.”
Joseph takes one, leans in so Barclay can light it for him, protecting it from the ocean wind with his hand. 
He takes a drag, then sighs, “I barely do it anymore. But sometimes I…well, I guess it’s this or running screaming into the hills.” 
Barclay tucks the packet away with a sympathetic expression. 
Joseph exhales, leaning his arms on the deck rail, “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Of course.” Barclay mimics his pose, so close their forearms rest against each other and Joseph tries to burn the memory of that feeling into his mind. 
“A lot of my work isn’t classified. I just don’t want to talk, or think, about any of it ever again.”
Barclay gently brushes their hands together, “Why tell a nobody cook that?”
Joseph looks at him and says, with more conviction than he’s felt about anything in months, “Because you aren’t a nobody. You’re talented at what you do, you talk about the people you love like you actually love them, and I haven’t felt so safe, so happy, around someone in a long, long time.”  Reality creeps in from the darkness and sighs, “maybe that’s ridiculous.”
“I don’t think so.” Barclay’s voice is barely a whisper, but his eyes burn with something hopeful and fragile. 
He crushes out the cigarette and straightens, “You said you lived on the Oakland border. Can I give you a ride home?”
“If it’s not too much of a hassle.”
“Not even close.”
“Then yeah, that’d be swell.”
Joseph smiles, “In that case, let’s agitate the gravel, as the kids say.”
He thanks the Owens’ for a lovely time, explains he’s offering Barclay a ride so he doesn’t have to worry about buses and railcars so late at night. As he steers the Chrysler onto the main road, Barclay fiddles with the radio until Peggy Lee croons about winter weather. Joseph steals glances of Barclay’s profile bathed in the lights of town all the way across the bay. 
“Would you like to stop at my place for coffee? We don’t have to, I could-”
“I’d love to.” Barclay smiles almost flirtatiously in the dark cab. 
There are two parties going on further down the street when he pulls into his driveway, but all the houses immediately surrounding his are dark. Barclay follows him inside, offering genuine compliments to his decor as Joseph starts the coffee.
“Oh damn, are those fruit trees?” Barclay peers out a window to the back yard.
“A lemon, two pears, and an apple. I planted them when I bought this place.”
“Seems kinda big for just you. Or do you split it with someone?”
He shakes his head, “Just me. I bought it thinking I’d be married within a year. Four years ago.”
“You ever thought about a roommate in the meantime? I must get lonely.” Barclay sounds concerned, as if he finds the idea of Joseph spending day after day padding through an empty house feeling like a ghost genuinely distressing. 
He glances at Barclay, “I’m considering it.”
Barclay nods, manages to locate the cups on his first try and pulls two down. 
“Barclay? You don’t have to tell me but…what were you arrested for.”
The cook runs his thumb along the handle of a blue mug, “Forgery. But not, uh, not money. Me and a few other people made fake visas to get people out of Germany. Before the war even really started. We got away with it for a while but then something went wrong and we got found out. I took the blame for the whole operation; I didn’t want my friends going to jail. And I, I figured if they could reform the group, they could maybe get more people out.” He chuckles, “only reason I didn’t do even more time was my friend sprung for a really good lawyer.”
Joseph turns the coffee pot off and steps towards him, “I’m going to ask something else. You can say no if you want but if you do please don’t tell anyone what I asked.”
“O-kay?”
“Can I kiss you?”
The apprehension evaporates from Barclay’s face, “Fuck, thought you’d never ask.” He reaches out and drags Joseph to him by his lapels. It’s a lightning strike, his whole body alive and burning in ways he’s never felt. He wants to feel it forever, do it forever, even if all that’s left at the end is his ashes. 
His hands find Barclays hair and burrow into it, clinging to him even as the cook pulls back.
“You’re giggling, baby.”
“It’s, it’s the beard. It actually tickles.”
Barclay smirks, “You usually take your men clean shaven?”
“I….I usually don’t take men at all. Not for lack of wanting to just, for so long if anyone found out they’d fire me or stop trusting me and there was a lot, and I mean a lot riding on me succeeding.”
“If this is gonna get you in trouble-”
“I know there are at least two men in my department who are living together and are as good as married. They’ve taught there for years. But more importantly” he cups Barclay’s face, “I do not fucking care. I’ve given so much for so many people and right now I want to take the one goddamn thing in the world I want.”
Barclay growls playfully, “You’re a real smooth talker, baby. Let you take me any time, anywhere.”
“Bedroom. Now.”
The cook laughs as Joseph drags him down the hall and flicks on his light. When he reclines on the bed, hands behind his head and rumbles, “how do you want me?” Joseph pauses. 
“I…I don’t know. Shit, I have no idea how to do this.”
“Not like there’s a rulebook.” Barclay holds out his hand, guides Joseph to sit on the bed once he takes it, “all I know is I wanna make you feel like a fucking king. After that, everything else is just icing on the cake.”
Joseph glances at the zipper of Barclay’s fly, “Could I blow you?”
“Do you really want to?”
“Yes, badly.”
Barclay quickly undoes his pants and struggles to get his jacket off as Joseph yanks them down to his ankles. His cock is soft beneath his underwear and feels perfect in his hand as he cups it. He’s jerked off plenty, so he uses that as his starting point, rubbing and stroking the shaft until it hardens in his hand. Barclay is already coming undone, has given up on unbuttoning his shirt to tug at the blankets and make pleading grabs in Joseph’s direction. 
“Good?” He smirks as a harder stroke makes Barclay yelp and buck his hips. 
“Uhhuh, so good, aces, baby, baby, fuck you could keep doing that and I’d be in fucking heaven.”
“Not a chance, big guy.” He rubs lazy circles around the head of Barclays cock, pre-cum collecting on his thumb, “you’re in my house and I get to do whatever I want to you.”
Barclay moans loud and long, thrusting into Joseph’s grip.
“And what I want is to blow you until you’re a sobbing mess. Is, is that alright? Talking like that?”
“Do not stop I swear to god.”
He laughs, scooching back so he can lay between Barclay’s legs, “Noted, big guy.” He studies the cock before him, concocting a dozen plans of approach before throwing them all aside and taking as much of it down his throat as he can. 
“Fuck!” Barclay’s thighs tense beautifully on either side of him, “oh god, Joseph-”
“Hands on the blanket, I don’t want you mussing my hair.” He’s not sure why he says it, only that there’s a double thrill in his chest as he does and as Barclay obeys instantly. He licks a stripe up his cock, then returns his attention to the head, sucking and swirling his tongue in whatever ways elicit the most intense reactions from the man beneath him.
“J-Joseph, I’m really close, I, should I-”
“You’re not cumming on me unless you earn it. I can’t stand messes.” He sits up, grabbing the handkerchief from his inside pocket, “so tonight-”
“AH, ahgod, ohfuck” Barclay grins as Joseph jerks him off, “fuck baby that’s so fucking hotah.” He cums in the dark fabric, panting out thank yous as Joseph takes the time to wipe his whole cock clean. Next time he’ll do it with his tongue, assuming Barclay is very good and earns his reward. 
“Please let me touch you?” The request is shy, almost hesitant, and so Joseph takes time to kiss Barclay on each cheek and his gorgeous mouth before standing to take off his slacks. 
“Of course, big guy. How do you want me?”
“Uhhhhh” Barclay stares at Joseph’s cock poking out from under his shirt, “Uh, I mean, can, can you straddle my chest?”
Joseph settles his knees on either side of Barclay. Then his hands whack into the wall as the cook strokes his cock. 
“Wanted to see you like this all night.” Barclay murmurs, free hand reaching up for Joseph’s face, “want to see you every way there is. God, how did none of those gals scoop you up and run off with you. You look like a fucking movie star.”
“Barclay” It’s a whimper, the compliments seeping into his skin to warm him. 
“I wanna make you happy, be so good you’ll wanna, wanna stay in bed all day, fuck, I’m babbling I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, god that’s good.”
Barclay sits up enough to lick the head of his cock, “that’s it baby, relax for me, let go, I’m here, gonna take such good care of you.” Another lick and he’s done for, cumming with a surprised gasp across Barclay’s face. 
He looks down at the cook, who’s wearing a pleased grin.
“I misspoke earlier. I do like something of mine messy: you.”
Barclay laughs, dragging him down into a hug even as he tries to help him clean his face, “I call bullshit on you never doing this before. You’re apple butter smooth to the last.”
“I really haven’t. All that just now I, I didn’t know I had it in me. But being with you made it seem so easy.”
“No kidding.” Barclay chuckles as Joseph uses his sleeve to clean the last of the cum, “hard to find a guy who’ll boss me around but still take care of me. Believe me, I tried.”
“Glad I could provide.”  Joseph rests his head on Barclay’s chest, peace washing over him in unfamiliar waves. 
“Hey, Barclay? Have you ever thought of being someones roommate?”
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terrainofheartfelt · 2 years
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Prompt? Dair + Cold
Dair + Cold
Since she got this internship at W, planning out outfits in her head is all Blair has been doing. 
She just didn’t account for how fucking cold the offices would be. 
It’s ridiculous. Even in the dead of winter, when the furnaces of New York are blasting away, this oasis of art and culture in the midst of the tundra of corporate drab is still freezing. 
Tundra, that’s a good descriptor. Stark, too. The kind of cold that wasn’t even interesting, just another facet of the halogen lights and gray speckled walls. Uninspiring.
Are all office buildings like this? Blair would suspect so, but she also expected a fashion magazine to have a little bit more…style. Ugh, it’s so cold in here it’s freezing out her ability to avoid cliche. But seriously, how was she supposed to dress to impress in this climate?
She spares a wistful glance to the coat rack in the corner of Epperly’s office. Right now, the only outerwear it’s holding is hers—a forest green peacoat with a complementary Hermes scarf, plus her favorite dove gray beret—an elegant and stark (there’s that word again) contrast to Humphrey’s same boring gray coat and same hideous scarf. They’d been here a week now, how long would it take him to absorb some of the good taste surrounding him? Given the thickness of his skull, possibly a long while. 
Humphrey strides through the door, a cardboard coffee cup in each hand, something slung over his arm. He’s done it all week: every single time he steps out for coffee or tea or another hot beverage, he brings back two. Blair’s written it off as her bribe for not ratting out to Epperly his frequent breaks (though their supervisor may be even more a caffeine junkie than Dan Humphrey). 
He doesn’t look cold, she thinks begrudgingly as he moves into the office, definitely not looking forward to the heat from whatever he brought her this time, and definitely not eyeing the way the knit wool of his sweater clings to his shoulders. It’s possible this job is making her crazy. 
Humphrey goes to her side of the desk first, setting down one of the cups, and dropping the garment he was carrying on the empty stretch of table beside it. 
She squints at it, then up at him, more confused than anything else. 
“You’re cold,” he shrugs. “And I don’t want my article to win by default just because you’re too frostbitten to type.”
She inspects the thing a little more closely. It’s the cardigan he’d been wearing first thing this morning. She remembers thinking it looked so warm. Cheap, but warm. 
“Cheap polyester blends do not touch this body.”
He snorts, turning away with a roll of his eyes. “Suit yourself.” He goes over to his workstation across from her and drops into his seat. “And it’s wool, by the way. Jen may haven’t paid much for it, but she did pick it out.”
Blair purses her lips, and cautiously prods the pile of sweater on the desk with the capped end of her pen. She catches Dan’s exasperated look out of the corner of her eye, then drops the pen, turning back to her screen, to the blog article she’d been working on before Humphrey and the temperature pulled her focus. 
Dan does the same, and they work in silence as the afternoon ticks by. A fresh draft of cold air moves through the office, and Blair shivers for the millionth time, and she reaches for the cup Dan had given up, cupping her hands around its warmth before taking a sip. Tea. Earl grey with bergamot. It’s nice. 
She catches his eye over their computer screens briefly, but breaks the gaze as soon as she realizes, returning to her typing with a vengeance. Just because he’d boiled some extra water does not mean she isn’t going to do everything in her power to beat him in this internship. 
Several minutes later, a harried Epperly appears in the doorway, summoning Humphrey away with a brisk “Daniel.” Normally, Blair would try to wrestle the opportunity out of his grubby Brooklyn hands, but she’d already saved a cover shoot from disaster earlier this morning, so she could afford to be a little generous. 
Plus—even though it was too late for her—she didn’t want her tea to go cold. 
She shivers again, her teeth clacking against each other. Really, this was ridiculous. She takes another sip from her cup. Pleasant, but the warmth doesn’t travel out very far. 
Blair casts a glance around the office and through the glass walls that look into the hallway, then gives in with a sigh, snatching the sweater up from the table and slinging it on. It’s surprisingly soft, worn, but not worn down, the woven knit still thick and warm. 
She cuffs the sleeves up over her wrists to free her hands, and pulls the cardigan tighter around her, she sniffs the air, catching a whiff of something familiar. She ducks her head briefly, bringing her nose closer to the collar. Bergamot. 
Warmer and more comfortable than she’s been all afternoon, Blair gets back to work, anxiously checking around every few minutes, so no one at this fashion magazine catches her wearing such an—admittedly very cozy—abomination. 
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j-graysonlibrary · 21 days
Text
Heartbeats; Paradise XVIII
Title: Heartbeats; Paradise
Author: Jay Grayson
Word Count: 112K
Genres: Psychological thriller, drama, sci-fi, LGBT+
Available on: Kobo and my website
Synopsis: Melvin Hardy and Kade Axel appear to be a match made in heaven. After a meet-cute in the rain, the two quickly find themselves in a burgeoning, wholesome relationship.
Yet, things feel…off. It isn’t the ghosts of their pasts that resurface to test the strength of their partnership—no—it’s something nebulous. Something indescribable. Melvin can’t put his finger on it but, the more time he spends with Kade, the more he starts to wonder what’s real and what’s pure fiction. 
XVIII:
Cameron is away at college and I suppose it’s something like empty nest syndrome that rears its head. But, before Gavin and I swing by the local animal shelter to make a life altering decision, we decide to have a road trip the likes of which we always talked about but never committed to.
We may be old now (especially according to our son and his hip, young peers) but we aren’t dead. And a lot of items still remain on that bucket list we drafted during our first year of dating—back in ye old high school days.
Our goal is to drive all the way down the east coast, stopping in Florida to see some tourist spots, and then come back. We have some other interesting stops along the way ranging from a bigfoot museum in Georgia to a hotel on the ocean in North Carolina.
I’m looking forward to a lot of our stops, even as I struggle to stay awake in the passenger seat.
It’s still early but at least the sun is starting to come out. We have the radio playing softly and, as I flutter my eyes closed occasionally, I hone in on the music. An oldies station is playing. It’s some rock band from the early two thousands. I remember my uncle really being into them back in the day.
“Getting to be about time to stop,” I hear Gavin mumble to himself.
I crack open an eye and peer over. The tank is almost empty and we’ve barely gone far from home. We’re in the next state, sure, but considering how much farther there is to go and how long it’s scheduled to take us to get to our first stop, it’s not an impressive distance.
But, I suppose, that’s also what we get for breaking out the old gas guzzler from the back of our garage.
Cameron has one of our electric cars and the other is too nice to take for a road trip—Gavin spent years saving up for it. Plus there’s a more plain, aesthetic reason in that the gas car just looks like the type of car one should road trip in.
We’ve got to be one of the few people who even still own a gas car, I think as Gavin cranes his head at the next exit sign, looking for gas stations nearby. I know they still exist—I see them sometimes in town. They’re always empty, yes, but they’re there.
“Ah ha,” Gavin keeps his voice down as he finds one. He must think I’m still asleep so he’s just talking to himself. “Now, to see if they’re open…”
I smile to myself and lazily watch the scenery pass me by.
The sun may be out but everything is a pale gray color. Many of the trees remain barren but some have the first signs of spring nestled in little buds and bright green leaves dotting their branches. I feel cold just by looking outside.
There is no one at the gas station, as expected, but there hadn’t really been anyone on the road either. It’s about time most people are headed to work so I’m surprised to see so little traffic.
Gavin mentions it as he pulls in as well. “Empty, huh?”
I finally rise, letting him know I’m awake but I stretch my arms up as if I’ve just emerged from a restful slumber. I can feel his eyes on me as he parks by a pump.
“Sleep well?” He asks with a smirk.
“Just a little nap.” I shrug.
Gavin nods and turns the key, shutting off the car. He glances from me to the building. “Should we grab some snacks? Coffee?”
That doesn’t sound too bad—especially the coffee. I nod and already start thinking about what I want. “I wonder if they’ll have those big cookies.”
“I can check,” my husband offers, his grin growing in size.
“I’ll pump gas then,” I say.
We accept our assignments and I, begrudgingly, leave the warmth of the car. It’s actually not as cold as I had thought but my cheeks are hit by a brisk wind and I shiver. I check behind me, out of instinct, to watch Gavin head into the shop.
It’s just us out here so there’s nothing to be concerned about, I remind myself. I keep my head down, blocking out as much of the wind as I can while I get the pump set up.
I lock in the lever and then promptly tuck my hands into my jacket. The screen on the gas pump plays some movie from early 2020 and I smile in fond remembrance. I actually recall seeing it with my mother when I was in middle school.
The nozzle clicks, letting me know I’m done so I risk the chilly air to put it up and close the tank on the car. I give the old girl a little pat in appreciation and then stare over the top of her to see if I can spot Gavin inside the store.
The glass is too dark to tell and I let out a sigh before allowing my eyes to wander. The area we stopped in is pretty barren—a few shops are down the street but, directly behind the gas station there is a grassy knoll and, seemingly, endless woods. I’m sure there’s a road through the other side of the trees but it gives the illusion of wilderness.
At the top of the hill, I catch sight of what I think is a bird at first. My eyes narrow as it barely moves, suspended in the air. If it is a bird, I think, it’s, for one, huge, and two, in trouble. But as I continue to stare, I get less and less convinced it’s anything living.
I get more curious, however.
Gavin is taking his sweet time getting us snacks and coffee and I’m already outside in the cold, I may as well have an adventure of my own. It’s not that far anyway—if I can easily see it from the car then Gavin will be able to easily see me when he comes out.
I step onto the grass, hearing a satisfying crunch under my boot. A few real birds fly from a nearby tree to one in the distance and I guess I disturbed them. “Sorry,” I mumble under my breath as I carry on.
The hill is much steeper than it looks and my thighs burn by the time I make it to the top. I’m really out of shape. All those jokes Gavin and I keep making about needing gym memberships are starting to seem less funny now.
I take a deep inhale, the cold air burning my lungs.
“Geez,” I huff and take a few more breaths to try and calm my heart down, “At least going back will be easier…”
I let out a final, loud exhale and then train my eyes on the phenomenon that brought me over in the first place. The strange object floating in midair.
It’s still bird shaped—kind of—or at least I can see how I mistook it from a distance. The actual shape, now that I’m in front of it, is impossible to say. It’s got a lot of edges and nothing looks like anything I’ve seen before and, when I move from side to side, it goes from looking dark to light and, sometimes, metallic.
I’m tempted to call it alien.
“Liam?!” Gavin’s voice reaches me and I look back toward the car. He’s holding a bag of snacks and a travel tray of coffee.
I wave him over dramatically and I can tell he’s laughing by how he moves. But he sets everything on the roof of the car and starts to head my way.
“It’s a steep hill!” I shout out as he begins the climb.
About halfway I can already see him regretting his decision. “No kidding…”
I chuckle and help him up when he gets close enough. I let him catch his breath, knowing how tough the climb is myself. And, when he’s better, I point to the strange, floating object. “Do you see this?”
Gavin scrunches his face as he leans forward to get a better view. “What is it?”
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly before reaching my hand out. “Should I touch it?”
My husband snickers. “Why not?”
I grin and press my index finger to it’s surface. Only, there is no surface.
As I begin to pass through the object, I try to pull my hand back but it’s already too late. Gavin must see the look of concern flash over my face because he grabs me almost immediately.
And, in the next instant, we’re somewhere new entirely.
It’s not cold anymore, I notice that, and it’s much brighter and more colorful. I’m also sitting rather than standing and, under my palm, there is greener grass that’s a little wet but I think that’s due to how much moisture is in the air.
I look to my side to see my husband, throwing his head back and forth, taking in the strange scenery. “What in the..?”
“Did you not see what happened?” I guess based off of his reaction.
His head snaps to me. “Did you?”
I shake my head. “No…”
We stand up and start to walk slowly around this place. A bird flies in front of my face, squawking as it goes and my heart starts beating like crazy in my chest. I rub my hand over my sternum and frown. If this is some weird hallucination, it’s lasting too long for my liking.
“Did we get…teleported…somewhere?” Gavin asks as we part the huge, tropical leaves that hang down and block our path.
I frown. “That’s not possible.”
“Well…?” He gestures around at our surroundings. I see his point but I know there must be some, more reasonable, explanation.
We were just at a gas station, topping off for our road trip—this doesn’t fit.
I hang my head and don’t respond. I don’t have anything to say and I keep hoping that I’ll wake up and be back in the car. That would make sense.
Gavin pushes past the last bit of foliage and we are met with a wide open space. I can see a rock formation far into the distance and I hear the flow of water but I can’t find the source. A few more birds fly overhead and there is a faint rainbow in the sky.
The strangest thing, however, is the humongous plant in the center of the field. The roots of it stretch out in all directions and are as thick around as my torso while the stem is as wide as our car. An even larger, red blossom rests at the top and, because of it’s massive weight (I’m guessing), it rests on the ground.
I look toward Gavin and see a very complex combination of expressions on his face ranging from confusion to wonder and, finally, to horror. More than likely, I would guess my face looks the same.
“What…in the hell?” he mutters under his breath.
As if activated by sound, the flower begins to move. I stumble backward, nearly tripping and falling due to the roots all around us. I throw my arms out and catch myself but I have no time to celebrate the small victories—not when such a monstrosity is rising up in front of us.
The blossom points down toward us as if looking at us. As illogical as it is, I get the feeling that’s exactly what’s going on.
“You do not have permission to be here,” a voice booms from the plant.
If logic wasn’t out the window before, it is now.
I feel my body begin to tremble as I stare up at this red bud that’s now, inexplicably, talking. I have no idea how to respond—if I’m even capable of doing so.
This must be a dream.
It has to be.
As real as this fear feels, I can’t wrap my mind around the possibility of this actually happening.
“You…talk?” Gavin finally manages to squeak out.
The flower ignores my husband and asks, “How did you come upon this place?”
I try to answer—I want to—but nothing comes out. Thankfully, Gavin is able to talk for the both of us.
“We found this weird floating object and touched it. Next thing we knew, we were here.”
The flower makes a low rumbling sound as it moves about again. I feel the ground shift under me and I glance down, only for a second, to see some of the roots twitching and pulling.
I fear this thing is irate with us for some reason.
“A tear in the reality…?” The plant’s “voice” lowers as if it’s thinking aloud.
“Look, we don’t want to be here,” Gavin has a tremor in his words. I look at him and see how stiff his body has become. He’s terrified. “If you could show us the way out…”
That rumbling sound grows louder and I’m nearly thrown off balance again. “You have committed a great sin by coming here. It cannot go without punishment.”
My heart stops and I can’t make myself move even though I’m screaming at my body to start running. Whatever this thing is…it’s dangerous. But no matter how much I acknowledge that, I’m glued to my spot.
Gavin isn’t though.
He runs over and throws his arms out, using himself as a shield in front of me. “You won’t hurt, Liam! Just send us back!”
“You wish to fight me?” The flower asks and rises higher into the sky. The stem looks almost serpentine as it winds upward and, as I think that, I’m reminded of the roots around us.
Finally, I’m able to move and I lift my feet up as the roots attempt to circle around my ankles. “Gavin! Watch out!” I shout as I leap to the side.
He turns around to look at me, his mouth parted to respond to me but no words come out.
Blood does though.
My eyes widen and a scream sticks in my throat but doesn’t leave me. I trail down his body and see a bright green tendril protruding from my husband’s stomach.
Gavin winces and, slowly, reaches out for me.
I throw my hand out to try to grab him and our fingers touch but the flower doesn’t allow us more than that. Gavin is flung across the field—his body bouncing up from impact and rolling even farther away.
I watch him, mortified.
This can’t be real, I keep chanting in my mind, hoping to force myself to wake up.
That low rumbling is the only thing that gets my attention back on the flower. I don’t really want to look at it but my instincts are screaming at me to keep fighting despite my will leaving my body.
I stare up at the blood red petals, closed into a bulb, and I see a glint of light shining from within. It’s all I have time to notice before a vine screams through the air and I’m on the ground.
Red floods all around me and I zero in on my legs which are a shocking distance away from me.
I can no longer deny this as reality—it definitely hurts enough to be real.
And that’s the last thought I have.
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motownfiction · 5 months
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protagonist
Daniel’s always the first person to wake up in the morning. Sadie thinks she’s the one, but that changed after Sam died. Daniel’s awake by half past four every morning, just trying to make sure nobody loses sight of anything. He’s so quiet about it that no one ever notices.
Nobody except his houseguest.
Lucy, Will, and the girls are in town for a week, and they always stay at the DeLucas’ house. They’ve got plenty of room, especially since they put in the addition last summer. A little present for themselves. Grief never goes away. It needs its own wing in the home. So he built one, and he never looked back.
This morning, he forgot that Lucy and Will were staying at the house, and he wandered over to the new side of the house with a bowl of Cheerios and the intention to watch syndicated Family Matters on cable. But as he approaches the couch in the new den, there’s Lucy, already watching syndicated Family Matters on cable. It looks like she’s been up for hours.
“Hey,” Daniel says. “Mind if I join you?”
“It’s your house,” Lucy says. “Plus, after all this time … I kinda like you.”
Daniel smiles. He takes a seat on the recliner beside Lucy on the couch and feels the electric glow of the television light up the side of his face. He smirks.
“What?” Lucy asks.
“What?” Daniel repeats. “Oh … nothing. Just thinking about how funny it is to get lit up by Urkel.”
Lucy laughs.
“Elenore used to have a crush on Urkel,” she says.
“Really?”
“Oh, yeah, when she was about five. Six. Whenever he showed up on TV. I think she just thought he seemed nice.”
“Funny.”
“Yeah. I think I liked it better then.”
The air gets a little cold – more than just a crisp spring in Metro Detroit. Lucy, Will, and the girls came over here from New York to get the hell away from Charlie. But you can only get so far away from the guy who took advantage of your daughter’s crush on him when she’s pregnant with his child. Daniel could still throw up thinking about it.
“Yeah,” he finally agrees. “Me too.”
“It’s just … I’ve been trying so hard to hold it together for Will and the girls, you know?” Lucy says. “Will is … you know how defensive he can be, especially when it’s for somebody else. And Elenore’s the one, and Emma … I just don’t want her to be angry without knowing why.”
“I think she knows why. She’s old enough.”
“She’s smart, but she’s ten. She can’t see all the gray that we can. Do you really think Rosemary fully understands everything that’s going on?”
Daniel shakes his head. Rosemary is two and a half months older than Emma, but she keeps herself about a year or two younger. If she thinks about Elenore’s baby being her newest cousin for too long, she starts to cry.
Dammit, his daughter should not have to cry.
“It’s an impossible situation,” Lucy says. “But I heard you had a pretty fun way of putting a stop to it.”
Daniel laughs.
“Ah,” he says. “You talked to Will.”
“I did,” Lucy says. “He told me you punched Charlie in front of Sam’s headstone. The nerve of you, Daniel DeLuca. That’s badass.”
“Thanks.”
“No, I should be thanking you. You were defending my daughter before I even knew she needed it. That’s a life debt, man.”
“A life debt. Why couldn’t this have happened in high school? I’d have made you write all of my papers.”
Lucy smiles. She lies back a little, and Daniel isn’t quite sure who she looks like.
“How did it feel?” she asks. “When you punched Charlie.”
“Really fucking good,” Daniel says. “Like … like, I don’t know, it was like I’d wanted to punch him for years.”
“Maybe you had. He was always really annoying.”
Daniel smiles, too.
“The worst,” he says. “But you know … I kinda felt like I was in charge of something, for once in my life. Most of the time … I don’t know, it feels like somebody else is making up my choices, and I’m making them up to help somebody else. Sadie, the kids, somebody. But when I was punching Charlie, I was … dammit, I can’t believe I remember this word, but I was the protagonist.”
Lucy grins.
“Good,” she says. “I’m glad. You deserve more than just one chance to feel like that.”
“I do,” Daniel says. “Hasn’t come up a lot, but when it does … I’m gonna grab it.”
“Good.”
Daniel sighs a little. He looks at Lucy again, and after a few seconds, he knows exactly who she looks like.
“You know, when we were kids, I always thought you were the protagonist,” he says.
Lucy snorts.
“Yeah, right,” she says. “I was the one nobody would have noticed if I hadn’t become the pregnant girl.”
“That’s not true. You were always the smartest. You always had the most things happening to you, and around you, even if they were shitty things. And you always found a way out of them like a damn Loony Tune. Sounds like a protagonist to me.”
Lucy nods.
“I got it,” she says. “But … from an English professor who cares very deeply. If someone else is the protagonist in your adventures, you better think.”
In a little while, Daniel will let Lucy’s words wash over him … will question just how well he knows himself, just how judgmental he can be. But that’s not the story for 4:30 in the morning. The story for 4:30 in the morning is one of two old friends who let other people get in their way … one of finding someone who will listen.
(part of @nosebleedclub november challenge -- day 8!)
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illeee-girl · 2 years
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You Infire Me Chapter Twenty-Five: Gotcha
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yoongi x reader genre: fluff warnings: some language, cyberbullying, mc with mental health word count: 1.5k
Read on Wattpad
Read on Ao3
“Even if it's a road of thorns, we still run.” —Suga
You froze in place. Time stood still—but not in the good, romantic way you’d grown accustomed to. This freezing wasn’t due to you being locked in Yoongi’s deep, dark eyes; it was the result of you getting caught with his engagement ring on your finger. You rushed back to his side, pointing to the now empty patch of window that had once featured a sneaky onlooker taking a snapshot. “She was there! With a camera! She got me—I saw her!” You said. Yoongi’s eyes filled with concern even has he wrapped you in a comforting hug. The rest of the boys whipped out their phones, ready to assess the damage.
What they found was the stuff of nightmares.
Your previous title of “Suga’s sweetheart” was no more. With that diamond on your finger, you’d become “Suga’s slut.” The anger seemed to be directed at you from a narrow margin of BTS fans—but they made up a particularly vocal margin. Hate posts and comments, the likes of which you’d never seen, came piling in: directed at you. “Manipulative little bitch,” read one, “taking advantage of our long-lost, confused Suga-sshi.” “He’s so vulnerable right now,” said another, “and she’s clearly just taking advantage of that for his money.” But it wasn’t until the death threats began that BTS’s security detail had to intervene. They ripped you and Yoongi away from Hunsaker and took you to a remote cabin, far from civilization or cell service. “We’ll be together the whole time,” Yoongi assured you. But as you lay in his arms every night, your heart pounded in anticipation, dreading the moment some dark, bulging monster emerged from the small cabin closet to snatch him away from you. Your brain convinced itself that you were in a horror movie.
You wake one cold mountain morning to a thunderstorm, to rain pounding on the glass pane of the bedroom window. Instead of seeking Yoongi’s warmth, you just curl up into yourself, squeezing fresh tears from the corners of your eyes and trying to push away the treacherous tide of thoughts. Who cares what people think of me? Who cares what they say?
They care, whispers your brain. And they’re coming.
No, they’re not, you counter. They don’t know where we are.
They’ve got weapons, too. Guns. Knives.
Pitchforks? you laugh. Come on. These aren’t the Salem witch trials. Plus, BigHit bodyguards surround the place.
People hate you, it grows louder. They hate you cause you’re pointless.
No, you fight.
Useless, it asserts.
No.
Weak.
No.
WAKE UP! It yells, jolting you upright, forcing your eyes to take in the dreary, blue-gray morning light. THEY WILL KILL YOU. YOU WILL DIE. YOU DESERVE TO DIE.
“My Y/N?”
Yoongi’s soft, groggy voice is a whisper from behind you. It forces you to breathe.
“Is everything okay?” He leans up, sees your expression, and wraps you in his arms, pulling you back down onto the mattress alongside him. “Shh, shh. I’ve gotcha. I’ve gotcha. Breathe with me, okay? In,” he inhales deeply, strongly. “And out,” he exhales gently. You follow his lead a few more times, and your heart begins to slow its pace.
“Can you talk about it?” He asks you tenderly, brushing your hair away from your face.
“I can try,” you reply.
He nods, softly smiling. “Take your time. It’s important that we talk to each other when this happens, but it’s more important that we do so when we’re ready.”
You watch the soft fabric of his shirt absorb your hot tears. “You’re too good to me. I don’t deserve you. You deserve someone w–”
He strokes your hair. “I thought we agreed on stopping that kind of talk.”
You sigh. “But if I was someone better—someone prettier, someone skinnier, someone nicer (or, at least, someone who looked nicer)—then the rest of the world wouldn’t hate me.”
He squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head. “I’ve never cared about what the rest of the world thinks,” he says with every ounce of honesty. “I only care about what the people I love think of me.”
“But they want to kill me, Yoongi.”
“People have said they want to kill me, too,” he whispers. “But look—I’m still alive. Turns out it’s much easier to threaten to kill someone than to actually do it.”
“I don’t know if I can do this,” you shake your head against his chest. “I can’t deal with people hating me so much, and I certainly can’t deal with anyone hating you.”
He hums, pensive. Then he pulls out his phone. “Let me show you something.” He clicks on the Twitter app.
“Put that away, please,” you beg, pulling on the fibers of his shirt. “We don’t even have service, anyway.”
“I had them install a Wi-Fi router last night. I needed to talk to the boys,” he explains. “And I want you to see this.”
You open one eye, then the other, and look up to see Yoongi’s encouraging expression. He holds his phone, ready to pass it to you. He wouldn’t show me anything harmful . . .
You lift your hand and take the phone apprehensively, unsure of what to mentally prepare for.
“Everyone stop this,” the first tweet on the screen reads. “I’m sure she’s a very nice person. Our Yoongi oppa wouldn’t be with anyone mean or stupid.”
“I guess none of y’all have eyes,” the next one says, “cause that girl is downright gorgeous.”
“Right?” Reads the reply. “She’s so naturally beautiful! I mean, were they expecting him to end up with some six-foot-tall model? Not our tiny Suga sshi!” You laugh at that one.
“Suga oppa, we love you, we trust you, and we support you no matter what!” Another says.
“Guys, we have no right to feel betrayed. He left BTS quite some time ago; the no dating rule didn’t apply anymore,” the next explains.
“Everyone just leave them alone and let them be happy together.”
You blink through your tears in shock.
“#LetSugaBeHappy is the number one trending hashtag on K-pop Twitter right now,” Yoongi tells you. “ARMY is getting behind you, and they’re doing it fiercely.”
It’s a feeble attempt at a smile that crawls across your lips, but it’s the first smile-like expression you’ve managed since the incident.
“There it is,” Yoongi runs his thumb over your curving lips. “I’ve missed it.”
________________________
Yoongi brings you tea, and you spend the rest of the morning in bed with him, swapping smiles and stories and pecks and promises. What was once the intense thunderstorm surrounding your little cabin lightens up into a gently pleasant morning rain shower, as if reflecting your mood. By the time 11:00 comes around, Yoongi’s telling you a story about the boys and him doing an indoor obstacle course for an episode of Run BTS, and you’re laughing so hard it makes your stomach ache.
He leaves to go to the bathroom and you reach for your phone to check your email. You click on the first thing in your inbox: a memo from ReadSmart, the company you’re scheduled to start working for at the end of May.
“Dear Y/N,” it reads, “we regret to inform you that we must retract our offer of the position of Associate Copywriter for the ReadSmart Washington, D.C. office. Due to decreases in budget allotment, we are unable to hire any new employees at this time. We apologize for the inconvenience, and would be happy to assist you in finding a position elsewhere. We are impressed with your skills and character traits, and we are certain that you will find meaningful work with the salary and benefits you desire in the near future. Sincerely, the ReadSmart Hiring Office.”
What?
“Yoongi,” you call for him as he exits the bathroom, “would you read this for me and tell me I’m not hallucinating?”
He takes the phone, and as his eyes skim the screen, his expression turns to one of contempt. It could even be called a scowl.
“Retract the offer? Is that even something they can do?”
You shrug, hugging a pillow to your chest. “I mean, I guess so. I didn’t sign any official paperwork or anything.”
“This is outrageous!” He fumbles around for his own phone. “Let me make a few calls. I can–”
“No, Yoongs. I can’t let you intervene. That’s not fair. Let me figure this out on my own.”
“But you’re an amazing writer, Y/N—they should know that.”
“They saw my portfolio,” you tell him. “They do know that. They can’t control that they don’t have the money to hire me. Things are tough right now.”
“They’re a big company!” He seethes. “Of course they can afford to hire you!”
You go back and forth, him fighting on your behalf, you—for some strange reason—defending the company that just smashed your hopes of a full-time job into bits. But as you fake-argue, you relax. It’ll all be okay, you tell yourself. It’ll all be okay, because Yoongi’s right. I am a great writer, and some other employer’s going to see that.
Plus, if I have my defend-you-until-the-day-I-die fiancée always by my side, there’s no way I’ll fail.
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oflgtfol · 3 years
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i listened to get to heaven by everything everything a lot in january i think? or maybe late last december, idk. it was last winter and so now it gives me such weird vibes.. like idk, this album already had strange vibes to it, but add on that weird, liminality? that comes with winter and its just really so... eoehgghg in my mind now LOL
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strayen-fx · 3 years
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Red.
》 HHJ x reader
》 angst, vampirish theme
》 warnings: mentions of blood, hints of physical assault
》 2.1k words
》 a/n: short and simple, after months of writing break. Hope you guys enjoy regardless :)
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“Stay away from them, my dear. Save your blood from the horrors of their fangs. Be wary of solitude, and be wary of the crowd.”
It was a day not unlike any other. My morning kicked off lazily, with me waking up almost an hour later than a college freshman was supposed to. Nothing unusual there. I did my usual morning prep, took a cup of grandma’s tea in one gulp, and went my way. I was already late for the train—I had to run after a departing bus with an exceptional speed that would put Olympiads to shame. I got in the room just in time as the bell rang for first period. I came in huffing like an old man, but it’s alright. Way better than walking through the early jam-packed hallways.
The first aberration in my daily humdrum existence happened on my way to fourth period. A student from another department stopped me on my tracks. I knew him; he was a member of the student council. Was I in some sort of trouble?
He introduced himself as Han Jisung, then proceeded to ask if I have seen his friend.
“He’s tall,” Jisung explained. “But like, not super tall. Not the towering-over-people kind. He has a mole under his eye. He’s got black—no wait, I think he dyed his hair again the other day. Anyway, have you seen someone like him? He’s noticeably handsome. I guess. I’m more handsome, though, but you know what I mean.”
The whole school would know who he is talking about. The one and only Hwang Hyunjin: champion swimmer, council member, and just a general talk of the town. The Prince. Even if I did see him around, though, I wouldn’t know. I never pay attention to the people I walk by.
I shook my head and muttered a soft sorry. I did feel bad for Jisung. He looked so worried and dejected, and I can’t blame him—not after after the incident with Seungmin. I can’t really take it against him to worry about his friends. I sauntered off to my next class, my mind still stuck on the fact that a normal person in my school has actually talked to me, and I was able to keep my composure.
Fifth period: P.E. I don’t even know why we still have this subject in college. I opted to take a stroll instead. You see, a huge, dense forest is situated right behind the main school grounds. You could say that the school itself lies within the bosom of greeneries. Unkempt bushes and rows of towering trees stretched over several miles deep, starting from the edge of the campus to god-knows-where. It is my goal to scout the whole area before graduation.
Weighed down by my personal monstrous beast, I trudged through. I walked for at least fifteen minutes before I finally reached the spot—my spot. Sheet of decaying leaves cushioned a huge gray boulder, standing at least ten feet tall, shaped like an odd piece of egg smashed against the forest floor. Against it stood a larger stone, this one dotted with moss and weathered with cracks. They were propped against each other for support, as if stopping one another from tumbling to the ground.
There was a smaller rock at the foot of the smaller stone, and I use it as leverage to climb up and sit on top of the largest boulder. It was my favorite place. Most times I could just pretend that I was alone in my own tiny bubble, at the center of that clearing that nobody else ventures but me. I don’t feel the breath of people suffocating me with every step that I take. I don’t feel my heart thumping with the sight of anyone else. I don’t need to hold back. Here, I don’t feel weird.
But today felt somehow different.
It was awfully silent. The wind felt sharper and colder. Electricity was humming in the air, leaving my skin prickling with discomfort. There was a tension in my veins that I couldn’t quite explain—it felt like an omen of an incoming disaster.
Time ticked slow. A couple hours could have passed—or maybe it has only been five minutes—when a nearby rustling perked up my senses.
Trying to keep my movements as quiet as possible, I hopped down and took up a defensive position, which wasn’t easy to do for a student with no actual weapon aside from an almost-empty bag and a worn-out calligraphy pen. My instincts told me to take cover—but my feet seemed glued to the ground. Sweat trickled from my forehead. My hands started to feel clammy.
And then, just as I was about to scamper away, a figure crashed into view from behind the nearest oak tree. I almost threw my bag towards the person’s direction, until I had a clear view of the intruder’s face.
It was Hwang Hyunjin, wide-eyed and disoriented, with his cheeks and uniform smudged with traces of blood.
“Help me.”
His voice came out as a tiny croak, as if his throat was filled with acid. He stumbled towards me, reaching out his hand for support. I wasn’t able to move an inch—and who could blame me? The situation was way too hard to process.
Hwang Hyunjin, the university prince, was hunched huffing before me, his clothes caked with mud and dried blood, his hair a nest of mess on his head. He had a cut on his cheek, I noticed. His breathing was heavy and labored, as if the mere act of standing on his own two feet required all the effort he could muster.
“Help me,” he repeated.
“What happened to you?” I managed to blurt out. My initial thought was that some random outsiders kicked his butt for stealing their girlfriends. But no—someone like Hyunjin would have been able to handle that. Plus, something in his eyes showed an elaborate fear—something only a beast would be capable of instilling. I should know.
My heart began thumping faster, a colossal drum barreling in my chest.
Just as my schoolmate was about to open his mouth and explain, a loud rustling broke the stillness of the air. Before I could process what was happening, Hyunjin grabbed my hand and bolted away, dragging me with him.
“Don’t look back!” he warned.
I did.
At least a dozen feet behind us was another male, probably as old as Hyunjin. He was sporting our school uniform, walking casually under the shades of trees as if time wasn’t of any matter. What puzzled me, though, was the fact that we can’t seem to distance ourselves from him despite the heavy efforts Hyunjin had been exerting to drag us both away from this newcomer.
I took another glance behind me, and to my surprise, the young man wasn’t there anymore. Nowhere behind us, as if he dissipated without a single trace.
Hyunjin took a sudden stop, causing me to bump my head against his back. I was about to call him out for stopping, but then I saw the looming figure a few meters in front of us.
“You…?” I began, my mind a juggle of unanswered questions. How on earth did that happen? How is he—
Hyunjin's friend, Kim Seungmin, stood before us in his dirty school uniform. He looked pale, his eyes bloodshot, but he was standing there in full grace, very much alive, giving us a toothy grin. “You’re hurting my feelings, Hyun. Why are you running away from me?”
Hyunjin’s grip on my hand went tighter. “Seungmin...”
“Friends are supposed to help each other, am I right?” Seungmin continued, faux dismay dripping in his voice. He bared his fangs, its tips dripping with fresh blood. “So help me, Hyunjin.”
I felt my body run cold. I wanted to scream, run, anything—anything to get away from this. From him. From the two of them. From everything. But Hyunjin's hand remained strong around my wrist, and my legs were close to turning jelly. I could start to feel the fullness in my mouth, the pointy ends of my incisors. Something that only happens when I'm in an extreme hunger or danger.
“Stay away from them,” grandma said. “We are the same kind, but we are different. Weaker. They see us as preys, as special commodities. They can smell your blood despite my concoctions, my dear, remember this!”
Seungmin tilted his head to one side, finally regarding my presence. “And you, over there. I’ve never tried drinking such special blood.” He grinned. “Satiate my thirst.”
The last thing I knew, a strong hand was pressing tightly around my neck, turning my vision green.
°°°°°°°°°°°°°
“Have you heard of the news?”
“What news?”
“Kim Seungmin was safe! They found him in the forest yesterday.”
“Thank goodness! Was he hurt?”
“He had a few gashes, but he’s fine. Hyunjin found him and brought him to the hospital right away.”
Students filled the corridor, everyone bustling and hustling about the news: after his sudden disappearance, Seungmin was finally found by his best friend, Hyunjin. The latter saw him in the forest, hungry and disoriented. They went straight to the hospital to treat his minor wounds, and that was that—nobody bothered to ask how he managed to lose himself in the wilderness, or how we managed to survive seven days on his own. Nobody asked him stupid and unnecessary questions. Seungmin was safe, and that was all that mattered.
I brushed my way past the milling crowd, flinching at every accidental touch. I kept my eyes on the ground, forcing my mind into silence. I was expecting everyone to be in their respective classrooms at this time of the day, but apparently, the news of Seungmin’s return has become enough reason for everyone to wander about and neglect their individual duties. It was a grand miscalculation on my part—I hadn’t braced myself for this huge number of people.
Not here. Not now. Not ever.
I just have to get back home, and then it’ll be over. My insides would stop churning once I’ve drunk grandma’s tea—that has worked for 18 years now. I can stop this. I can stop me.
I made a run towards the comfort room. To my luck, nobody was inside. I washed my face over and over, as if doing so would cleanse me from the impurity stamped on every drop of my blood. The face on the mirror horrified me—I had to stop myself from punching the glass over and over.
The moment I stepped out, I felt his presence.
He was there, leaning against the wall, lurking behind the shadows. There was a faint gleam of terror in his eyes, but at the same time, I can feel it: the hunger. Lust for meat. Thirst for blood.
“Don’t be like him, Hyunjin,” I pleaded. “Don’t be like us.”
He shook his head in resignation. “It’s too late.”
He took a step closer. Another. He kept on walking until he stood right in front of me, too close I can feel him breathe.
Too close I can see the faint traces of blood on his lips.
“I’m still hungry,” he sobbed. “I’m still hungry…”
Fear was apparent in his eyes—fear of what would happen to him, fear of what he had become. “You will be fine,” I offered, taking his hand in mine. “Trust me on this. It will be fine.”
And then I felt it, stronger this time—the hunger he was talking about. The thirst. My stomach growled in protest at the sight of Hyunjin’s pale flesh. I can smell his blood—I can feel its steady rhythm as it flowed through his pulsing veins.
I need to get home. Maybe my grandma could do something about Hyunjin, too. Maybe she could produce a stronger tea, and both of us wouldn’t have to worry about our instincts anymore.
We stood next to each other for a full minute before he broke the silence.
“We need each other to survive,” Hyunjin whispered. “If we drink the blood of our own kind, we can last for a month without feeding on others.” He freed his hand from my hold and gripped my shoulders tightly. “I need you. And you need me, too.”Hyunjin leaned down until we were staring at each other at eye level. He closed the distance between us. I closed my eyes, and for the first time, I allowed my monster to take ove.
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sititran · 2 years
Text
Happy Birthday Loki
Stand alone AU. Avengers Tower.
No real warnings... so Fluff? Lately I just need more fluff in my life. Also will probably build off this since I started to really enjoy the vibe. Yes I know the title is basic. Whatever.
Right now its like Loki x Reader ( Gender neutral)
Word Count: approx 2400.
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It was by accident you just happened to find out that Loki’s birthday was tomorrow.  No one had mentioned it, but you happened to be in the lab shuffling items around, had unearthed an old file,  and as all the pages fell out as you picked it up saw all what was inside. Reading the contents of files, especially ones you had no business reading, was almost half of your job at Avengers Tower.
The other half was knowing to keep those secrets.
You might not have been an a scientist, a doctor, assassin, or Asgardian god, but your job helped those that were, and allowed you to live comfortably while you could create everything and anything in your own time. It was a better life than being a starving artist dying of illness in a cold garret apartment, which lets be fair would actually be very expensive, or worse, living at home with your parents. This way you had a comfortable place to live inside the tower, and could say you were helping folks. Plus if actually necessary, you could say you were “friends” with the Avengers.
Everyone’s schedules were arranged just like it was any other day though, as you saw in the calendar that you helped to manage.  Natasha was going to be away from the tower, and you knew it was for an information gathering mission, even if it didn’t say why.  Pepper added that Tony was going to dinner with her, and little random things of that ordinary ilk. Nothing that marked the occasion, which was unlike how the other members handled their birthdays. Natasha took the day off and booked several treatments at her favorite spa.  Tony threw a lavish party with rivers of alcoholic drinks, catered by the most exclusive places in the city. Rogers went to a dive bar in Brooklyn with Bucky, and they came home stumbling singing songs that you have never heard before, but felt old.  Thor asked if he could host a feast, which ended up like a BBQ on the balcony patio.  All things that ended up on the calendar.
Loki’s was just another day at the Tower.
This brought back flashes of your freshman year of college, fresh into the world, living in student housing, with a roommate you rarely saw, and if you did, they were wearing large headphones. You struggled in making friends living so far from home, at least that first year. February in New York was a vast landscape of gray snow and ice. You missed the sun, you forgot warmth. And in the middle of that, your 19th birthday was forgotten.  You hoped you’d talk to your mom, your younger brother, any family for that matter. But it didn’t happen, you went to class per the usual, got food like normal and went to bed after midnight filled with so much sadness and loneliness. It was one of the worst sensations you’d ever experienced up until then in your young life.
It was hard to explain how much it broke your heart to see Loki exposed to that. You saw how everyone else always had a measured distance from them, even after multiple missions where they had been the difference between victory and defeat. Even after you had overheard the conversation where you’d learned the hidden truth behind the Battle of New York, where your heart had shattered to hear how much they had endured at the hand of Thanos.  You noticed how the group tended to do their own things, with out including Loki.  It wasn’t fair, and so you not so subtly had started playing favorites.
You had noticed things that the others at the tower just didn’t. What food Loki seemed to choose, their routine,  how much the god read, and collected art. Not in the way Tony collected art, just getting whatever piece that seemed to be hyped.  No, you noticed how Loki would randomly come back to the tower just holding a canvas. Eventually you became bold enough to ask them about it. Loki had shrugged it off casually, saying “I liked it.” Apparently they would walk around the city looking for street artists, random people selling items on the sidewalk.
At first you were too intimidated to share your own work with them, but eventually you did.  You’d thought that Loki would be interested in painting or making something themselves, but no, contented to just appreciate. You thought their silence was more of a judgment against your style, but accepted that Loki wasn’t going to be an easy critic.  “Thank you for showing me your paintings.”  they had said politely.  It was more than you noticed with the other Avengers. You didn’t show them your work, that would have been too awkward for certain, them not really paying too much attention to you either.
It was in that moment, staring at the calendar, you decided that you were going to celebrate Loki’s birthday.  Instantly you formulated a plan. It wasn’t too elaborate, as you thought that would make them feel uncomfortable but certainly enough to demonstrate how valued they were, at least to you.  You immediately called up your favorite bakery nearest Avengers Tower and ordered a Mexican Chocolate cake, knowing the god would love the addition of cayenne pepper and the cinnamon butter cream frosting. Lucky for you they knew you worked for the Avengers and were happy to accommodate the last minute order. Maybe they wouldn’t have if they knew it was for Loki, but of course you didn’t mention it.
Then you grabbed your jacket and headed out into the cold December weather to hit a few shops for a few things. First, the book store, then the art supply store; you needed a fresh canvas. It would be rude to make a gift on the ruins of your perceived failures. As you attempted to stealthily get back into the tower and into your quarters, Loki was apparently doing the same.  They gave you a quizzical look, and held the door open as you attempted to balance the shopping bags and the stretched canvas at the same time.  You just smiled and said “thank you.”  
Once in the elevator together, you noticed Loki’s complete lack of coat, even though the temperatures felt so cold to you. “Aren’t you cold without a jacket?” you asked.
“Not hardly” they chuckled with a bit of a grin. “I don’t get cold like other folks.”  
You were torn between between bringing up the topic of the birthday, or keeping the surprise, and choose the latter, hoping it would have more meaning that way.  You noticed the expression Loki made looking at your canvas. “Are you planning on starting this one tonight?” They asked as you stepped off the elevator into one of the residential floors.  
“I am.” you replied, scared of saying too much.
“Well, I’d like to see it when the time comes.” You hoped your expression didn’t reveal too much excitement at the statement.  
“Of course, your highness.” You used the honorific just to see the amused reaction Loki always seemed to have when you did. He knew you did not use it out of mocking superiority, but playful respect.  It was something you used occasionally when others weren’t around to start arguments. Tony stuck to “reindeer games” and felt pretty clever at that, which was fairly annoying in your opinion.  The look made your heart feel full of joy.  You did not do this with Thor or the other Avengers.
Once back in your room, you didn’t want to waste time and got straight into working on the painting. You put on your head phones and started playing a playlist you’d been curating for some time. It was an eclectic mix, but suited the head space you loved for painting. This was when you felt most alive, brushes and paint around you, just you and the canvas and paint. This was meditation and worship. Just creation. Now you wanted to make something specifically just for Loki, something to show them that they were worthy and worth celebration.
The Sun was peaking through the gray clouds at dawn when you finally felt completed enough to put the brushes down.  You had, as often the case, lost all sense of time when painting, and were quite stiff from sitting at the easel.  Stepping back and stretching at the same time, you smiled feeling content with the results of the nights effort.  
A deep tired sat inside you, but you made a strong coffee and powered through your day. Noticing how others were doing the same. Perhaps you were the only one who knew it was Loki’s birthday? No, Thor would have know too. He could have chose to do something for his brother. On your lunch break you ran back out in the cold to pick up the cake and quickly returned back.  Many folks might have chafed at living in the same building they worked out of, but you relished it, as it saved you more time for doing the things you wanted.  Today that was making sure that Loki could feel like they had a Happy Birthday.
You placed an order from your favorite Szechuan restaurant, easily enough food to feed an army. As soon as it was delivered you set your plan into action and stopped in the communal kitchen for a few plates. Before you knew it, you were taking a deep breath outside Loki’s door. You weren’t in the habit of knocking on any other Avengers doors, and they weren’t in the habit of knocking on yours either. You reminded your self that fortune favors the brave, and rapped almost confidently on the door.
“Dinner?” you asked when Loki opened the door, dressed in a green button down shirt, cuffs rolled up to his elbows. Their eyebrow raised, as you showed the bag full of containers of food. You noticed how he subtly sniffed the air, clearly noticing the garlic and pepper’s scent wafting from the food.”I also brought wine?” you added into your temptation.   You knew they wouldn’t be able to resist. Loki threw the door fully open and welcomed you into his quarters.
They were certainly more spacious and well appointed compared to yours, There was a full on sitting area with coffee table and TV and more space for the large bed. One thing was similar. Art lined the walls, comfortably at home next to more than a few books on tall shelves. Loki’s quarters even had a wide floor to ceiling window that overlooked the city below, now lit up in artificial light in the darkness. It suited Loki well and yet still felt comfortable.
Casually you and Loki ate around the coffee table, and soon the wine and the good food, albeit spicy, had both of you laughing and cavorting like old friends, the conversation with an easy flow. It only baffled you more as to why the others distanced themselves so greatly. Long after the wine was gone, the conversation turned soft from the gregarious nature before. It all just felt natural.  You didn’t even want to leave to get the cake and gifts, until Loki flashed a smile, that was tinged with sadness.  
After excusing yourself, promising to be right back, you grabbed the gifts and the cake, pausing in the hallway to light the candle. You weren’t sure how old Loki was turning, so you opted for the safe route of one singular statement candle in the middle of the beautiful cake that just begged to be eaten.  You opened the door carefully, and once you started in you started singing Happy Birthday.
The look on Loki’s face was priceless. It was confused, amused and shocked. They just looked at you with an embarrassed grin that reached up to his eyes, which were glassed over with a sheen of tears starting to form. When you finished singing, they just looked at you.  
“You’re supped to blow out the candle” you prompted.
“Beg your pardon?”
“You blow out the candle and make a wish.” you told him. “I'd hurry before the wax ruins it.”
Loki then jumped up to take the cake from you, and blew out the candle.
“Don’t tell me your wish or else it won’t come true” You teased with a wink.  
They put the cake down on the coffee table as you turned to grab the smaller of the two gifts for Loki. You passed it over for them to unwrap, a smile on your face.
“You didn’t need to get me anything.” Loki calmly but warmly spoke.
“Just open it?” you begged. And they did. They gently turned the green leather bound volume in their elegant hands, running a finger down the gold gilt on the spine before delicately opening the cover and seeing the signature of the author, eyes widening.
“Happy Birthday?” you asked. Hopeful that this reaction was positive. Loki smiled graciously, and tipped their head to one side, in a salute.  “Oh I have one more thing, “ and you slid back to the hall way to bring the painting inside.  “This. Is for you.”
Loki looked up from the book to the painting. He shifted his stance and put his one hand on his hip, with a wide grin that was his whole face, even so much as it reached his eyes with a slight crinkle. You swore you almost could see the god blush.
“I hope that means you like it?”  You asked nervously.
“How could I not?” he chortled.  He moved to put the painting in easy eye line from the bed.  “It’s quite like you know me well. “
“I have tired, your majesty.” you beamed, the praise feeding your soul with joy.
You both sat back around the coffee table and began attacking the cake in turn with forks, forgoing the formality of slicing and plates.  Loki closed their eyes and made a few, less than chaste noises at the first few bites.  “This is amazing. I have not had anything this good on Midgard before. If I knew this was here all along I may have not acted so brash before.” They joked.  
You smiled warmly back at Loki, full of joy. It was a deep satisfaction. They grabbed your free hand and squeezed it.
“Thank You.” Loki said looked directly into you, as you felt your stomach do a somersault.  “You’ve been a true friend, and this has in fact been a happy birthday.”
You may have been an ordinary person, no Avenger with super powers, super suits or even super skills. But in that moment it didn’t matter. You had accomplished your mission.  
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doubledgesword-2 · 3 years
Note
Hello lovely! How pe you’re having a nice weekend!💕
I saw that your requests are open and I was wondering if I could request a head cannon or Drabble of adult trip with a blind darling??
Hope you have a nice day!💕✨
Aww yeeesh! I did have a lovely day and a nice weekend, thank you so much! Here's your nice cup of Rose tea hon, enjoy it!
WARNING TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF AND A LIL BIT OF OOC! ENJOY!
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Chrollo
Whether you were born like this or you had an accident that took your sight, it doesn't matter; Chrollo would do everything for you.
And when I say everything, I mean every little thing, from guiding you around the room to bathing you or showering with you to help. 
"Chrollo, I can do it; you don't have to worry" you chuckle nervously as his hand gently scrub your arm; you feel his fingers gently rub the soap on your shoulder, and you're hoping he can't see you blush. 
"Hush, dear, and let me love you" he kisses your shoulder, and you shudder at the feeling of his warm lips against your skin. 
When you casually ask how the clouds look like or what color is the ocean, or what color are the trees this time of the year, his eyes tear up a bit. He looks at you with a drunk love look and a warm smile.
 You're so perfect for him, because him being a romantic, this is the perfect time to be poetic. 
He will find an object that's very soft and very fluffy in texture; his hand will take yours and slowly drag it through the material so you can feel every single fiber of it. 
"That's how clouds are like, love. This time of year, the trees are red, and that's like cinnamon, and the ocean is blue, and aqua and those are like salty blueberries." 
"Ewww!" You laughed, and he chuckled, still holding your hand in his. This moment was a real treasure for him.  
"May I see how You look like?" He immediately tears up. This boi is low key the most sentimental in situations like these ones. He can't help but be overwhelmed. Sure he's a thief, but he's a humble one, albeit unfair on occasions but never with you. 
Chrollo takes your hands and places them on his cheek. Your fingers feel so soft on his skin, almost like you're afraid to damage him. They glide over his nose, feeling how it arches, over his eyebrows and his eyelids. 
Then they pass over the cross on his forehead into his hair, caressing it until your arms are looped around his neck and you hug him close, your ear on his chest listening to his racing heartbeat. 
"You have a strong heart" You can't see how his cheeks are tinted pink or how his breathing has picked up because, dammit, you're amazing at getting these kinds of reactions out of him. 
He will read to you, even though you have learned Braille. He wants you to be drunk on his voice and the passionate way he makes the story's impressions. 
No one, and I mean no one, is allowed to begin a demeaning sentence towards you or some comment about your blindness that makes you uncomfortable. He will shut them up with one look and the flare of his aura.  
When you guys go out, he insists on guiding you even though sometimes you have held him back before a car could run him over because he was too focused on taking care of you. He didn't see the vehicle coming. Ironic. 
"That was a close one, don't you think?" He kissed the crown of your head, holding you close as the two of you kept walking to your destination. "Now, do you believe I can take care of myself?"
"We'll see," he chuckles. 
Illumi 
Your encounter with Illumi is always a tale to tell. 
You see, you were at a coffee shop, drinking your favorite drink and eating a nice treat/pastry when he passed you by dropping one of his pins in the process. He had been so tired and beat that he didn't even notice. First one right there. 
"Excuse me, sir," You bend over and felt for the big round top of the pin until your fingers grasped it and held it tight, minding the other pointy side. "You dropped this" Illumi doesn't say anything in acknowledgment. He simply extends his hand to you. 
But you are not giving him the pin, and this annoys him so much. Then his eyes look up to yours. They are blueish but glazed over and almost white. You're blind. Illumi reaches for your hand, startling you for a quick second, but he picks the pin and lets go. 
"Is this seat taken?" He asks suddenly, and you smile towards his voice.
"Go right ahead." 
That day Illumi was so intrigued by you that he couldn't help but stalk you a bit, you know, for research purposes in case he ever finds an opponent like you. 
But it turns into so much more.
 He meets you every day he can, no matter where he goes with you. He makes no effort to help you, though, and don't expect him to do so. He appreciates you too much, and in his mind, you're like a wild cardinal, and if he were to help you, it's like putting you in a cage. Once he lets you free again, you won't know how to survive on your own. 
He wants you free. He loves you free. 
But that doesn't mean he won't be there for you or step in when circumstances are far too grave for you to handle. 
"Llumi, how does the sky look today?" 
"Gray. It's going to rain" his response makes you chuckle; you have never seen gray, but his honesty makes you smile. You outgrew your frustrations about this situation a long time ago. 
"Can we stay to feel the rain? I want to smell the petrichor once it's over" Illumi looks at you with the same expression he gives everyone. He knows you might catch a cold standing in the rain; he doesn't understand why all you said would be relevant. But then he reminds himself, he has taken for granted all of these things because he can see them. 
"Only a couple of minutes once its starts. If it gets bad, we'll go inside. You can smell the petrichor afterward" he holds your hand, and you two sit there on the park bench. 
Illumi doesn't get cuddly or lovey-dovey with you. Still, he will allow himself moments where he can't help but admire you and be grateful for having you in his life. He will never say that. Ever. But he'll think it.
One time he entered your apartment and found you sitting on the rug in the living room, reading Braile. 
"Illumi is so nice to hear you today. How was your day?" He's always impressed by your ability to sense him. When he asked once how you could recognize him if he was so quiet, you said you could feel his presence in the room since it was calming to you even when he tried to conceal himself. This melted his heart. 
"What are you reading" He came to sit on the sofa, his legs brushing your arms like a loving gesture. Your hand grabbed his leg, squeezing him in recognition, and then went back to the book. 
"Would you like me to read it to you?"
"Yes," It was a lovely evening that day. 
Just like Chrollo, he's very protective of you since his line work makes him kind of famous, some people are bound to have seen you and try to get to you to get to him, and this is where Illumi draws the line. 
Rest assured, no one will touch a single hair on your head if he has his way. The beginning of his bloodlust alone is enough to make everyone panic and turn away.
"Illumi, hon is alright, I'm here, I'm right here. Look at me" you would open the curtain of his luscious hair to hold his face and make him look at you. "I'm fine, see?" 
"They are not worth it," he says after holding you close to him. He'll kill them later. 
Hisoka 
This little shit will always be a little shit, in this case, a loving and understanding one, but still, the point remains. 
You bumped into him on the streets, and the minute it happened, it annoyed him so much. He was in the process of turning and giving you your dues when he noticed you had actually stopped and been grabbing his wrist. 
"I apologize, I'm so sorry" you're not looking at him, and that annoys him even further. 
That's until he notices your vacant look and your body language. You may not be looking at him, but your whole body is poised to listen. Listen to him. 
"Are you blind?" He blurts out but not really; his smirk says it was intentional.
"All my life, sir," you chuckle, letting his wrist go and leaning a bit on your white cane. 
This makes him giggle, and he invites you for a coffee if you're available.
The rest after that marks your relationship. 
Hisoka behaves like a child whenever he's around you. He hides his presence to try and scare you, but you can always sense him. You can even imagine him pouting as you find him and poke him with your cane. 
"Not fair, little fruit." 
"You smell like bubble gum, hon," you chuckle, bringing him down to kiss his cheek. 
He holds you close and loves when you let yourself go and depend on him a little.
 Lke him cooking for you, doing some chores around the house (He doesn't have to, and you tell him that, but he just says you'll have to reward him later), and the two of you baking together—with him covering you in flour as much as he can without you noticing.
"Soka, I know my cheeks and forehead are white; you are a terrible boyfriend, love."
"Mmmmm, so mean, (Y/N)-chan" He kissed you as he puts more flour on your nose. 
Hisoka knows he has to leave for extended periods since he can't stay put in one place plus his job. But will always call you and answer your phone calls no matter if he's fighting with someone at the moment.
 "My precious darling, I *grunts* I'm in the middle of breaking someone's arm at the moment *huffs* can I call you later, love?" You cringe at the sound of the bone-breaking over the phone but chuckle slightly at his antics.
"Yes, you can, Be safe" oh, oh, oh he loves your concern for him. It just makes him moan obscenely in the middle of the fight, making his opponent disgruntled and allowing him to finish them off.
"On second thought, dear, we can talk right now. I'm currently free." 
He will bring you stuff from his travels and jobs, all with different textures and pleasant smells so you can experience them. 
Now this, this is the moment of truth. While you're distracted touching everything he brought, he takes away his texture surprise. Suddenly he lifts your hand to touch his hair, then his face and arms. 
"How does this one feels, mmm?" He hides the fact that he's nervous by being playful, but you can feel him being stiff. 
"It feels soft," then your fingers gingerly brush a big scar over his chest "it feels like no matter what, I love you. Like you can trust me with each one of these" 
He won't admit it, but it's nice that you can't tease him for his blushing cheeks and aghast expression. But he chuckles to alleviate the lump in his throat as he takes your hands in his and pulls you in for a hug. 
When the two of you go out, he's always holding your hand, or you're holding his arm. He has convinced you to not use your white cane while walking with him. He'll be your eyes. 
The moment someone bumps into you…
"Hey, watch where you're going, woman!" 
"Oh, so, so sorry, sir," you apologize, and Hisoka is smiling at the man. 
"Yeah, you better be" 
"Little fruit, do you want to know how fluttering butterflies feel?" As he says so, your face is tickled by a lot of fluttering little wings, and the experience mutes the man's screaming as he Hisoka gently drags you away. 
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capt-spooki3 · 3 years
Text
By The Witch's Grace
Chapter One
A Sbi "choose your own story" fanfiction
It seems Y/n, a known and hated magic user in their small town, has a lot to deal with after the rowdy bunch that is Philza, Wilbur, Technoblade, and Tommy, show up at their door step in the midst of a giant snow storm...
Warning: Cursing, talk of hate/discrimination
2.6k words
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“Alright, we need flour, milk, apples... Uh no no stop meowing, please. Shit okay, flour, milk, apples, and what? Oh god, was it- oh! Bottles! Of course, geez.” Y/n laughs at themself before kneeling down, and pets the head of their cat who was demanding their attention. The little feline, who looked like a little toasted marshmallow, purred and meowed as she was happy with the much-needed attention.
“Alright Poppy, I’ll be back. Be a good little girl for me, okay? I’ll be back in time to give you supper I promise.” They baby talked to the cat with little forehead kisses before getting back up to their feet and reaching toward the wall where a large cloak was hung on a large nail next to the door. They threw on the heavy fabric and clasped the small glass button to keep it on their shoulders, their hand lingering as it passed over the glassy eye that permanently stayed on a chain around their neck. The result of a curse placed, not too long ago, that bound it to their person until death. Just the luck of someone who often plays with magic that they can barely comprehend.
The piece would pass as a decoration to any untrained eye, but to those who delved into the arts of magic, any one of them could tell you what this object was. With the deep and light greens with accents of blue and a cat-eye pupil that was forever staring, there was no mistaking an eye of ender. The object was rich in stored-up mana, but it was no joke. Even with the most skilled of mages, they had to be most cautious and limit their time interacting with the eye. The sooner they distanced themself from it the better as the eye has been heavily rumored to take possession of people who use its magic for too long. Mages long past wrote notes in books, Y/n as read countless times, on how the eye has influenced beings to cause great harm and destruction. Its motives are still unknown. 
With the object on their person 24/7, they take caution every moment in case the eye decides it's time to take control. They hope it isn't any time soon.
Tucking the eye of ender under the latch of the cloak, they peeked outside to be met with chilled air kissing their cheeks. The bitter promise of snow.
More the reason to get their errands done as soon as they could to get back home. As if their life being in danger wasn’t the biggest reason to rush so they could hide again. They carefully pulled on their hood and hid as much of their features as they could within the cloak before stashing a satchel that jingled with coins and setting off through the door.
Being able to leave their distant home was always a treat, but also a constant threat to their life. They were never positive if they would return home after each venture. As a magic user, thoughtfully given the nickname of ‘Witch’ from the townsfolk, they weren’t liked much. They made the mistake of trying to show off their powers once before learning quickly that magic was despised among these people. It was only associated with the rich who treated people lower than them like they were dirt under their shiny boots. Luckily they still had a vendor in the town that sold to them, it was the only thing keeping them going.
After about a hour walk down a few winding forest paths that they carved out by themself after years of taking the same route, the port town was in view. Snow littered the ground to the sides of the dirt roads that they walked along and the small breeze that was present ran cold, the overcast sky promised a harsh amount of snow. That is bound to make next week fun. They sure were lucky to bring extra coins so they can stock up.
Once reaching the main town, they made sure to keep their head down and slip through the hundreds of bodies at the markets. It was all routine now, sadly. They took a turn down an alley that harbored a few stray cats and even a dog that scattered when they pressed on down the alley. Softly, they knocked a code to the shopkeep on the old wooden door.
The door just barely creaked open and an old green eye peered out. Y/n looked down to meet the weary eye peeking out at them and couldn't fight a smile. An old cackle rang out and the door opened up wide to an older woman. She was small and had all gray and white hair that was long and braided over her shoulder, but her eyes were alive and she was brimming with joy.
“Oh my little bird, how are you doing?” She said fondly with a slight German accent and Y/n knelt for the woman when she reached to hold their cheeks and look them over.
“I’m well Oma, thank you. You look as young as ever.” The kind words made the woman laugh and she put her hands on her hips and let out a sigh of contentment.
“So what do you need today? I just got in a big order of sugar if you want some.”
“Oh, that would be wonderful actually. I need flour, milk, and is Opa at his shop today? I need apples and he always has those bottles that I need.”
“Actually, he is home sick today,” She started and she walked into the shop to retrieve what Y/n needed. “He caught a small cold but he’ll be better soon. Wait just a moment and I’ll go grab everything.”
The lady went off on her way and Y/n sat on the doorstep, waiting and watching the people walk past the end of the alley. They cringed to themselves whenever they caught the word witch in some distant conversations, they seemed to be a tall tale at this point. At least they weren’t being actively hunted down anymore.
A few long minutes passed and there was a small thump that caught their attention in the shop, when they looked back there were two large sacks and no sign of the woman. Rest assured, after a few moments, the old lady was just barely managing to carry two more large sacks filled to the brim with the few things they had asked for plus much more as they usually only bring one sack home each trip.
“Oma! Oh no, I don’t have enough for all of this! Besides, I can’t possibly carry this all back home.”
“I know, I know. You’ll need it with the weather we have coming on tonight, as payment you can show me that magic you talked about last time. You know that… carrying magic..” She gestured wildly, trying her hardest to remember the word as Y/n stood back up.
“Oh, my spatial magic? I’m not too good at it, but I am sure I can manage this. Alright, are you ready?” They checked the alley for possible watching eyes before holding their hands out with their palms toward the bags.
The old woman stepped back and watched with excitement, her eyes practically sparkling already. Y/n closed their eyes and sucked in a deep breath, their hand flexing a bit and opening wider. A soft purple light began to emit from their hands and two thin, long arms that seemed to be made from the night sky itself stretched out and each hand touched the sack and engulfed it in darkness before retreating back within Y/n’s hands. They let out their held and concentrated breath with a deep sigh, their muscles and bones feeling heavy as they held some of the weight of the sacks within their being.
“That was amazing! Oh, you are so talented, I am so proud of you.” The woman said happily and walked forward, pulling Y/n down and kissing the head of the young mage she seemed to love. “Please hurry home now, stay safe. Opa and I love you and I hope to see you again soon.” 
She waved them off and Y/n waved back, pulling their hood down more for precaution, and slipped into the crowd toward the road they took back home. They felt rather blessed they were able to make it home without even a scare.
They walked along the road, waiting to see their well-worn path as the heaviness of their body grew with walking uphill. Using magic like this weighed on the body and the soul with however much the individual was carrying. They reached up, pulling down the clasp to their cloak to reveal the eye of ender to the world. As much as they didn't want to rely on its power, it was the only way they would confidently make it home. Grasping the warm object tight, it pulsed with magic beneath their fingers as if it were alive, they sent their mana into the eye to mix and grant them a magic boost. They knew quite well the item was evil and no good to toy with, what else should one do when it's bound to them for life? With a soft purple glow to their eyes now, their body felt lighter and the strain to keep their goodies in a personal pocket in the dimension lifted almost completely. They shook off their bits of anxiety with the gain of power and picked up the pace to get home as small flurries were filling the air around them.
The walk back home was fast and they were beyond relieved upon opening the door and feeling the hug of the warm cottage and a string of excited meows when their familiar raced to greet them.
“Hey Poppy, miss me?” They stroked the cat before kneeling on the ground to perform the same technique of magic for consuming the sacks to spit them back out onto the ground in front of them and hummed a soft tune while they went through the goodies and put them in their respected places around the three stories of the home. Before they noticed it, the world outside had grown dark and they lit the lanterns around the house and peered through a window to see the snow blowing strongly and the wind howling, they hadn’t even gotten a chance to see the sunset. This was turning out to be a real blizzard, they did a silent prayer that it wouldn’t last long.
Just as Y/n was trying to put the last of the sugar away there was a heavy thump on the door followed by a hurried couple of knocks of which were all inconsistent but did the job of grabbing their attention. They fumbled with the sugar but safely put it down before hurrying to the door, their fast movements spooked the cat and caused her to scramble away to go hide.
Once getting the locks undone they opened up the door to see four individuals standing there, waiting. Two of the larger individuals there stood on the sides to frame the group in a way. The one on the left most who had shoulder-length pink hair and noticeable tusks sticking out from his bottom lip and inhuman down pointed ears, was using his large, red cloak to hold a blond boy who was about to his shoulder, against him and shield him from the snow. The two both had on heavy armor, though, the blond’s armor was a bit more leather than metal. On the other end stood a taller man with brown hair who also was in armor and was hunched over to be able to get covered by a large dark grey wing that held him. Said wings belonging to a man who was shorter than the brunette and had on expensive-looking mage robes and messy blond hair. The winged man looked to Y/n in desperation as he began to speak.
“Please let us stay for the night. We will leave as the sun rises, please just-”
“Stop talking- just come in. Hurry! It’s got to be below zero out there.” Y/n hurriedly ushered the bunch inside as they held the door open for them.
The burly pink-haired man was the first to make a move as he pushed the blond boy off of him and through the doorway and was already reaching over to push the brown-haired man next. He made sure the winged individual made his way in before going in. He looked at Y/n who was still holding the door and adjusted his jaw, a nervous habit it seemed, eyes darting around a bit before he returned his eyes to them and gave a nod of appreciation.
Y/n barley was able to get the door closed after him before they turned around and was assaulted with a hug from the winged man, he was incredibly cold. They hugged the man back, rubbing his back a little as he said many soft thank yous to them, though they watched the other three who stood close and looked around at the bottom portion of their home. The blond boy hugged himself close, shivering and the brunette rubbed his back as he looked around.
They hope they wouldn’t regret not thinking it through before letting a bunch of strange people into their home.
“I truly cannot thank you enough for this. We would have died out there.” The man said as he finally let go of Y/n and studied their face for a moment, looking for words it seemed. “We should introduce ourselves. I’m Phil and the big guy back there is Technoblade. The lanky one is Wilbur and the blond one between them is Tommy. They are my sons.”
Y/n watched them as Phil introduced them, each of them giving them some sort of little greeting when they were called. Whether it was a head nod or a little wave or a smile. They seemed nice.
“One hell of a family..” Y/n mumbled which Phil seemed quite funny and even Wilbur chuckled a bit.
“Oh yeah, but they are my boys.” He said while looking at the three with fondness.
The sweet moment was caught a little short when Technoblade crossed his arms, his body language screaming distrust. He looked down at Y/n and sized them up as he grumbled out a question that sounded more like a command. “What is your name. Who are you.”
“Techno- for god’s sake be a little nicer could ya? Bloody hell, they just saved us.” Wilbur retorted and Technoblade huffed a little growl and looked away. Wilbur gave a short and annoyed sigh, looking back at Y/n as he pulled his hand away from Tommy and instead rested a hand on the hilt of the sword at his waist. It wasn’t meant to be seen as a threat, but the gesture did make Y/n a bit uneasy as they shuffled back a tad. Instead, he just spoke kindly with an inviting hand gesture.
“What is your name?” He stated and he and Phil looked at them expectantly.
They hesitated for a moment with the eyes on them and cleared their throat, standing taller. “My name is Y/n... it’s nice to meet all of you.” They thought for a moment about what they should say to these people who stood awkwardly, warming up from the cold. “How about I uh… go get some blankets for you all. Blankets and I’ll set up my two spare rooms.” They added as more of a side note to themselves than the group and hurried up the stairs to get things together. 
This was going to be a long night. They can only hope the snow stops soon.
[Chapter Two]
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Hi!! Spooks here. Like the first chapter? Want to make sure you know when i post the next chapter and any after that?
Click here and interact with this post! I'll add you to my tag list!!
And thank you so much for reading!!
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runawaymun · 3 years
Note
Hi there! You said you take requests. I'd be happy with an imagine about Elrond x reader drinking tea together (h/c). It could be a herbal tea or just something ordinary. Pretty please! Ofc if you feel like writing it. (If not it's ok too~)
Elrond x Platonic!Reader - Cozy
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genre: hurt/comfort/fluff warnings: none, except for enough saccharine fluff to give you cavities for: @ramyun-monster reader pronouns: neutral/they/them
You would think that Imladris, of all places, would be conducive to a good night’s sleep. The air off the mountains is almost always cool and crisp, the roar of the Bruinen contributes pleasant white noise, the crickets sing in the rose gardens, and time itself seems to flow unhurried and unhindered. Still, tonight, you’re finding it difficult to relax. Your thoughts keep wheeling around in your head without any particular pattern, bringing up unpleasant memories and lambasting you with all the things you’re putting off: the little tasks that need doing, the appointments you have to keep. 
It’s pointless to keep lying in bed glaring at the ceiling (even if it is a really beautiful ceiling). Plus, you’re developing a headache. You peel back the blankets and drag yourself out of bed. The library sounds nice. You’ll head there and try and relax, and hopefully later you can try sleeping again. It isn’t terribly late yet. The moon is still low. You’ve got time.
As an afterthought, you grab your journal from the desk by the window. Maybe if you write down everything that’s bothering you, you can stop thinking about it. The floor is cold under your bare feet, and you slip into a pair of house-shoes before heading out of the guest room you’re staying in.
You take the stairs down to the first floor and find yourself in the library in no time at all. It’s empty this time of day save for the librarian --a dark-haired Noldorin elleth who you think (if you’re remembering correctly) is named Iûldis. She gives you a good-natured wave but doesn’t try to make conversation. You return her wave and head past the towering bookcases of ancient tomes and scrolls to a secluded corner that you’ve grown to love.
The library smells of ink and parchment and vaguely of petrichor sifting in from the open windows. You stop on your way to pick out a book to peruse. The corner you like is comprised of an intricately carved cedar desk and a ridiculously plush reading couch flanked with matching reading chairs. It’s the couch that you settle into tonight, placing the little book on the end table and curling up against the armrest to write. 
A pleasant half-hour goes by, but you’re still no sleepier than you began and only marginally less scattered. You set aside your journal in favor of the book. Outside, clouds obscure the moon and rain patters on the terrace. The air turns chilly with a new easterly wind. You shiver and tuck your legs up a bit tighter. That pesky headache still hasn’t gone away. The cold is giving you goosebumps but you’re reluctant to go back to your room just yet.
You catch a whiff of lavender and lemon balm just as someone sets a teacup on the table by your elbow. When you look up, you’re met with a soft smile, warm gray eyes, and an expression that hovers halfway between concern and humor. 
“Riveting reading?” Lord Elrond asks. He’s holding his own cup balanced on a tray in one hand and he has a book tucked under his arm. 
Before you can get up to give him a bow he puts a hand out to stop you. 
You hurry to say: “I didn’t hear you come over, my lord. I’m sorry.”
“Do not be.” He has a thick blanket slung over his arm, and he holds it out to you. “It is a bit cold for you tonight, is it not?” 
You blink and take it, wrapping it around your shoulders and snuggling into it. It’s fluffy and pleasantly heavy, just the right thickness. “A little, yes. Thank you.”
He inclines his head with a little smile and gestures with his teacup to the reading chair next to the couch. “May I join you?”
The first dumb thought that accosts your tired brain is why? Thankfully, you stop yourself before blurting it out loud. He probably has a million things to do so you can’t imagine why he’s bringing you tea and blankets.
...And he’s still standing there, patiently waiting for your answer.
“It’s your house,” you say. You can’t keep the surprise out of your voice. 
“So it is. Still, I find it polite to ask before imposing myself on someone else’s reading.” 
“You’re not imposing,” you say at once. In fact, it’s the exact opposite of an imposition. If you’re honest, you’re absolutely delighted that he’s here asking to join you, offering tea. Ever since you came to Imladris and he offered for you to stay, you’ve admired him. But you’re practically a nobody, and definitely a nobody when compared to him, so you’ve never really worked up the courage to do more than say hello or a few jumbled sentences to him. This opportunity is way too good to pass up.
He sets his tray with its steaming cup of tea on the table between you and takes a seat in the reading chair, placing his book on his lap. There are two spoons on the tray and a few ginger biscuits on a pretty plate and a pot which, as he opens the lid, proves to be filled with honey.
“Would you like some in your tea?” 
You still can’t really believe this is happening. You nod.
He spoons a little bit of honey into your cup and lets you stir it in. Adds some to his own, and says warmly: “I always find that a little bit of lemon balm and lavender is the perfect cure for restless nights.” 
The two of you drink your tea and demolish the biscuits, listening to the rain make music on the roof. He asks you some questions about yourself and where you’re from and seems genuinely interested in your answers, so you’re happy to give them, and he even answers some questions about himself that you’ve been dying to ask him for ages. The time passes by, the rain lets up, and you finish your cup of tea. Before you know it, you’re getting tired. You’ve forgotten all about everything that was bothering you earlier and your headache is completely gone. 
He bids you goodnight with a knowing smile and you go back to your room with that heavy wool blanket wrapped around you like a cloak --and you don’t find it at all difficult to get to sleep. 
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suguruverse · 3 years
Note
ahhhh what about being best friends with hinata and kageyama. bc let’s be honest they totally started to hang out outside of volleyball
— BEING BEST FRIENDS WITH HINATA AND KAGEYAMA
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includes - hinata shoyo and kageyama tobio
a/n - hehe thank you so much for requesting bby!! <3
published date - 27/03/21
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- this is a very unexpected friendship to say the least
- this friendship is just a constant fight for your attention
- they’re so competitive and they always make you decide who wins
- one of the main competitions they have everyday is the one where they race to your classroom to see who can get there first
- or when you say you want something from the vending machine, they are both rushing out of their seats to see who get you your snack first
- despite how much they say they might hate each other, they’re always hanging out in school, at lunch and even outside of school
- of course, you’re always there with them or else they probably would have killed each other by now
- in terms of affection, hinata is always there if you need a hug, a pat on the back or any of that
- for kageyama, let’s just be glad he even looks at you and calls you his best friend
- kageyama is a little bit new to physical affection and that’s why he’s glad he has you and hinata
- hang outs normally is at kageyama’s house because natsu is too loud, kageyama is normally home alone and you and hinata just come over unannounced to annoy him
- whenever you guys are watching a movie, you’re always huddled up with hinata while kageyama is on the other side of the couch, looking at you guys enviously
- being best friends with these guys can be super rewarding and draining at the same time
- you’ve had to stay back at school almost everyday to help them practice volleyball
- and trust me, they love you a little bit more every time you help toss the ball
- kageyama is like canonically super handsome, so expect to get hate from a lot of the girls
- also kageyama is like your protector in some ways??
- like whenever there’s someone bothering, within 2 seconds, he’s right behind you, glaring down at the person talking to you
- in reality, he just thought you were talking to a new friend and he wanted to meet them
- but when he tried to smile at them, the got scared and ran away :((
- he got super upset about that, and sometimes you catch him practicing his smile on the mirror
- but whenever he does that, you always give him a big hug and say that you think his smile is beautiful
- hinata is definitely the type of person to just jump on you out of nowhere??
- he always bites and licks you 🙃
- since volleyball is becoming increasingly more important to them, yall barely got to hang out
- but fear not, bc you become their manager!!
- whenever they’re on break, they’re the first people you go to, to bring them a towel and water
- kageyama loves headpats. end of discussion.
- nothing makes kageyama happier than when you give him head pats and say “good job tobio, i’m so proud of you, i knew you could do it!!”
- pls this man is so touch starved
- and whenever they lose a match, the first thing they wanna do is dive into your arms
- they always call you their ‘home’ or ‘safe space’ because whenever they’re around you, they just seem to relax
- you get them personalised volleyball equipment with their names on it and they treasure it so much
- at their games, they always look towards you whenever they score a point so they can see the proud look on your face
- you try to make them lunches but they eat so damn much that at some point you gave up
- do y’all know in fairy tail how natsu and gray would be fighting but when erza looked in their direction, they would be all friendly??
- yeah that’s basically the three of you
- this friendship requires A LOT of affirmation and reassurance so be prepared
- kageyama once yelled at you, yk one of his ‘king of the court’ moments and you went off on him
- from that day forward, he has not yelled or even raised his voice at you
- also tsukishima actively wonders if you’re being held captive by the two idiots bc he has no idea who would willingly be their best friend
gc name; volleyball whores
hinata: guys wake up
hinata: its an emergency
hinata: guys?? please???
hinata: if you guys loved me, you would answer rn
kageyama: hinata, its 2am you fucking idiot
you: hi shoyo!! is everything okay?? you should be sleeping rn babes :((
hinata: i know i know but i cant sleep
kageyama: well i can, gn
you: kags don’t be rude
hinata: guys wanna come coaches shop with me pls
kageyama: its not even open
you: theres a convenience store near me thats still open, wanna meet up there??
kageyama: sure omw
hinata: why are you coming, i thought you were sleeping
kageyama: im not going for you idiot, im only going to see y/n
you: kags :((
kageyama: huh whats wrong???
you: nothing, youre just being super nice today
hinata: yeah kageyama, why don’t you be nice to me as well
kageyama: shut your face you human tangerine
kageyama: y/n im nearly at your house, wait for me
hinata: huh whyre you going to her house, i thought we’re going to the store
you: yeah same, im confused
kageyama: well im not gonna let you walk out on your own at 2am, plus its cold
hinata: FINE IM ON MY WAY TOO
hinata: KAGEYAMA YOU BETTER NOT MAKE ANY MOVES ON HER 
kageyama: SHUT UP IM NOT
you: hehe kags i see youuuuuuuuu
kageyama: huh?? what, im not near your house yet
you: look behind you
kageyama: AHH
hinata: why did you scream irl and in text too
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286 notes · View notes
neo-shitty · 3 years
Text
all the muggle things. — c.s
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description. in which you and san spent the rest of your days after hogwarts getting the muggle experience.
pairings. slytherin!choi san x gender-neutral (wizard) reader (yes, this fic is house friendly)
genre. harry potter/hogwarts!au, fluff
warnings. mentions of injury. 
word count. 1.6k
writer’s notes. i don’t know why i never thought of writing a harry potter-inspired au before! also, it’s been a while since i’ve written for ateez. i hope this didn’t turn out so bad! 
inspired by option #1 (roommates au) + prompt #36 from this list (given by @kathyrncapp835​)+ prompt #46 from @ficscafe​‘s dialogue prompt event (given by @meaningfulmess​). prompt lines are bolded.
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‧͙⁺˚*・༓☾  TERMINOLOGY GUIDE :: for the muggles, explained and simplified by yours truly
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Muggle - someone who isn’t able to use magic / non-wizard
Lumos - spell that makes the tip of a wizard’s wand light up
Quidditch - a game for wizards that involves flying on brooms and shooting balls through hoops, basically basketball but more complex because there are three hoops and someone’s trying to catch an ‘i-am-speed’ ball that dictates the fate of the game in the end
Sectumsempra - a spell that lacerates the opponent
Wizarding War - the war between Voldemort’s side and Harry’s
Dark Mark - Voldermort’s mark
Nox - counter spell to Lumos that switches the wand’s light off
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You tried your best to peer your eyes open when you heard the front door slam shut. You groaned, infuriated at how such simple tasks like breathing and opening your eyes required extra effort whenever you were sick. But getting sick was merely a consequence of your own actions, so you really didn’t have anyone else to blame but yourself.  
You managed to open one eye, fighting back the heavy eyelid that threatened to shut and you searched the room for other movements besides your own. 
“It’s 2AM, go back to sleep,” a voice said. Soon, it’s owner emerged from the shadows of the doorway.
Dressed in his all-black work uniform was San. His whole figure blended into the background too well that it almost seemed like he’d apparated back to your place. But with the faint sound of his footfalls, you concluded that he used the muggle way in.
You turned your head. You considered turning your whole body but everything felt sore and heavy. Plus, you were content with the way the comforter was wrapped around you—which was rare, even on better days. You watched San pass by the living room before heading to the kitchen. Though you couldn’t see him from the living room couch, you could see the shadow casted on the floorboards by the kitchen light he switched on. It danced as he moved around, probably to get a late night snack before heading to bed. You could hear him uttering hushed incantations followed by the faint clattering of kitchen metals.
“I’m glad you didn’t burn the house down while I was gone,” he said from the kitchen.
A smile crept up to your lips at his statement. You opened your mouth to utter a small thank you but you could only manage a whisper. You weren’t even sure if he even heard it from that far.
Moments later, he reappeared by the kitchen doorway. “But you were cutting it a bit too close though,” he continued, clutching a frying pan in his right hand. 
The pan—originally gray—was now blackened from the mishap earlier. You had fallen asleep in the middle of cooking your own dinner, only waking up to the smell of burnt meat. The scent had been that thick that it managed to seep through your clogged nostrils. It was that bad. You ended up ordering take out instead. You forgot that you didn’t clean up the evidence.
A croaky laugh escaped your lips as you recalled the accident. San only shook his head, disappearing back into the kitchen to put the pan back to the sink. When he came back, he had two cups in hand. He walked over to set both down on their respective coasters on the glass center table of your living room. When he reached over to turn the lights on you stopped him.
“Don’t turn the lights on,” you said, your voice barely audible but he hears it, stopping before the lamp fully on. “They’re too bright. It’ll give me another headache.”
You see his silhouette nod. You could hear him flipping his coat around, shuffling to find something. You didn’t know what he was searching for exactly and you opted to ask him. But you soon find out what it was when you hear him whisper.
“Lumos.”
Where San stood, an orb of light began to glow. You soon realized that the light came from the tip of a stick. He was holding the fir wand in his hand, controlling its brightness until it was just right. Soon, it illuminated the room with a faint light—bright enough for you to see outlines of the room and the furniture scattered but not bright enough to make your eyes water like the lamps did.
He walked over to where you were before leaving his hand outstretched. “Sit up to drink your leaf water,” he said, earning a chuckle from you.
“Leaf water,” you repeated in a hoarse voice before taking his hand in yours, clutching it as you helped yourself up. You crossed your legs, tucking each foot beneath the opposite leg in order to give room on the couch for San to sit. 
He handed you your cup of tea before he sat adjacent to you with his own cup in one hand and his wand in the other. Your eyes lingered on the wooden stick he gripped in his hand and on the fingers he had wrapped around it. All his rings were silver, representing the complementing color of his house, Slytherin. Or that was what you remembered of him back when you were still studying at Hogwarts.
You recalled when you used to watch him play Quidditch. He always kissed his rings first before putting on his gloves. He was deemed one of the more valuable players next to their seeker and you were just another student from another house. It wasn’t until your last school year at Hogwarts when you first interacted. The first time you both went beyond the occasional glances you shared whenever you were both in the same class. 
Though your first time meeting wasn’t the best setting for the start of something new.
You were tending to one injury after another, working with the school nurse to cater every student who ran to the infirmary for aid or additional support in the form of potions. San had walked in alone and upon catching sight of his green sigil, your first instinct was to cast a spell to disarm him. But he didn’t have his wand raised, nor did he show any indications that he was about to attack. Your guard was up; he was still a Slytherin and fighting for the opposing side.
But he was still a student of the school with a bleeding arm. The rip on his upper sleeve revealed enough of  his wound for your body to move on its own without much guidance. You led him to the nearest vacant bed, letting him standby until you got everything you needed from the cabinets. 
In the time you were treating the wound, you learned that it took him half the war and a Sectumsempra to the arm (which was originally aimed at his chest; thankfully he was able to dodge it—barely) to realize that he was fighting for the wrong side of the Wizarding War. He was glad he was going to sit out the rest of it and vowed to—and you quote—“Never do stupid shit again.”.
The Dark Mark was still tattooed on his arm, a permanent reminder of decisions that did more harm than good both to him and to the people around him. The tattoo faded over time as the population of evil wizards gradually decreased. 
Your brain was hot-wired to never trust a Slytherin. Or at least, it used to be. 
Much to your surprise, San did keep his words that night at the infirmary. He spent his years after Hogwarts atoning for all the damage he’d caused, dedicating nearly all his hours into hunting the last of the witches and wizards who still practiced the Dark Arts. 
San shifted beside you, leaning against the back of the couch before turning to look at you. He set his mug back down to its coaster before he pressed his palm against your forehead. 
“I’m feeling a bit better, don’t worry. I think I’ll be fine by morning.”
“I still don’t get why you let yourself be sick when you can just—” he flicked his wand, “—it away.” 
You set your own mug down after taking a sip, only noticing then that he pulled out the matching Hogwarts house coasters. His furrowed expression softened when you held his hand, peeling it off your forehead before sandwiching it between your cold ones.
“I’m trying to experience muggle living,” you answered. 
Slytherins normally weren’t the type who liked involving themselves with muggle things, more so with the muggle way of living. But San wasn’t always like other Slytherins. Cheesy, you thought. But it was a fact.
You held his stare when his eyes landed on yours. You knew his mind was brewing some sort of egoistic line or anything short yet clever to say. But you were faster.
“You did well today,” you told him, drawing random shapes and symbols on the back of his palm.
Even after hearing it everyday for the past few years, San’s heart still warmed upon hearing the words leave your lips. 
You said it the first time at the infirmary. At first, you were unsure if you were saying it to yourself as he heard you utter it after you patched him up. Later that day, you reassured him that it was meant for him. San, at the time, wasn’t too keen on accepting it. Nothing about what he did that day was worth the praise. But he soon realized you were referring to his decision to right his mistakes instead of staying ignorant.
You haven’t stopped saying it since then. The phrase became more of a part of your routine over time but it still held the same value as the first time you ever said it. You still smiled softly after saying it and you still looked at him fondly like you were genuinely proud of it. San was trained to easily catch  whenever people lied—be it in the form of speaking or in acting. But he never found any trace of ingenuity whenever it came to you. 
Somehow, that was enough to convince him that he could still make up for mistakes made in the past. It wasn’t too late yet. 
You catch the moment the corner of his lips curved up into a smile. One sly finger up, you were ready to—once again—poke the dimple on the side of his mouth.
He hated that. But if he were to be honest, he could never really hate anything you did. One ‘Nox’ and a flick of his wand later, the light on the tip of his wand disappeared—plunging the both of you into complete darkness before your finger could even touch his skin.
“I hate you,” you muttered under your breath, drawing your hand back and crossing them over your chest.
You couldn’t see him clearly in the dark but you could tell the smirk from his tone, “Of course you do.”
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