#I don’t love you pop-up thunderstorms. piss off | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nohoney · 3 years

Text

Notes

notes: and once again I ignore my wips for a spontaneous inspiration that struck me in the moment. A continuation for my stories Thunderstorms and Four Months!

warnings: 18+, mostly fluff and some smut (masturbation, sex video, slight daddy kink)

summary:

In this age of technology, you could just shoot him a text for small messages that he can read later on. But he also likes that you still rely on little handwritten notes sometimes to convey the same message.

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Bakugou fucking hates when it rains when he’s at work.

He’s confined to his desk, stuck at the computer compiling fucking reports instead of being out there in his element. It’s a little harder for him to warm up his quirk and activate it when it rains. And we’re not talking just a light drizzle, an actual heavy rain that leaves you soaked as soon as you step under it and even the weight of an umbrella struggles against the patters of water to protect you.

Thunderstorms, he’s not a fan of them.

He only appreciates them for the sentimental value of the two memories attached to them; when Bakugou fell in love with you and when he proposed to you.

That’s it.

Right now he just stares out the window to his office, giving himself a break from looking at the computer screen, eyes finding little patterns of the droplets against the glass. It’s gloomy outside, the occasional light rumbling from the sky above but no booming thunder that’ll startle the extras down below. But it is calm and quiet, serene even if there is some unknown villain activity in some other part of the city. Bakugou leans his cheek into his left palm, feels the smooth surface of his gold wedding band contrast against his skin.

And he thinks of you.

You who had stupidly ran through the rain for fun and made him kiss you, you who ran out from the comfort of your house during a romantic dinner to stand under the rain and he was forced to propose on the spot, you who has been his annoying but perfect wife for the past three years.

“Bakugou, you good man?”

He’s startled, jumping a little at not hearing Kirishima enter his office, glaring at him for catching him off guard while he was trying to relax. “The fuck you want shitty hair?”

Kirishima is unfazed, just flashing him a toothy grin and letting himself in. “Heh sorry, I knocked on your door but you didn’t answer. I noticed that you didn’t come in with a bento so I was wondering if you wanted to grab lunch instead? You in the mood for anything?”

He wants your cooking to be honest, he wants you to make that spicy stew he loves so much over warm rice and a side of miso soup. Normally the two of you trade off making lunches for one another, it was supposed to be your turn to make the bentos but you had some sort of work emergency that made you leave in a rush in the early morning. He came downstairs to find a note on his coffee mug, ‘Sorry baby, didn’t have time to make lunch! I’ll make it up to you! -(Name)’

At least the coffee was hot and you put the right amount of creamer into it.

“I don’t care.” Bakugou shrugs his shoulders and clicks the button on his mouse, his computer screen lighting up with the logo of the agency before he enters his password and the Home Screen pops up. “You choose, lemme finish a few things first and I’ll meet you in ten.”

“Sounds good, I’ll look up some places nearby!” Kirishima gives him a thumbs up before exiting. He greets some sidekick that walks by the door and his voice trails off as he walks away.

Bakugou types away on his computer, briefly staring at the reports and crime statistics from last year compared to the activity going on in the current quarter. It’s mundane and boring, he should be donning his hero costume and doing patrol instead of stuck inside the agency. He’s not exactly useless when it rains but it does take a little extra effort when it’s cold for him to be as efficient. A little rain never hurt anyone but it sure does piss Bakugou off.

His phone lights up with a notification and he picks it up to see what it is. He swipes up to unlock the screen, a picture of you that he took when the two of you went on a beach trip during the summer. You’re smiling back at him with your hand extended out, he can remember you calling him to come stand in the water with you. The sun was hot that day but the water was chilly, making you shriek in surprise when the waves came up to your shins and splashed you. It was a nice little vacation you took, though he would have preferred going to the woods and being at a lake instead. Bakugou had fun though smashing watermelons with you, relaxing in a hammock, and licking sticky shaved ice syrup off each other’s fingers as a treat.

“Do you want strawberry or mango flavor babe?”

“Mango.”

“Okay just a little... ah shit, I put too much! It’s dripping!”

“Tch, you ditzy woman. Come here...”

“Katsuki what are you... ah...”

Indeed, a beautiful summer memory.

A rumbling outside that grabs his attention.

Bakugou is reminded once more of the dreary weather.

He swipes on the notification, just sees that it’s a reminder from his mother about having dinner next week. He responds with a simple ‘okay’ before grabbing his rain jacket and scarf. Kirishima is waiting in the lobby, decked out in a puffy coat and has an umbrella in his right hand. “So what’d ya pick?”

“Let’s get something warm, I was thinking either yakiniku or hot pot.” Kirishima says as the Bakugou walks out with him and opens the umbrella to shield both of them from the rain. “We could go left for yakiniku or right for hot pot, they’re both not too far off.”

Bakugou thinks on it a little and decides to go left, he’ll text you later about making soup for dinner. It didn’t make sense to him to have soup for two meals in a day, it was kind of madness to him.

“Alright, manly choice bro!”

Grilled meat sizzles enticingly before them, Bakugou being the one to cook the meats for himself and Kirishima. Pork belly for himself and beef fillet to start off Kirishima, he concentrates on the process of cooking the meat while Kirishima carries the conversation. He listens passively and makes the occasional comment, mostly just wanting to savor his lunch before heading back to the agency. This will probably be the highlight for today so he might as well enjoy it.

The last time he had yakiniku was a few months ago, you and him were walking through the streets on his day off when you had a sudden craving for barbecue. You were tugging on his arm towards this one little restaurant and although Bakugou wasn’t interested in having any, he let himself be dragged into the little eatery by you. Your craving was quelled and your only complaint was that he wouldn’t let you cook your own meat despite your insistence that you could do it for the both of you.

“Hands off woman.” Bakugou smacked your hands away when you tried to reach for the tongs to drop the meat on the grill.

“Katsuki, I can do it too!” You pouted.

“And I’m doing it for you so shut up.”

The two of you had a little argument inside your booth, you pestering why your husband wouldn’t just let you help grill the food. And he was silent at first, trying to concentrate on the food in front of him before he revealed his reason. “You remember last time we did this? You overcooked the meat and you didn’t want to eat it anymore so I had to eat it for you so it wouldn’t go to waste. So I’m fuckin’ cooking it for you so that we don’t have a repeat of that.”

He doesn’t know why you got all sentimental and sappy when he told you that; his view was that he had to do it for you to avoid food waste, you just thought it was sweet that he would do that for you to make sure that you’re well fed.

Bakugou wonders what you had for lunch since you didn’t have time this morning to make the bentos.

He hopes you’re eating well and didn’t choose something shitty.

The rain let’s up a little by the time they finish lunch but Kirishima says that the rain will continue for the rest of the day and get heavier towards the night.

Bakugou returns to his office, hanging up his jacket and scarf before returning to his desk. He notices a little sticky note over the paper calendar with your handwriting, your wedding portrait sitting right next to it in a simple frame. He takes the note and reads it quietly to himself, ‘Wanted to stop by to say hi but you were on lunch, have a good rest of your shift Dynamight! -(Name)’

He folds the note neatly and then opens a drawer in his desk, a little plastic container sits inside with all the sticky notes you’ve ever left inside his office for when you missed him. Bakugou’s sure that he should throw them away at one point but for now, he just holds onto the notes just because. It’s not making a mess and it’s not like there is such a terrible amount of them that it gets in his way so he just keeps them for the time being.

Looking towards his wedding portrait, he stares at it for a few seconds before his eyes go to the calendar and noting that you flipped the calendar to next year for some reason. Bakugou takes it in his hand and sees that you circled the future month in an orange marker but there’s no indication what you circled it for. It’s not your birthday or anniversary date or anything like that, he counted that the month you circled was almost seven months away from now.

“Weird.”

He flips it back to the proper month before logging back into his computer again.

It’s still a few more hours until he’s finished with work and Bakugou once again takes a break from his computer, this time looking towards his wall where the couch is taking notice of an orange umbrella leaning against it with another sticky note on the handle of it. He gets up to take the other sticky note and it reads, ‘also if you can pick up a package from this address, thank you! -(Name)’

“The hell? Got me doing errands for her while I’m at work?” Bakugou grumbles as he folds the note up and puts it in with the rest inside the drawer. But he takes the umbrella and tells Kirishima that he’s going on a quick errand, walking in the direction of the address you had written down on the note. It’s a fifteen minute walk and it leads him to some fancy stationery store that he’s passed by a few times but has never been inside. Bakugou stops by the front desk in front of the elderly woman who seems to be the owner. “I’m here to pick up a package, my wife sent me.”

“Ah Dynamight sir, I was expecting you!” the shop owner smiles at him and turns around briefly, digging underneath the desk before gently placing a neatly packaged box before him. The wrapping is a cream color with twine neatly tied holding a little branch of white flowers at the knot and once again, another note with your handwriting on it but on a pretty piece of paper that was most likely from the stationery store.

Bakugou decided he’ll read it when he gets back to the office.

“Thanks.”

“Have a good day sir!” The old lady tells him, her smile wide and a knowing twinkle behind it.

Bakugou is careful in bringing the package back to the agency, making sure that no rain gets on it whatsoever. He sets it on his desk and plucks the note from the twine, ‘open when you’re finished with work, I’ll see you at home Katsuki! -(Name)’

“It’s for me? Fuckin’ woman could have just dropped it off since she was here earlier, what the hell?”

He wonders what’s inside but it says to open when he’s finished with work. And hero work does come first, even if it’s in the form of shitty, boring paperwork. So Bakugou carefully sets the package to the side and continues his work, letting the occasional person in his office in that needs him for something or getting up for a bathroom break.

It’s one hour left until he’s off the clock and the rain is coming down harder. Bakugou hopes that there’s no power outage before he saves these documents and emails them, otherwise he’d absolutely lose his shit. His eyes continue to glance to the package and as time ticks by, he can’t help but his curiosity grow stronger as his shift comes to the final hour before he clocks out.

He takes another break and looks out his window again and now that he really stares at the glass, he can see the faint of your handprint against it.

You and him fucked not too long in his office, almost ten days ago if he recalls correctly.

He came back and sat himself on his desk chair, dropping his gauntlets to the floor and ripping off his mask and throwing it on his desk. And you were following after him, shutting the door and asking if he felt alright. And Bakugou was okay, he was just upset over how boring his patrol was and that there wasn’t any action. “Fucking lame! Not even a damn pick pocket or nothing I could blow to pieces!” He growled and crossed his arms over his chest.

And you giggled at him, picking up a gauntlet and propping it upright before sitting against the edge of his desk. “Well shouldn’t that be a good thing? No crimes happening since you’re doing such a good job with apprehending? No shitty villains because they’re scared that Dynamight is gonna get them?”

“Tch! Just wanna have some action...” Bakugou huffs and kicks his feet out in a small tantrum of frustration.

“Alrighty baby, since you’re so bored I’ll do you a solid and I’ll become a big bad villain so that you got something to do.” You joked with him. “I’ll go rob the nearest bank, sounds good yeah?”

And Bakugou had rolled his eyes, told you that you couldn’t even write a bad check if you tried let alone try to rob a bank. “Like you could be a villain (Name), not my fucking wife.”

“Ooh okay, I get you. So we divorce, I become a villain, and then we fight and you’ll be happy since you’ll have something to do for patrol. That would be such a story!” You hold your hands up as if holding an imaginary banner, “Picture this caption: Dynamight’s ex-wife turned villain! How could this have happened? What was the trigger? Their unhappy marriage? Had his anger pushed her too far? The time he scuffed her favorite shoes-”

“How many times do I gotta say sorry about that? And shut the hell up with all that stupid crap, as if you could become a villain.”

“I’d be a big bad villain Katsuki.”

“Oh yeah?” Bakugou had stood up from his desk, stalking towards you until you had backed up against his window, caging you in against the glass and looking down on you like you’re his prey. He saw how you deflated, the faux confidence from before gone as you look up at him. “I’m still in costume baby, you really wanna be a villain? Could fucking arrest you right here and now, yeah?”

And Bakugou remembers how he put you on your knees, sucking him off right there in his office and in front of the window. Your needy little whines with his cock in your mouth and how he mocked and teased you. And then he stood you back up on your feet only to turn you around and look out into the city, his dick slick with your spit and pushing it into your pussy. And your hand pressed against the surface of the glass, trying to find something for stability or some kind of perch and finding nothing.

He fucked you right there, Bakugou could still remember the clink of your wedding ring against the glass too as you clawed at it. That snug little pussy of yours stretching for his cock, creaming all over him, and trying to milk him of his cum to fill your cunt. How you begged for it and for Great Explosion Murder-God Dynamight (yes you used his entire hero name) to pound you until you were stupid from too much dick.

You’re so fucking filthy sometimes.

Bakugou makes sure to go lock his door first before turning to his desk. He opens a bottom drawer and there’s a box of condoms with just a few packets left. It’s not for having secret office affairs and to ensure that a mistress doesn’t get pregnant— he’s loyal only to you after all. The condoms are there for convenient clean up for when he masturbates in his office. It’s not like he’s pawing at himself in his office that often but sometimes when the mood strikes, all it takes when he’s finished is to tie the latex and ball it up in a tissue before dumping it in the trash.

So he rolls the condom down on his cock and unlocks his phone, goes to a folder that has all your dirty pictures and videos. Nudes you’ve sent to him, nasty shots of his cum oozing out of your pussy, him jerking his cock off until he cums all over your face, coy little videos of you sucking on your fingers, and all the fucking sex videos.

He’s got a particular favorite of his, he’s holding the camera while you’re on your knees and spread out for him. You’re wearing a cute pink thong that’s pushed to the side and your ass bounces every time he thrusts forward into your cunt. The volume is on low and your breathy moans recorded in the video are only for his ears. Your whines, how you arched your back for him, when you yelp when he smacked your ass, and the occasional call of ‘daddy’ get Bakugou stroking his cock faster. “Fuck yeah baby...”

His favorite part of the video is when you reach behind and hold your ass cheeks apart for him, asking him to pound you harder. “H-harder please... fuck me more.”

“You beg so goddamn pretty for me, fuckin’ love it!” The recorded Bakugou says in the video.

“L-love you Katsuki, I l-love you!” You stutter out when Bakugou had pressed himself balls deep into your pussy. He remembers clearly when he did that how you came so much for him, the fluids of your orgasm dribbling down his cock and onto the bedsheets. And fuck he loved the way you shook for him, your body shuddering from the pleasure but begging Bakugou to completely fill you. “C-cum in me, wan’ your cum! Pussy nee’s it!”

And Bakugou times himself with the video, he’s watched it so many times but it never fails to ever bore him. He’s got the exact time stamp of when you whine and cry and cum for him memorized, stroked himself faster to reach that edge and fall off the cliff.

“F-fuck, fuck!! I’m cumming!” you cry out in the video, back arching and body tensing as that last orgasm hits you. And Bakugou cums inside the condom as he watches the recording of him pull his cock from your cunt, zooming in on your wrecked pussy and the quiet praise of, “You did good pumpkin.”

“D-daddy... love you...”

The video ends there and Bakugou catches his breath, putting his phone back on the table and leaning his head back to shut his eyes for a bit. He runs a hand through his blond hair and takes a deep breath, his chest puffing up and then deflating when he exhaled.

He discards the condom and goes back to work, only thirty-five minutes left.

And the package sits innocently nearby, teasing Bakugou as he reaches the final stretch of his last hour at work.

He clocks out on the computer but he remains in his office chair, finally pulling the package towards himself. He looks at the note again and wonders if he should fold it in with the rest or just keep it with the box. Bakugou decides he’ll think about that later, plucking the dainty white flowers out from the twine and setting it down carefully. He pulls the twine and carefully unwraps the paper, revealing a white box underneath. Bakugou undoes the flaps to the box and once again he sees another note written by you and he can’t help but be endeared whenever he sees you leave him messages this way.

He takes the stationery and it reads a simple message that has him pinching his brows in confusion.

The note is set down and he pushes aside the tissue paper to reveals what’s beneath and Bakugou swears his heart skips a beat looking down at what was placed inside the package.

Then he remembers how you had changed his calendar, flipping it back to the month that you had circled and now he realizes what the meaning behind that was.

Hurriedly Bakugou packs up the note and little flower branch inside the box, which he now recognizes as baby’s breath from your bouquet when the two of you got married. He pulls on his coat and scarf, bringing the box with him along with the umbrella, rushing past Kirishima and telling him he’ll see him later. He’s in such a rush that he doesn’t see the knowing smile that his friend sports when he’s out the door.

Kirishima dials your number on his phone and waits for you to pick up. “Hey you were right, he ran out here like a madman.”

“Hehe, thanks Kiri for all your help.” You giggle from your end of the line.

“Well do I get to know what the surprise is? What’s got Bakubro all worked up? I helped take him out of the office so you could sneak into it and do all that stuff at the store!”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be one of the first to know!”

“Wait, why not the first? Know what?”

“Okay byeeee!”

And you hang up on Kirishima before he gets a chance to say anything else.

And Bakugou rushes home with the box sitting on the passenger side, the rain has let up thankfully as he drives back but as soon as he pulls into the driveway, the rain pours once more. The garage is slow to lift as Bakugou parks the car inside and once it’s inside, he damn near rips his seatbelt off to exit the car and brings the box with him.

The first place he rushes to is upstairs to the bedroom, it’s usually where you are when he gets home from work. “Baby? Pumpkin, you here?” He asks as he opens the door.

But the room is empty, the bed neatly made and the curtains drawn back but the lit candle suggests that you’re home.

And then he catches a bright orange sticky note on the door and it reads, ‘I’m downstairs dummy -(Name)’

You know him so well to predict that he’d blindly rush to the first place he assumes you’re at and leave a note for him to tell him otherwise.

So Bakugou goes down the stairs and sure enough, the sliding door is open and you’re standing at the porch, watching the rain with a blanket around your shoulders. And you look back at him, a sweet smile coming onto your face when you eye the box in his arms. “So... what do you think?”

“You fuckin’ serious babe?” Bakugou asks in disbelief, setting the box down on the couch as he approaches you. He can smell the rain as he comes closer to the backyard doors and he hopes that the blanket you have around you is enough to keep you warm. “You’re not kidding right?”

“You saw it yourself didn’t you?”

And Bakugou goes to you, taking you in his arms and spinning you around briefly before setting you back down and kissing you.

The package sits on the couch and there’s only three items inside that sit on the top of shredded ivory paper; a little onesie, a picture of an ultrasound, and a positive pregnancy test.

Your note reads, ‘Get ready Dynamight!’

#bakugou x reader #bakugou fluff #bakugou smut #bakugou #bnha x reader #bnha #bakugou katsuki x reader

572 notes · View notes

leiawritesstories · 2 years

Text

CHAPTER SIX: WHY IS THE RUM GONE?!

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: language, pissed Rowan, talk of alcohol, Aelin’s schemes

MASTERLIST

Enjoy!

the line “Why is the rum gone?!” belongs, ofc, to Captain Jack Sparrow

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“Cap?” Lorcan inquired, taking in the absolute thunderstorm on Rowan’s face when he returned to the ship.

“Make all preparations and get the hell underway,” Rowan grunted, signaling the crewmen into a flurry of motion. “We’re going after Galathynius.”

Lorcan followed him to the quarterdeck, standing by his side as the Doranelle rapidly hurried to finish restocking and a team of crewmen set up the capstan to winch in the anchor and gangplank.

“Faster!” Rowan yelled. “I said today, goddammit!”

“Cap,” Lorcan ventured, “it’s close to dark. I don’t want to ask, but…you sure?”

“Yes I’m fucking sure,” Rowan gritted out. “We’re leaving tonight. We have to, if we want to get anywhere close to Galathynius.”

“At the risk of getting fucking slapped, Galathynius had a rather damn good headwind; he could have taken any direction.”

“Shit!” Rowan swore, “Lor, you’re not supposed to be the rational one.”

“No, but I don’t want us going on the hunt underprepared,” Lorcan returned, shrugging.

“True.” Rowan’s eyes narrowed, plans shifting in his mind. “In that case, we’ll leave with the tide in the morning. Keep anchor!” he yelled, stopping the crew before they could start winching up the great iron anchor.

The Doranelle sailed out of Wendlyn early the next morning, the ebbing tide propelling them out of the harbor. By dusk, they had reached the open sea. Rowan sent Aedion up to the lookout perch.

“Any signs?”

Aedion put his spyglass to his eye and turned a full, slow circle, scanning every direction for any hint of the Terrasen. “Nothing, Captain!” he hollered down to the deck.

Rowan swore a filthy oath. “Hints? Any fucking indications which way Galathynius could have gone?”

“Give me a few minutes,” Aedion called. He twirled the magnifier on his glass, scanning the rippling waves again and again, checking every direction. “Right! I’m coming down,” he called shortly later. He swung nimbly down the ratlines until his bare feet landed on the deck.

“Talk to me, Ashryver.”

“Well, Captain, there’s not much, if I’m being completely honest. However, given the direction of the wind and the currents, Galathynius likely went south or east. Don’t know where the hell he’s heading, but that’s the probable weather pattern.” He tapped his fingers to the brim of his cap. “Captain.”

“Thank you, Ashryver.” Rowan grabbed his maps, flicking them open. “South or east, you said?”

“Aye, Captain.”

“South or east,” Rowan muttered, tracing his finger in that direction. “South, east…the Iron Isles?” He pinched the bridge of his nose, a familiar gesture of perplexity. “Maybe…maybe Fenharrow, too. That’s sort of to the south.” He rolled the charts back up. “Thank you, Ashryver.”

“No problem, Captain.” Well, at least he could warn Aelin where not to go.

Doranelle suspects you’re headed for the Iron Isles, possibly Fenharrow. We’re headed southeast, hoping to catch you unawares. Or something. Knowing you, though, you probably are headed in that direction, if only to prove your superior seamanship and lose us in the Iron Isles. Whitethorn grumpier than usual, probably because of Wendlyn. Keep your eyes sharp, cousin. -AA.

Aelin cackled at her cousin’s note, at the lovely image that popped into her head of her sly, cunning cousin very cleverly redirecting the Doranelle. He wasn’t wrong, she was headed in a southeasterly direction, a course set to skim through the outer ring of the Iron Isles. She was very familiar with that territory, it being Manon and Asterin’s homeland, and the two of them had spent many hours teaching her the ins and outs of the devious waters around their home islands. A skill that would no doubt prove very, very handy in pissing off one Rowan Whitethorn.

Served him right for believing Rolfe’s little rumors.

Keep heading for the Iron Isles. Heard tell that Terrasen was spotted sailing for that area. Perhaps a base is set up there?

Aelin snickered to herself as she dashed off that reply, slipped it into a message tube, and released the pigeon back towards the Doranelle. She had to keep her notes brief and detached, pretending to be some random merchant or passing ship who’d seen glimpses of the Terrasen, since if Aedion showed Whitethorn the messages she sent him, revealing herself would be damning.

That was where her talent for writing different hands came into play. Each of her missives was written in a different style, some of them elegant, some crude and sloppy, the writing itself varying from clear and graceful to smudged and barely legible. Oh, but this was all so fun.

“So where, exactly, are we going this time, Cap?” Elide strolled up to Aelin’s side.

“Towards the Iron Isles.”

“Why the hell are we going there?”

“Fun,” Aelin smirked. “For a little excursion.”

“Oh right, and might this excursion include, I don’t know, the possibility of the Doranelle spotting and maybe fucking shooting at us?”

“That’s where the fun is!”

Elide chuckled. “Ae, I really don’t know why I expected any different.”

“Aedion says the Doranelle is following, just as we hoped.”

“Oh goody,” Elide grinned. “How long until we hit the Isles?”

“A few days, maybe a week.”

“And how long until we teach those boys that the Isles don’t take kindly to intruders?”

“We’ll see,” Aelin grinned, her eyes sparking with delight. “We’ll see. Oh, and Elide?”

“Yeah?”

A feline smirk crawled onto Aelin’s face. “We’ll be making a quick stop to prepare the Orynth.”

Elide’s grin matched hers. “You got it, Cap!”

When Aelin had first taken command of a ship, she’d been all of eighteen years old and the ship was a rather small but rather nimble little craft with twelve guns and a Long Tom bow chaser. Rolfe had wanted to see what she could do with her own ship and crew, so he’d put her and a handful of people she’d worked and trained with onto that ship and sent them out to sea. He’d given no orders, no directions, nothing but “make me proud.” Classic Rolfe.

Within a few weeks, Aelin had the whole operation running like clockwork, her crew’s hungry eyes ever on the lookout for prey. They’d warmed up to her authority right quick after their first skirmish, where her expert commands and whip-quick reaction time had led them to kick the shit out of a Royal Navy ship, taking all its valuables and sending it to the bottom of the sea. During their six months of prowling, they’d claimed more than a dozen prizes, sending them all back to Rolfe to reap the reward. And a fine reward it had been. Aelin and her small crew went home after that little jaunt with gold weighing heavy in their pockets, the spoils of their plundering sweet indeed. Rolfe had been beyond pleased, even allowing her to continue captaining the ship.

That little ship was still Aelin’s, kept docked at one of the outer Iron Isles. She was named the Orynth, after Aelin’s birth city, and she was kept in running order if they ever needed her for a distraction. The Orynth was an exact, smaller-scale copy of the Terrasen, and during Aelin’s few years of captaining her own ships, she’d discovered the benefit of a good decoy. The Orynth had successfully drawn a good number of pursuers aside, allowing Aelin and the Terrasen to sneak around and blast the shit out of said pursuers. Because she looked exactly like Aelin’s ship--indeed, the difference was undetectable from a large enough distance--nobody suspected they had the wrong vessel.

If all went according to plan, neither would Whitethorn.

Aelin dropped Manon and a small crew off at the island, leaving her the plans and the route she should take to get the Doranelle good and lost in the maze that was the Iron Isles. Within a week or so, Whitethorn should be able to find his way out. There weren’t any settlers in the part of the Isles Aelin intended to have Manon lead him, so unless he was incompetent, he ought to be able to get back to the open ocean. Besides, he had Aedion, and although he wasn’t as experienced in the territory as Aelin was, Aeds knew his way around at least half of the Iron Isles.

“Keep me posted, Manon?”

“Of course, Cap.” Manon clasped her hand, grinning evilly. “He’ll think he’s got you, and then he won’t.”

“I’m counting on it,” Aelin laughed. “Good sailing.”

“Good sailing.” Manon descended the ladder into the waiting rowboat and pushed off. “See you in a week or so, Cap!”

Aelin waved as her Second Mate’s little boat disappeared, docking at the island and the crew making quick work of boarding the waiting Orynth and getting the rowboat aboard. The Terrasen sailed around the island, heading into the waters of the Iron Isles.

Oh, how she wished she could see the look on Whitethorn’s face when Manon, clever, devious Manon, led him around in circles and then vanished, as if she never existed.

Aboard the Doranelle, Rowan was pacing a track into the wooden planks of his deck. “What?!” he snapped, turning his harsh captain’s gaze on the quartermaster.

“Gone, Captain,” Emrys, the quartermaster, who kept careful track of the supplies and cooked a hell of a meal, repeated, his voice steady. “Fair vanished from the stores. Or maybe, it wasn’t restocked.”

“Why the hell wouldn’t the liquor be restocked?” Rowan grumbled. “We run on that shit, Emrys.”

“I know, Captain, and I wish I had an explanation. The best I can figure is it didn’t get restocked because…well…” His voice died out, embarrassed.

“Spit it out.”

“Because there was no supply in Wendlyn to restock it.”

“What.”

Emrys shuffled his feet, growing nervous under Rowan’s anger. “Well, Captain, it seems that the Terrasen didn’t just steal coins and trinkets. They took…well, they took the liquor. Or they locked it up somewhere.” He looked up, sheepish. “That’s my best guess, Captain.”

Rowan’s face went flat with fury. “Galathynius…” he growled.

“No, just me.” Lorcan bounded up to his side. “Christ, Cap, what the hell happened?”

“Terrasen might have taken or emptied or locked up our liquor on Wendlyn.”

Lorcan blinked. “So what, they swindled us out of a few barrels of wine or ale or some shit?”

“No, you ass, all of it. Wine, beer, ale, rum--”

“The rum?” Now Lorcan was getting it. “There’s no rum?”

“No.”

“Why is the rum gone?” Lorcan all but howled. “Need that shit to function, I do!”

“Hard to have any rum when there’s none to restock,” Emrys deadpanned. “If you’ll excuse me, Captain, I should go finish tallying up what stores we do have.” He left.

“Calm the fuck down, Lor,” Rowan hissed.

Lorcan huffed a sigh. “Fine. But no fucking rum?” His eyes narrowed. “Galathynius better not have taken it all, because if he did, I’m getting it the fuck back when we find him.”

Rowan snorted. “He wouldn’t take all the rum in Wendlyn, though. Emrys is right, it’s probably fucking locked up somewhere, just hidden so we couldn’t take any more.”

“Goddamn scheming Galathynius,” Lorcan grumbled, “thinks he’s got in a good hit with that.” Inwardly, though, he chuckled wryly, knowing he should have expected Captain Galathynius to pull something like that.

Clever, she was.

~~~~~~

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#my writing #pirate au #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #fly the black flag

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holylulusworld · 4 years

Text

Placeholder

Summary: Your relationship with Tony is a secret…

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader, former Tony Stark x Pepper Potts

Characters: Steve Rogers, Thor Odinson, Sam Wilson, Vision, Wanda Maximoff, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Jim Rhodes

Warnings: angst, language, secret relationship, unrequited love?, jealousy, tooth rooting fluff, love confessions

A/N: Marvel Dividers by @writeyourmindaway

Pepper Potts. The name let a cold shiver run down your spine. Not as you believe she’s a bad person, it’s the complete opposite. You admire her work, her intellect, and the way she handled Tony Stark for years.

Your problem with Pepper is that every time someone mentions her name Tony’s eyes lit up before they sadden. It wouldn’t hurt that badly, wouldn’t rip you apart every single time, if you weren’t head over heels for said man.

Today it was Steve bringing Pepper up. You know Steve Rogers is not a mean man, not at all. He simply asked a question about a current project and her name popped up.

It’s like a knife cutting into an already open wound, digging deeper until it hits a bone or rather your heart.

“She’s great, we get it, Tony.” Your voice sounds wrecked when you get up to hand Rhodey your report. “If you excuse me now, Mr. Stark. I have a job to do and this doesn’t involve listening to your praises for your ex-girlfriend.”

“Fiancé…” Tony croaks out, cutting deeper again, as you know, you will never be worthy enough to even get close to hearing that important question leave his lips.

“Right. Fiancé. I am sorry, Mr. Stark.” Even Vision could hear the bitterness in your voice, and he searches for help to understand what changed your mood. Wanda simply shrugs, not wanting to reveal she read your mind months ago.

Your thoughts and emotions are a thunderstorm, brooding under the surface, ready to strike. Your reaction minutes ago was just a taste of what could come.

“I guess Tony pissed her off.” Natasha breaks the silence. “Y/N is always nice, even annoyingly polite. What did you do?”

“Yeah, Tony. What did you do to the poor girl?” Rhodey eyes his friend warily, but Tony won’t give anything away. He’s a master at hiding things after all.

“Nothing, okay. Maybe she didn’t like her new phone or had a bad day. Can we stop talking about my assistant?” Tony grunts.

“Whoa! You better not let her hear you just called her your assistant, Tony! Y/N is more than that and you know it! She’s the PR for the Avengers. How many times did she fix our shit?” Sam scrunches up his nose when Tony simply shrugs. “Just saying, you’ll regret your words…”

“Can we all calm down now…” While Tony tries to change the subject Steve rubs his forehead.

“Her mood changed after I recognized the project, no…Pepper to be specific. Does Y/N have a problem with your ex-girlfriend?”

“Fiancé…” Clint smirks, loving the way Tony tries not to give away anything. “I mean, you scolded Y/N for not appreciating the woman who left you like three years ago…”

“Pepper…” Nodding Wanda exchanges a knowing look with Vision who feels uncomfortable all of a sudden. “I get it now…”

“No one seems to get anything in this room today so I suggest you all will leave, and we talk tomorrow.” Tony angrily declares, dismissing his fellow Avengers.

Your office seems to suffocate you. Everywhere you look Tony stares back at you. The chair he ordered for you seem to mock you today, just like the lamp he offered as he didn’t need that much light.

“Never worthy enough…”

“My lady?” Thor booms, a big smile on his lips. “I got a problem or rather my hammer.” You give the tall Asgardian a cracked smile and he frowns.

Usually, you smile at him, make a joke about his hammer and the damage he causes but today, you’ll get a form out. “What happened?”

“What happened…” Thor sighs, falling onto one of your chairs. “I tried to save someone and then, my hammer rammed a car, breaking the shield…no windshield.” Now you chuckle, even pat his shoulder before you give him a genuine smile.

“It’s alright, Thor. We all make mistakes, you know. I, for example did something stupid almost a year ago and, it’s still haunting me.” Thor’s eyes search your face and just now he sees your sad eyes.

“My dove, what is bothering you?” You gently pat the hand cupping your cheek before you shake your head. “It’s nothing, Thor, really. I shouldn’t bother a hero with my stupid problems…

“What kind of hero would I be not listening to your problems? Tell me about it and I’ll smash anyone’s head hurting you.” You love Thor’s raw honesty. His pure intentions when it comes to helping people.

“I just fell in love with the wrong man, my friend. I believed we could be more than convenient but today I realized he’ll never love me back. I am just a placeholder…” Thor’s taken aback, he never thought anyone could ever reject you.

“I am sorry, my dove. He’s a fool for not seeing your unique beauty and grace.” A soft smile on your lips you glance at the form.

“I’ll handle this for you, Thor. Please, don’t tell anyone what I told you. From now on, I’ll be more professional and forget about my feelings at work. I shouldn’t have looked for love at this place…” Thor nods, wishing he could ease your pain.

“If you need anything, call my name, Y/N. The god of thunder is in your debts.” A few moments later Thor is gone but you feel somewhat relieved. At least you could tell someone how you feel before you drowned in despair all over again.

“Hey, Y/N. Can I ask you something about the meeting?” Steve stammers, poking his head into your office not moments after Thor left. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, Captain. I just…” Huffing you point toward the files on your desk. “I was busy, stressed, and acted unprofessionally. I am sorry, Captain.”

“Doll, if something is bugging you, just tell me so. We are all friends…” You play your role well, give Steve a faked smile before you assure him it wasn’t his fault again.

“I am fine, just busy. Thor damaged a car. Clint’s arrow almost killed a cat and don’t let me start with Natasha and her knives…” Steve chuckles, believing your lie.

“Whenever you need a friend, tell me so…” Steve turns to leave, not missing your sad look. “He’s a fool, you know. If he doesn’t appreciate your love, don’t give it to him.”

“Steve?”

“I am old, a man out of time, not blind, doll. The way you look at Tony is the way I looked at Peggy. Problem is, he’s hanging his heart onto someone who moves on years ago, not seeing he’s hurting you.”

“Please, don’t tell anyone.” Sniffling you hug yourself. “I am ashamed enough for giving in to his advances. Should’ve known better than falling for a playboy who only ever loved once. Pepper, her shadow will never allow me to step into the light…”

“Doll…” Steve sighs but you brush him off when he tries to hug you. You know he means well, tries to comfort you but right now you only want to hide in your bed and forget about the world.

“I’ll go home, forget about him, and tomorrow…is another day…”

Tomorrow wasn’t another day as you had to face Tony again. Working with your ex-lover is hard, especially if he doesn’t know he’s your ex…

“Darling,” Tony sighs when you shove his hands away. “I know I didn’t come around last night, don’t be mad. I had to fix a subroutine and Jarvis took to long…”

“I am not mad, Mr. Stark, just professional. I suggest you keep it that way too from now one. Whatever we did over the last year, it’s over.” Tony gasps hearing you reject him.

“I don’t think I want to play your placeholder any longer. Call her. Get Pepper back and stop using other women to keep her side of the bed warm.”

“Y/N…what? Baby?” Tony grasps for your arm, but again, you slap his hand away.

“It’s Ms. Y/L/N to you, Mr. Stark. If you want me to stay here and do my job, you’ll treat me with respect, if not, I’ll find a new job in the blink of an eye. If you would excuse me now, I have to calm Thor as he yet again ruined a car with his hammer.”

“Y/N don’t do this. Let’s talk…I mean…”

“There is nothing to talk about, Tony. I was only convenient to you and that’s just not enough for me. I want what you had with Pepper, but you are not ready to give this to me so, I’ll pass…” Stunned Tony stands in your office when the door slams shut behind you.

“What the fuck just happened?” He blinks a few times to realize you broke up with him.

“I think, Mr. Stark, Ms. Y/L/N, just broke up with you. According to her hormonal level and her emotional balance I’d like to add she was close to tears. You shouldn’t have repeatedly mentioned Ms. Potts, Sir.” Jarvis replies. “I will check on her if you want me to.”

“No, she’s my girlfriend…” Tony grumbles.

“Ex-girlfriend,” Jarvis replies and Tony throws your stapler at the camera at your office.

“Can I talk to you, Ms. Y/L/N. I need you to see me at my office, now.” Tony glances at Sam who has one arm slung around your shoulder while he tells you one of his lame jokes. “Y/N, now.”

“Excuse me, Sam. The boss wants to scold me for having a break or something.” Steve snickers while Thor eyes Tony’s reaction warily. “See you later…”

Tony grasps your arm, dragging you toward his office. The moment the door slams shut behind him he starts to pace around the room. Aimlessly he runs his fingers through his hair.

“I…I know that I talked too much about Pepper, but this doesn’t mean I want her back. It was just a reminder of what I lost due to the stupid decisions I made. I want you to know that she’s in the past…” You listen to his words, not believing a single word.

“Are you done pretending I mean more to you than a quick fuck at your office or in the common room?” Arms crossed over your chest you give Tony a bitch face.

“Darling, please calm and let me show you something.” Tony sighs before he gets a small black box out of his jacket. I made it just for you…” When he opens the box, your heart misses a beat.

“A key card to your laboratory? But not even Pepper was allowed to access your fortress of solitude …” Sniffling you slide your fingers over the card. Your name is printed on it.

“I wanted to give it to you last night, but you were in a bad mood and then that fucking subroutine didn’t work out and…I…I love you, Y/N. I know that sometimes I seem emotionally closed off and distant, but you mean the world to me.”

For the first time, you see a tear roll down Tony’s cheek. “I don’t want to lose you, darling. Please give me a chance to prove I am worth your love.”

“Tony, I love you, but I want you to be completely honest.” He nods, looking at you while you take the card out of the box. “Do you want her back? Is there only the slightest doubt that you would choose me over her?”

Tony swallows thickly before a soft smile makes your heart flutter. “I will not hide that a tiny part of me will always belong to Pepper. Not as I want her back, but we went through so much…”

“I get it…”

“No, Y/N. I meant we were a good team, even as a pair but, this is in the past. You are my present and future. When I imagine retiring and let younger guys take my place, I only see you by my side, darling. How about we make it perfect and you move into my penthouse.” You smirk, playing with the seam of Tony’s shirt.

“If I get the left side of the bed you’ve got yourself a deal, Mr. Stark.” Tony hums, grins before he gets another black box out.

“Counteroffer.” You don’t like the self-satisfied grin on your boyfriend’s lips. Not at all.

“I’ll offer you a wonderful ring and you give me the left side of the bed plus your cute ass in return.” This time you hum, glancing at the ring when Tony opens the box.

“I want a nice proposal, Stark. Handing me a ring won’t make me give in.” The ring is beautiful, you have to admit but there is not enough fire in hell to make you melt in Tony’s arms before you got what you want.

“Alright, Ms. Y/L/N. You asked for it. Jarvis, initiate the best proposal ever…” Squealing you watch Tony jump into his suit, a smirk on his lips before he, believe it or not, jumps out of the window.

You rush after him to look where he landed only to watch him fly up again, a huge bouquet of roses in his arms. “Now Jarvis!”

Fireworks explode, writing your name and a heart into the sky. “And…the final…”

“Will you marry me?” Giggling you look into the sky at the fireworks. “How’d do this, Tony?”

“Well, I told you I had to fix some subroutines last night.” Humming you punch your fist playfully against his suit. “Love you, darling. Will you take my offer and become my kitten?”

“Dirty old man…” Smirking you watch Tony get out of his suit to stalk toward you, the ring still in his hand. “I’ll make you my husband.”

“Deal…”

“Deal…Mr. Stark…”

All works Tags

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#Placeholder #tony stark #tony x reader #tony stark x reader #iron man x you #iron man #iron man x reader #angst #marvel fanfiction #marvel one shot #marvel tag #tony stark x you #tony stark x y/n #tony x you

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buckysbitch107 · 4 years

Text

Diffuse and Distract | Ransom Drysdale x Reader

Summary: It’s your first 4th of July with your son AND Ransom’s family under the same roof, and to say you’re nervous is an understatement. Ransom is known for his asshole-ish personality, and you’re just really hoping today goes smoothly. Everything seems to be going to plan, but when your son starts throwing a tantrum, you know exactly what to do.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of sexual activity

Word Count: 1.7K

A/N: Hope you guys like this one! Sorry if it’s bad, I’m starting this at 3 AM. Classic Y/N trope, hope y’all understand the abbreviations. ~~~ means a time skip, because I’m not writing out every single detail. I don’t do that. But all in all, I hope you enjoy the first actual post on my tumblr!

“Y’know, I could turn the car around right now. Tell them Levi is sick and we wouldn’t have to go.” Ransom mentions, taking his eyes off of the road for only a second to look at you in the passenger seat. His hand lightly squeezes yours, bringing your clasped hands to his lips for a light kiss before setting them back on your thigh. You sigh and move your head, taking your eyes off the beautiful Massachusetts scenery around you to look at your husband.

“Sweetie, I know you hate your family, but Harlan loves Levi, plus he wants to see the fireworks. Isn’t that right, big guy?” You ask, peering at the rear view mirror to see your son excitedly bouncing up and down in his car seat.

“Wanna see the booms!” Levi exclaims, his words causing a soft smile to appear on Ransom’s face. Ransom once again turns his focus back to the road, occasionally looking in the rear view mirror to peek at the head of brown locks Levi inherited from him.

“Do you think he’s gonna like it there? I mean we know he likes Harlan, but what about everyone else?” Your husband whispers, growing a little more antsy as the scenery becomes more and more familiar.

“He’ll be fine. I’m sure they’ll love him, if they don’t already.” You respond, trying to reassure the worrying man next to you. It’s common knowledge that Linda and Richard aren’t exactly the most present grandparents, but you can’t exactly blame them. Harlan on the other hand, has taken his responsibility as great-grandfather to the max, being there every step of the way. You glance down at the ring on your finger, thinking back to the day you vowed to love the man next to you for the rest of your days. All too soon, you pull up to the esteemed Thrombey mansion. Ransom gets out of the car, opening the passenger side door for you like the gentleman he is (sometimes). You open the back door and take Levi out of his car seat, placing him on your hip before the three of you walk inside, dread already filling the back of your mind. Harlan almost immediately greets you, his smile growing a little wider once he sees Levi. The four of you walk outside to the patio, where the rest of the Thrombey/Drysdale family is scattered around the lawn.

“Y/N! So nice to see you!” Linda greets, her smile most likely fake based on her opinions about you. She doesn’t exactly like the fact that her son married someone of your background, whatever that means.

“Nice to see you too, Linda!” You reply, giving her a side hug while trying not to squish your son. She says hi to Levi before returning to her seat under the cabana by Richard, her husband giving you almost the exact same greeting. You sit down at the table next to Ransom, pulling a chair up next to you for Levi to sit in. Ransom strikes up a conversation with his uncle and his father, causing you to only slightly pay attention, most of your focus on the three year old in front of you.

“So Ransom, are you still depending on that trust fund?” Walt asks, obviously wanting to rile up your husband. Ransom just lets out a short laugh and runs his hand down his jaw, obviously not trying to get pissed off.

“Not anymore. I actually have a job at an international accounting firm in Boston. When I do use the trust fund money, it’s either for Levi or Y/N.” Walt is obviously surprised by this answer. As you wait for Walt’s response, Levi starts getting a little antsy, so you let him out of the chair to play with the dogs. They always get him passed out by 8 pm.

“That’s all it took huh? A dumb piece of arm candy pops out a kid and all of a sudden you’re Mr. Responsible?”

“Listen here you little-” Ransom is cut off when your elbow digs into his ribs, an obvious sign for him to shut up. His head snaps towards you where you are silently nodding your head towards the small child who stands only a few feet away from the conversation. Your husband sighs before leaning back in his chair, already predicting what’s going to happen. Walt has a smug grin on his face, as if he feels he’s won something. He doesn’t know who he messed with. Levi waves at you before running after the dogs, and once he’s out of earshot, you explode.

“Listen here you little piece of shit. I don’t know what your problem is with me, but here’s the deal. I am NOT arm candy. I did not work my way through high school, getting a bachelor’s degree AND getting a master’s degree for someone who relies on their own father’s company for money to call me dumb. I don’t know what world you live in, but not many women like being called arm candy. And as a matter of fact, I-” You would continue, if it weren’t for the almost inaudible whine coming from the grill area of the patio. “Excuse me.” You stand up and walk over to the small outdoor kitchen area, finding your son on the verge of tears. He’s standing next to the counter, his focus on the whole watermelon sitting next to the sink.

“Mama-” He whines, pointing at it. You squat down, Levi slightly calming down once you’re on his level. Tears form in his eyes, and it's evident that a tantrum is on the horizon. You think of the method you’ve used on him before and immediately put it into action, hoping he doesn’t start screaming.

“You want the watermelon?” Levi simply nods and you smile a bit, the plan already working. “Well the watermelon isn’t cut yet, so we have to wait.” The realization that he isn’t getting what he wants when he wants kicks in, and his legs start to wobble as he whines more. Just like his father.

“But mamaaaaa.” He cries, drawing a little more attention to the two of you.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey.” You whisper, wiping the tears off his cheeks. “There’s no need for tears. Are you hungry?” He nods and an idea pops in your head. “Why don’t we go get you some other food, and when Grandpa cuts the watermelon, we can get you some, okay?” Levi hiccups again before responding.

“Okay mama.” You stand up and grab his hand, leading him to the table full of classic 4th of July foods. Harlan immediately gets to work on cutting the watermelon, and you shoot him a short “thank you” over your shoulder. You pick Levi up, placing him on your hip in order for him to see all the food.

“Do you want a hamburger?”

“No.”

“Do you want a hot dog?” Your son thinks for a second before nodding, making you internally smile. You grab him a hot dog and some chips before walking over to the table. Unbeknownst to you, both Ransom and Walt were watching that entire interaction, and as you set Levi down in a chair with his cut up hot dog, you hear Walter whisper something.

“I’ve gotta admit, she’s a good mom.” A large smile appears on Ransom’s face as you walk over to the little kitchen area, coming back with a plate of watermelon for the three of you to share.

“She really is. I don’t know what I’d do without her.” Ransom whispers, watching his son eat all of his food before asking to go play again. You nod and once Levi leaves, Ransom turns to you with a look of awe on his face. “So how’d you do it?”

“Do what?” You ask, eating a piece of watermelon.

“Get him to not throw a tantrum.”

“I used a tactic called Diffuse and Distract.”

“Please explain.” Walt comments, honestly intrigued by how you did it. You let out a laugh before explaining your “mystical ways” as Ransom calls it.

“Toddlers aren’t exactly the best at explaining their emotions. So you have to think on their level. They want something. They can’t have that something. You have to explain the situation calmly, to diffuse the chance of a temper tantrum. Then you can provide other options to distract them until what they want is available, or until they forget about it.” You pause, stifling a laugh. “I use it on him all the time.” You point at Ransom, both you and Walt erupting into laughter.

“Wait what? When?!” Ransom exclaims.

“Literally today. You were whining about how you didn’t want to come today, so I explained that Levi really wants to see the firework to diffuse your tantrum, then I suggested that we talk about another kid when we got home so you wouldn’t be a big baby about going.” Ransom simply huffs at your statement, popping a piece of watermelon in his mouth while sending you a glare.

~~~

“Are you sure he’s gonna be okay?” Ransom questions, the three of you sitting on the grass waiting for the fireworks to start.

“He’s gonna do great, babe. He handled the thunderstorm on Sunday pretty well, I’m sure he’ll handle the fireworks well too.” Your husband simply nods and the fireworks begin, the sky illuminated in reds, blues, purples, greens, oranges, whites and yellows. Levi’s mouth is stuck open in awe as he looks up at the sky, the sight amazing him to his heart’s content. You and Ransom look at each other proudly, silently wondering how you got so lucky with such an amazing son.

~~~

“Oh yeah, he’s passed out.” You whisper, turning your head to face forward once again. Ransom’s hand rests on your thigh, a common occurrence when you two drive together. The ride home is mostly silent, Levi’s snores being the main noise in the car. The three of you arrive home and get out of the vehicle, Ransom carefully carrying your son to his bedroom. You tuck him in, giving him a kiss on his forehead and turning on his nightlight before sneaking out the door, quietly shutting it so as to not wake him. You turn around and run straight into Ransom’s chest, a sly grin resting on his face.

“So about that second kid.”

Permanent Tags: @wintersoldierslut @breakmy-bedbarnes @stuckys-hot-dogs

Please let me know if you have any requests! As I’ve mentioned, nothing is too fluffy, angsty, smutty, or gorey for me. I mainly write Marvel and its characters/actors. I can also write some characters from other things, you just have to ask! Also please let me know if you want to be a part of the Permanent Tags! But please, for now,

Call me Emily

#ransom drysdale #ransom x reader #knives out #chris evans #4th of july

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maatryoshkaa · 5 years

Text

young god | chapter 8

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11| 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | epilogue |

word count: 7.3k

warnings: graphic descriptions of violence, mentions of mental disorders, foul language

description: jisung visits you as soon as the lockdown is over, but the sweetness of the morning quickly turns sour when your last therapy session takes your relationship in a turn for the worse. from bloodstained clothing to yang jeongin’s tapes, the digger you deep, the uglier the truth becomes...and you find your entire world unravelling piece by piece.

watch the trailer here!

08| out of time

“Move, move! Initiate hold and secure procedures, Miroh Heights Campus is entering lockdown!”

District 9 Police Precinct had been thrown into utter chaos -- Chief Kim Woojin yelling commands into his police radio, darting around the station and dispatching teams left and right. They could hear the sirens blaring outside, darkened windows of houses and dorms alike flickering alight one by one as the citizens of Miroh Heights were awoken.

Chan was right by his friend’s side, and for once the sleep-deprived detective seemed even more frantic than the police captain. They had burst into the security office to look through the security cameras themselves; Chan had both hands on the desk, eyes glued to the monitor as the security guard flipped through the footage.

“Nothing here...or there...not here, either,” Chan mumbled, brow furrowed. “How big are these blind spots?”

“The security system at Miroh Heights is outdated,” Woojin replied, voice strained. “There are cameras on the main roads and buildings, but the alleyways…”

Chan cursed. “Don’t you dare take your eyes off of the monitor, then -- we’re going to catch this bastard if it’s the last thing I--”

A slew of drunken yelling cut Chan off, and they turned to see a huddle of officers with a stout, older man draped over their shoulders. The man’s hair and clothing were bloody and disheveled, and when he tilted his face into the light Chan saw that it had been badly beaten. All the curses the man was shouting were slurred from the hot blood pooling in his mouth.

"Whu’ th’ devil -- le’ me -- le’ me go, fuggin’ demons -- son of a fuggin’ --”

Chan rushed to the officers, Woojin right behind him. “Who is this?”

“The victim they found,” one of the officers replied, slightly out of breath from holding the man back. “Paramedics gave him first aid and were going to let him go, but he took a swing at a couple of officers on scene. We were forced to detain him--”

Dark blood had already soaked through the man’s freshly bandaged nose -- in fact, the man’s face was covered in so much blood, both fresh and congealed, that Chan couldn’t even tell where he was bleeding from. Only a moment later did the officer’s words sink in.

A witness? No, even better -- the victim, alive and in their hands. “He -- he saw the killer, then? This man?” Chan asked the officer, a flutter of hope in his chest.

“Chan--” Woojin began, but Chan barely heard him.

“We need to take him to questioning, right now --”

“Chan,” Woojin interjected again, placing a hand on the agitated detective’s shoulder.

“Woojin, we have a lead,” Chan exclaimed breathlessly, pulling his notebook from his pocket. “He’s seen the--”

“Chan!” Woojin’s raised voice finally made the younger detective stop and look up. Woojin sighed, jutting his chin out towards the man. “Look.”

Confused, Chan followed Woojin’s gaze -- and with a sinking feeling, he saw what his friend had been pointing out. The man’s eyes were unfocused, a milky white film glazed over his pupils as they darted frantically at their surroundings.

Their one surviving victim was blind.

The man was still rambling feverishly, foaming slightly at the mouth. “Lil’ punk...couldn’t even see his face -- fuggin’ -- fuggin’ right hook outta nowhere--”

Just his luck. Chan exhaled slowly, shoving his notebook back into his pocket as the officers hauled the man into the precinct. He turned to Woojin, whose tense, wary expression mirrored his own. “Don’t lift the hold and secure until dawn. If we can’t flush the killer out of the streets, then the sun will.”

────────

The bright chime of the doorbell woke you out of dreamless sleep, a beam of sunshine kissing your eyelids as you stretched and buried your face back into your pillows. It was probably around 10 A.M. -- you had no classes scheduled for today, so you’d allowed yourself to sleep in. Last night seemed so far away -- the thunderstorm, the lockdown, everything had seemed like a nightmare you’d suddenly gotten sucked into. The warm memory of Jisung’s soft voice through the phone, though, still made your cheeks heat up, remembering how his words had ended up lulling you to a peaceful sleep.

The doorbell rang again, and with a disgruntled groan you pushed yourself out of bed, stumbling through the hallways with your eyes shut stubbornly. Who could it be? The neighbours? Your landlord? A delivery boy with the wrong address? Despite your morning grogginess, you felt a sad pang as you thought of Jeongin. At this point, you weren’t sure who it could be, but that hardly mattered -- at the moment, you were only growing more and more royally pissed off that somebody had messed with your sleep.

Maybe that was why you didn’t give a second thought to your bedhead -- cowlicks and flyaways sticking straight up like your own hair was scared of your scalp -- and barely bothered to pry open your eyes as you yanked open the door, another yawn stretching your lips in the process.

When your squinted eyes finally adjusted to the sunlight streaming in, you found a very startled Han Jisung staring back at you.

He blinked.

You blinked.

And now, you were very much awake -- and very much aware of the half-dried drool on your chin, the sleep circles around your eyes that could put pandas to shame, and the thin, wrinkled, oversized t shirt draping your frame. As if electrocuted, your hands instantly shot to your hair, combing at it furiously and smoothing out your shirt the best you could.

You didn’t miss the growing smile on Jisung’s face as he watched you fumbling, hazel eyes glinting with amusement.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” he chuckled, and you tried to shoot him the deadliest glare you could muster within minutes of waking up.

“Sh-shut up--what are--why--”

“They just called off the lockdown, so…” Now it was Jisung’s turn to look flustered, ears a telltale shade of red despite his nonchalant tone. “Maybe I wanted to come check on you.” His gaze finally landed on yours, vulnerable and serious, and you felt your heart stop. “I was worried about you, last night.”

Flashbacks to the night before made your stomach flip with embarrassment -- how shameless had you been? Calling him when he could have been sleeping, just because you were scared? Cursing at yourself and cringing inwardly, your gaze flickered to Jisung -- and you were suddenly caught off guard at how genuinely concerned he looked. He was chewing at his lip, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. A faint echo of how caring and patient he had sounded over the phone, reassuring you until you fell asleep, sent an immense feeling of warmth unfurling inside your chest. It felt...different from the racing heartbeats, the giddy, jittery feeling you’d always gotten after talking to him, the sweaty palms every time you managed to lock eye contact. No, this felt steadier, calmer. It felt...right.

Oh, hell. Were you in love with Han Jisung?

“Come in, then,” you replied breathlessly, and Jisung’s shoulders relaxed slightly as he stepped into your apartment. “Just--wait here,” you told him, cheeks aflame as you sat him down at the kitchen table. His eyes followed you curiously as you darted from your bathroom to your bedroom, you throwing on a clean hoodie and longer pants before washing up in record time. The boy sat as obedient as a puppy, watching you like you were the most fascinating thing in the entire world.

When you deemed yourself somewhat presentable, you stepped back into the kitchen, rolling up your sleeves and clearing your throat awkwardly. “So...have you had breakfast?”

Jisung flashed a shameless smile up at you, golden hair falling into his eyes. “If I say no, do I get to eat your cooking?”

You scoffed, fighting the smile threatening the spill all over your face. With a sudden surge of confidence, you tugged on the sleeve of his hoodie and yanked him to his feet. “We pull equal weights in this relationship, Han Jisung,” you told him, grabbing a bag of all-purpose flour. “Let’s make some blueberry pancakes.”

Sure enough, a half hour later, there was a thin layer of sugar and flour all over the kitchen counter, the occasional squashed blueberry staining the floor purple. Jisung was surprisingly inept at cooking: you didn’t know what you had expected, but him spilling the batter countless times while whisking shakily -- coupled with his intensely focused expression -- made your stomach hurt from laughing.

“Jisung, you’re studying to be a surgeon. Shouldn’t your hands be a little steadier than that?”

“Shut up, oh my g--hnghhh.” Jisung’s voice was slightly high-pitched, unintelligible sounds of frustration coming from his lips and making you laugh even harder. He was laughing, too, shaking his head and yelping as more batter coated his fingers.

You’d finally ended up confiscating the bowl and whisk from him in order to salvage what was left of your breakfast. Jisung stood leaning on the counter and wiping up the mess you -- or, he -- had made as best he could, popping blueberries into his mouth when he thought you weren’t looking. He fed you blueberries, too, enjoying how flustered you got from the small gesture. The sweet aroma of pancakes cooking slowly but surely filled the kitchen, and with a triumphant scrape of the pan -- Jisung tilting it carefully -- you let the golden brown cakes flop onto two plates.

You giggled at the way Jisung’s entire face seemed to light up upon the first bite, just like it had on your first date. In some ways, he really was like a young child -- drowning his pancakes in maple syrup and eyes practically filling with stars as he exclaimed enthusiastically about how good they tasted.

There was something about the smell of fresh, hot pancakes and the serene morning that made Jisung remember a time, thirteen years ago, when things had always been this simple.

He watched you purse your lips and furrow your brow in concentration as you flipped the pancakes, the delighted smile on your face when they turned out just right. The way the sun hit the side of your face like liquid gold, the feeling of its warmth on his skin, everything made his chest ache with yearning -- a want to slip back into those memories, to rewind time, for another chance.

In some ways, he realised, you were just as far away, as unattainable as those memories. You were too good, too beautiful, too...precious. And him -- he was stained, tainted, flawed...he could never go back to those times, so how could he ever be good enough for you?

“Since you’re here…” you stabbed at a blueberry, absently swirling it in maple syrup. “Do you want to have another session? We’ve nearly covered everything, so it’ll be our last one.”

Last one. Jisung nodded absently, cheeks still stuffed with syrup and pancakes. With a smile, you ran to your room and fetched your laptop, the two of you gravitating to the living room sofa. The bouquet of peach roses Jisung had given you sat in a glass vase on the coffee table -- you had placed them there right after your first date -- and Jisung couldn’t help smiling to himself when he saw them.

Glancing back at you, he saw your face contort with worry as you read over your notes. “Is something wrong?”

You scanned over what you had written a couple nights ago, nibbling nervously at your lip. Abusive childhood. Screening for PTSD. Ask about family again. They had seemed overly intense back then, but actually sitting in front of Jisung and preparing to ask such...sensitive questions only increased your feeling of dread by tenfold. You took a deep breath to calm yourself. After all, this was Jisung. He would understand, right?

“Before we start, I need you to promise something,” you began, and Jisung raised an eyebrow. “Promise that you’ll be honest with me.”

His expression was unfathomable, still as a mask, and you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. This was the side of Jisung that you’d always tried to forget, the one that made all your fears, your suspicions, seem a little more real.

After what felt like an eternity, he gave a small nod, and you looked down at your first point.

“Last time, we talked a lot about your family,” you said carefully. “I was just -- is there a reason why you spoke of them in...the past tense? I might just be imagining things,” you added hurriedly, “but I was just-- I was wondering--”

“You were wondering what happened to my family,” Jisung finished for you, and you nodded. A long, heavy pause followed before Jisung finally spoke again. “They passed away.”

Your eyes widened, and you felt your heart drop. Of course they did. Good job, y/n, you managed to find the most sensitive topic to start with. “I--I’m so sorry,” you stammered, wanting nothing more than for a hole to open up the ground and swallow you up. You quickly scrolled to your next question, grateful to change the subject. “Do you--generally speaking--do you have any regrets in your life?”

The word regrets sent scenes and voices flashing before Jisung’s eyes, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from slipping away entirely. “Of course,” he managed to reply, voice coming out softer than he would’ve liked.

“Like...what?” You pressed, despite every fibre of your being wanting to throw down your notebook, pull him in for a hug, and end the session. You’re training as a therapist, y/n, your professor would have scolded you, Focus on your patient’s responses, not yours.

“Mistakes,” Jisung breathed, voice barely above a whisper. It was as if his tongue had shrivelled up, the right words struggling to escape from his lips. “Mistakes I’ve made that I’ll remember for the rest of my life. Letting...everything spiral out of control.”

Out of control? “All those things you’ve mentioned before...your nightmares. The colour red, your parents...do they, by any chance, remind you of those mistakes?”

Your voice was so gentle. Jisung knew it should have been easy to answer these questions, any normal person would have been able to answer your questions. You were always so kind, so sweet, so willing to listen -- so why did it suddenly feel like his throat had closed up?

When he didn’t answer, you asked tentatively, “Do you still have those nightmares?”

A nod.

“What do you have nightmares about?” You looked down at the notes you had written: Patients suffering from PTSD are likely to experience nightmares about past traumatic events.

“The--the past.”

You felt your heart drop straight into your gut as you asked the follow-up question. “Do you get them often?”

“Yes.” The memories, the long-buried pain, they thrashed at his chest as if demanding to be let out; the words were already beginning to roll off his tongue. Jisung knew with a horrible, sinking feeling that it wouldn’t be long until he cracked completely. Whenever he looked into your eyes, he felt the lump in his throat wanting to give way, he felt all the walls he had ever built up threatening to crumble to dust. What were you doing to him?

“How do you...cope with them?”

“I don’t,” he answered, and laughed weakly. “That--that sounds bad. I just--I don’t like thinking about them. I’ve always just let them happen until they’re...over.”

You read over your notes and swallowed hard, suddenly at a loss for words. It couldn’t be.

Jisung’s eyes were watching you, darkened and unreadable. “What’s wrong?”

“It--it’s just…” you shook your head vigorously, looking from your boyfriend to the notes you had written -- the case studies, the theories, all the evidence was pointing in the same, horrible direction. “If everything you’ve said is...is true -- I mean, if you’ve ignored these symptoms for so long -- you would also be suffering from multiple other side effects. In other words, you’d come across as much more...unstable, but--” you looked at Jisung’s face, his expression smooth and unfathomable as ever. “You don’t seem...unstable at all.”

A small smile played on Jisung’s lips, a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Things are never quite as they seem, y/n.”

You furrowed your brow in confusion, mouth feeling like it was stuffed with cotton. As if sensing the sudden uneasiness in the room, Jisung broke the tension with a laugh, his tone light as ever. “I’m joking! Hey, you’re so serious when you’re working.” He shot you a reassuring smile, hand reaching to lightly pinch your cheek. “So, what have you concluded, then, Doctor l/n?”

“You...you might have trouble sleeping,” you began tentatively, not taking your eyes off your notes, “and missing ‘blank’ spots in your memories--”

Jisung’s smile froze on his face as you continued, “You might be a person who doesn’t let a lot of people get close to you.”

“Well, that’s not true,” he replied, voice coming out shaky. “You’re wrong.”

“You might even have these...these bursts of anger, or even violence--”

“What are you diagnosing me with?” Jisung cut you off, voice stiff.

Both your expression and words echoed those another therapist had told him thirteen years ago.

“Post-traumatic stress disorder,” you replied quietly, and a heavy silence fell over the room like a curtain, the weight of your words slowly sinking in. Before you could say anything, before you could take back what you’d said, before you could tell Jisung that it meant nothing, that you had probably misread something, he had already gotten to his feet.

“I have -- class in ten minutes -- I completely forgot.” Jisung grabbed his bag and strode out into the hallway, not looking you in the eye when he glanced back. “I’m sorry, I have to--I have to go.”

You opened your mouth to stop him, to apologise, to do anything, but nothing came out -- and all you could do was watch as Jisung disappeared, the door swinging shut with a decisive, hollow bang.

A couple of peach-coloured petals fell from the bouquet of roses, the flowers hanging their heads sadly.

────────

You spent the better half of the morning moping and muttering furiously at yourself -- Stellar job, y/n! You’ve finally fucked it up for good. The best damn guy who’s ever come along, and you’ve finally managed to drive him away.

It was only when you trudged into the living room again in the afternoon that your eyes fell on a black object wedged in between the sofa cushions. When you fished it out, you realized it was a phone -- Jisung’s phone. He must have forgotten it when he’d stood up and left so suddenly.

You paced around the living room, chewing your bottom lip anxiously. You should return it to him as soon as possible, but -- how? He’d claimed he had classes today, but you had no idea where they were.

I live in the dorms on the other side of the Yellow Wood, you remembered Jisung telling you at the park, and you snapped your fingers. That’s it. As far as you knew, there was only one residence hall near the Yellow Wood -- that had to be where Jisung’s place was. Slipping his phone into your pocket, you hurriedly pulled on your shoes and headed out the door.

Sure enough, after reaching the clearing of the forest and carefully navigating through a couple of damp, winding alleyways, you found yourself facing a set of tall, rusted gates. The student dorms loomed above you, making a semi-circle around a small garden. You pushed through the gates and made a beeline for the front desk, where a female student was sitting.

“Um, hi,” you stammered, “I’m looking for a Han Jisung? I have something of his I need to return.”

The girl barely looked at you, flipping through the pages of a plastic binder before scrawling something onto a slip of paper and sliding it over the counter. You quickly thanked her and headed towards the elevator, scanning the slip.

Floor #9, Room #0325

You found yourself standing in front of a plain, off-white door, the old paint peeling from wear and age. There was no mailbox, no slot in the door -- and no place for you to safely leave his phone. You bent down -- maybe you could slip it under the door? -- and felt the door give way entirely, swinging open to reveal Jisung’s apartment.

Stunned, you swung around and stood up, eyes landing on the lock -- or where the lock should have been. The metal had been dented so badly it looked as if it were about to snap clean off. As if someone had been blindly, repeatedly slamming against the door. Heartbeat quickening, you stepped inside and tried pushing the door shut again. It creaked open stubbornly, a crack of light spilling into the room.

Deciding that whether or not Jisung’s lock worked was the least of your problems, you proceeded into his apartment, heartbeat thudding louder and louder with each step. Why are you nervous? You asked yourself, trying to wipe away the cold sweat that had formed on your palms. You’re not doing anything wrong.

Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were trespassing on something...private. The moment you’d stepped in, you’d been hit with the strong smell of bleach and soap, the strange scent pricking at your nose and making your eyes sting. Was Jisung a cleaning freak? Small details jumped out at you: the walls were cracked and barren, devoid of any family photos, posters, or maps. You passed the small, cluttered kitchen, where a half-eaten bowl of cereal sat glumly on the table.

So Jisung had had breakfast already.

You should have left his phone on the kitchen table and bolted out the door; you should have been minding your own business -- but the further you trudged into Jisung’s apartment, the deeper you felt yourself getting pulled in. Tentatively, you tip-toed your way towards the only other shut door in the small dorm room, pushing it open. It revealed another plain room with a small window, weak streams of sunlight grazing the dusty floorboards. His bedroom, you supposed, and turned to leave -- when something caught your eye.

An air mattress stood in the corner of the room, pressed up to the window. Besides a small reading lamp, there was no furniture -- a row of textbooks were pushed against a wall, and his clothes hung from a makeshift rack behind the door. That wasn’t the weird part -- plenty of students lived like this, especially if they needed to save up money to pay for student loans. But…

“Are you okay? You’re limping.”

“I...may have banged my foot on the corner of my bed last night.”

Your eyes skirted around the room -- the mattress, the empty walls. How could he have hurt his foot that badly in a room with no furniture?

You shook your head and smacked your face lightly. Stop it. Stop overthinking. “There are plenty of places for him to hit his foot,” you told yourself aloud, turning to leave. “The walls. Maybe it was the kitchen table. There’s nothing to be paranoid about, nothing to--”

You trailed off, voice dying in your throat.

In the clothes hamper, right at the top of the pile, was a wrinkled white shirt.

It was the shirt Jisung had been wearing yesterday.

And it was covered in dried red blood.

You felt your legs give way and you stumbled towards it, rummaging through the hamper and pulling it out. A pair of jeans fell out with it, and you caught them, turning the denim over.

Blood. There was so much blood.

Spots of crimson dappled the shirt, and when you held up the jeans you saw that there were two dark stains in the shape of hands seeped through the pockets.

Were they his handprints? You felt your stomach twist unpleasantly, a cold sweat sticking your palms to the fabric and staining your own skin with red. It wasn’t that much blood, right? Just the front of his shirt, and two handprints on his jeans. It looked more like a nosebleed, if anything -- you nodded shakily, not able to tear your eyes from the soiled clothing. Yes. That was it. He must have had a bad nosebleed yesterday night, and--

Your phone rang, and you nearly screamed.

Throwing the clothing back into the hamper and slamming the bedroom door shut, you fumbled with your phone. It took you several tries to hit the ANSWER button, your fingers were shaking so badly.

“H-h-hello?” You fished Jisung’s phone from your pocket and set it on his kitchen table before making a beeline out of his apartment. You pulled the front door as tightly shut as you could and pressed your back against the wall of the stairwell, breathing erratic.

“Y/N?” Hyunjin. Hearing his voice was like a lifeline to reality, and you let out an enormous sigh of relief. “Hey, you alright?”

“Y-yeah. I’m just--I--what’s up?”

“It’s Jeongin. They--they finished his surgery and moved him to the ICU this morning. I went as soon as I heard -- he’s not awake, they say he might not be for a while, but--”

“I’ll be right there,” you interrupted, and began bolting down the stairs.

────────

The stark white lights of the ICU stung your eyes as you darted past stretchers and grim-looking doctors in long white coats, spotting a bed in the corner where a tall figure sat hunched over an unconscious younger boy.

He’s at high risk for prolonged unconsciousness, Hyunjin had informed you over the phone. They say they don’t know when he might wake up from the coma.

You reached Jeongin, and a sad ache pulled at your heartstrings when your eyes landed on his face. The delivery boy looked peaceful, so peaceful it was almost as if nothing was wrong at all. The already-faint worry lines of his face were smoothed out, mouth parted slightly. If it weren’t for the cap of gauze wrapped around his head and the mass of wires connecting him to machines, you would have thought Jeongin was sleeping.

Hyunjin had his cheek bit in worry, and you carefully rubbed soothing circles on his back. The barista looked terrible -- bags under his eyes so dark they looked like bruises, the faint stench of alcohol wafting from his clothes. You bit your lip, trying to find the right words to say, when a nurse pulled aside the privacy curtain and you looked up.

“What’s his condition?” You asked her. Hyunjin’s eyes looked up curiously, although he must have already asked the same question a thousand times.

“The CT scan detected no major structural damage to his skull, which is the good news. Most of the bleeding came from the physical force of the traumatic injury. The surgery was mostly for the hematoma and clotting from excessive internal bleeding, but the operation was successful.” She hesitated, then continued gravely, “However, the doctor isn’t sure when your friend may regain consciousness.”

You nodded slowly, her words echoing in your mind as she walked away. Massaging his temples as if he had a migraine, Hyunjin gave you a weak smile and stood up. “I’m going to the washroom, be right back.”

As Hyunjin slipped into the hallway, you turned back towards Jeongin. The heart monitor beeping was a constant reassurance that he was alive, that the surgery had been a success -- but the boy was so pale his veins were visible on his paper-thin eyelids. His rumpled blond hair was matted with blood, and he was still wearing the oversized hoodie and baggy jeans he had been attacked in. They must not have had time to change him into hospital scrubs, you thought -- that, or they didn’t want to risk disconnecting all the tubes and wires while he was in critical condition. Either way, seeing Jeongin almost exactly the way Hyunjin must have found him made your heart ache even more.

Tugging on the hospital’s blankets, you yanked it over the young boy to tuck it up to his chest. Your hand hit something hard and you yelped in surprise, looking down and rubbing your skin. Nothing -- then you saw it. Jutting ever so slightly out of Jeongin’s hoodie pocket, hidden beneath the thick fabric, was something square-shaped and solid.

Looking around furtively to see if anyone was watching, you carefully reached into the pocket -- and your shaking fingers hit a cool metal surface. Heart hammering against your chest, you pulled a Walkman -- Jeongin’s silver Walkman, the earbuds tangled around it -- and two tapes out.

Your eyes widened, nearly dropping them on the spot. These were surely pieces of evidence the investigation were waiting for, and the last thing you should have been doing was touching them -- but you felt a burning curiosity as you turned the tapes over in your hands. You knew Jeongin carried his Walkman everywhere, whether he was listening to music or recording his own personal voice memos.

What if Jeongin had been recording the night he was attacked?

You hastily pressed the PLAY button on the Walkman, but were met with nothing but cold silence. Not even a hum of static. Frowning, you flipped it over -- and saw a long crack running across the silver metal. Broken. Cursing under your breath, you started to slip the tape player back into Jeongin’s pocket when another thought hit you.

Deep in the heart of Miroh Heights, tucked into the oldest part of town, was an old, rundown electronics store. It had once been a record trading shop, but it sold all sorts of vintage paraphernalia now. You had never had a reason to visit it -- until now.

Before you could hesitate, you stuffed the busted tape player into one pocket and the two tapes in the other, pulling out your phone to text Hyunjin.

You: Hey! Something came up, sorry I had to leave :(

You: I’ll see you tomorrow, take care. ‘kay Jinnie?

Taking a deep breath, you whispered, “Sorry, Jeongin,” before you pulled aside the curtains and took off.

────────

Young Wings Record Shop was a pain in the ass to find. You had looped around Mia’s Diner nine times before you managed to spot the small store wedged between two Chinese restaurants. Out of breath, you burst through the door -- and stepped straight into another world.

The shop was so...cozy. Inside, you felt completely cut off from the rest of the world -- the bustle of people and traffic outside muffled by the soundproof walls, a Beatles song playing faintly overhead. Rows upon rows of CDs, albums and records lined the room in cluttered rows and shelves, vintage posters and license plates adorning the walls. You had nearly forgotten the reason you’d come, lost in the sudden, rare peace and quiet, when a lazy drawl snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Hi, can I help you?” A black cat leaped from the lap of the boy who had spoken, pattering to your feet. You vaguely recognized him -- Seo Changbin, former music major. He wasn’t a stranger, but he wasn’t exactly a friend, either -- you’d caught glimpses of him around campus, but never exchanged more than a polite nod or hello. He was sitting behind the counter, partially hidden behind a comic book he had been reading. Both pet and owner stared back at you with equally inquisitive eyes, blinking sleepily.

“I-I need you to help me play some tapes. I heard you sell players–-” You stammered, still trying to catch your breath.

The record store owner frowned, pushing dark hair out of his heavy-lidded eyes. “CDs, camcorders, tape players, yeah, I sell ‘em all. But why? What tapes do you need to play?”

Your fingers scrabbled at your pockets, fishing out the two tapes. “Yang Jeongin’s – the delivery boy’s. From the night he got attacked.”

Recognition flashed in Changbin’s eyes, his eyebrows shooting up. “Shouldn’t those go to the cops?”

You swallowed hard. “I--I need to hear them myself. I…” You were at a loss for words. How were you supposed to explain the small, horrible feeling you had in your gut? How were you supposed to explain why you were doing this when you weren’t even entirely sure yourself?

Changbin studied your face thoughtfully. Time seemed to pass more slowly in the record shop, the black cat circling around you like a small panther. “Y/N, right?” You nodded slowly. After what seemed like ages, he finally said, “Alright. I won’t turn you in.” When you looked up, surprised, he added, “But only if you let me listen to ‘em, too.”

You bit your lip, nodding again slowly. This hadn’t been part of the plan, but a part of you was almost relieved that you wouldn’t have to listen to them alone. You had no idea what had really happened that night -- and now, you weren’t sure if you were ready to find out.

With a tilt of his head, Changbin lead you to the back of the shop, pushing open the door to the storage room. The space looked more like he had turned it into a makeshift living room: shipments of records had been pushed up against the walls and a large beanbag sofa sat in the middle of the room, an old TV and video game consoles piled before it. Comic books, batteries and wires littered the floor and a small producer’s desk stood in the corner, complete with a keyboard, monitor, and speakers. Frosted, barred windows let in weak strains of sunlight into the dim warehouse.

From what you had heard from Felix, Changbin had been studying music at Miroh Heights before he dropped out under special circumstances. His father, who used to manage the shop, had fallen ill, and Changbin was the only surviving family member who could take care of the old man. In that way, Changbin almost reminded you of Hyunjin -- that is, if Hyunjin was more of a recluse, and half of his original height.

Rummaging through a small cardboard box, Changbin pulled out a red tape player and earbuds, motioning for you to join him on the couch. With a click, Changbin inserted the first tape, and after looking at you for confirmation, he pressed PLAY.

The Walkman whirred to life and Changbin cranked up the volume, a familiar tune trickling into your ears.

The voices tormenting me are crying out again

Step out of the voices,

Cover my ears, but they’re shouting again

Step out of the voices,

Break free from the voices in my head

You could tell Changbin recognized the song, too -- it was by one of Jeongin’s favourite artists, but you couldn’t remember their names for the life of you. Jeongin had removed the instrumental, you realised, sounds of crickets and rain collected from his long delivery shifts mixed into the melody instead. Carefully, you skipped through the tape -- it was all songs by the same group, a little mixtape the delivery boy had created for himself.

You popped out the tape and switched it with the second one. Would this one be full of songs, too? At first, there was nothing besides the faint buzz of static, but as you listened closer, you heard Jeongin’s heavy breathing. It sounded like he was pedalling -- so he’d recorded this one during his deliveries, too. By the sound of it, it was a voice memo -- you remembered he liked to record them on longer nights. “It keeps me from falling asleep,” he had told you once. “Plus, it’s fun.”

“I.N. here!” His bright voice sent chills down your spine. I.N., you thought with a pang -- that was the nickname Jeongin gave himself on these voice memos, as if he were hosting a podcast on a radio show, instead recording on an old tape player. “It is currently...2:04 A.M.! It’s my first late-night delivery -- or is it early morning? Anyways, it’s exciting, huh? The whole campus seems to be sleeping; no one’s out on these streets at this hour. It feels pretty cool, like I’m carrying out a secret mission or something.”

2:04 A.M. You and Changbin exchanged looks, a feeling of dread twisting unpleasantly at your gut. Jeongin had been found at 5 in the morning. There were only three hours left.

“Anyways. Why did I take up another job? Well, today Hyunjin -- he’s the barista, owner, really, of Glow Cafe -- asked me why I didn’t apply for, you know, a driver’s license or something. At first, I thought, well, there’s no point -- I can’t afford a car, anyways. But--” You heard him sigh, then laugh -- the carefree, innocent laugh that was known for making everyone’s morning. “I’ve decided that it’s worth a try, right? I want to pay off my student loans soon. Maybe fix my bike up. It’ll be hard at first, but nothing Yang Jeongin can’t take! Me and my bike, we’re unstoppable.”

This was the last day you had seen Jeongin conscious -- you remembered the playful exchange between the barista and the delivery boy. You hadn’t even realized you were silently crying until Changbin pushed pause on the tape, reaching for a box of tissues with a worried expression on his face. You quietly thanked him and started the tape again, furiously wiping the tears away -- and heard something that made you freeze.

A woman’s scream -- muffled, distorted, but it was there. Grabbing at the tape player, you looked to Changbin. “W-wait. Did you hear that?”

He shook his head and frowned, rewinding the player and pressing PLAY again. Sure enough, under Jeongin’s voice, you heard a bloodcurdling shriek, followed by a man crying out in guttural pain. You felt your breath hitch in your throat. Jeongin was still humming -- he had his earbuds in, you realised; he must not have been able to hear it. The sharp snapping of tree branches and the whisper of fallen tree leaves made goosebumps prick at your skin. Jeongin had entered the Yellow Wood now, the wind whistling through the treetops.

Any moment now.

Suddenly, you heard the bike skid to a stop and you listened, holding your breath. What’s happening?

“Hello? Is everything okay over there?” Jeongin’s voice sounded tinny and distant -- as if he’d pulled his earbuds out. There was no response, and both you and Changbin instinctively leaned closer, straining to hear. You heard Jeongin give a cry of horror, your own heart pounding wildly in your throat.

“U-um. Is he--do you need help? I can call an ambulance. What hap--”

CRUNCH.

Jeongin’s small gasp of pain was enough to make your gut flip, your nails digging so hard into your palms you felt them break through the skin. A deafening crack echoed through the earbuds as the Walkman hit the pavement, the wire skittering from Jeongin’s ears. You could hear a muffled, heavy breathing of someone approaching -- it wasn’t Jeongin, and yet it sounded so...familiar. Gripping the couch to steady yourself, you forced yourself to listen, to stay calm. You had found it, you had found him -- whoever it was that had killed that man, whoever it was that had attacked Jeongin that night, the tape would have recorded it all. You were so close--

You heard the rustling of fabric, as if the killer had abruptly dropped to his knees over Jeongin. His breathing was hoarse and ragged, strange, muffled sounds blending into the static -- and you realised with a start that the killer was crying. Turning to Changbin, you opened your mouth to say something when you heard it. In an instant, your heart plummeted to your gut, your blood turning to ice.

“Who--why? Why is it you? Why are you here?”

You felt your mouth drop open, cold sweat forming on your palms.

You could recognise that voice anywhere. Over the phone or in person; his laughs, his jokes, his whispers.

“You’d look good in red.”

“I saw the body, and my curiosity got the better of me.”

“Things are never quite as they seem, y/n.”

It dawned on you now, why the breathing had sounded so familiar. Why you’d had an uneasy feeling in your gut all morning -- no, ever since the day you’d first met him. It all burst open now, flooding your head and chest like a burning poison consuming you from the inside out. You looked down at your hands, where the faint red of someone else’s blood still stained your palms.

Han Jisung.

You dropped the tape, Changbin diving to salvage it before it crashed onto the cold concrete floor. “Hey--hey, are you okay? Is that--is that him? The guy they’re looking for?”

Hot, horrified tears were pricking at your widened eyes and you buried your head in your hands. In the tape, you could hear Jisung’s scared, choked sobs, and that was enough to make you finally break down, shoulders shaking with sobs of your own. Changbin bit his lip worriedly as he watched you. “Do--do you...know him?” He finally asked.

You felt yourself nod slowly in shock, but your ears were ringing and all you could think was no, no, this can’t be happening. No, no, no. Han Jisung is not--

The tape was still playing, the sound distorted as if you were trapped in a horrible, never-ending nightmare. You couldn’t make out anything clearly anymore, just the shuffling of clothing and feet. You heard what sounded like a doorbell--Glow Cafe’s doorbell--and the sound of footsteps rapidly fading as Jisung ran away. There was a faint click as the tape finally ran out and stopped, and leaving you and Changbin in a hollow, heavy silence.

Wordlessly, the dark-haired boy adjusted his black cap and gently pulled your earbuds out, tucking the red Walkman into your hands. “I won’t ask if you don’t want me to. Keep it if you still need it,” he told you slowly, patting your back. He gave you a reassuring smile, but even his heavy lidded eyes looked slightly shaken. “As for me...I won’t say anything to the cops unless you're cool with it. So don’t worry, ‘aight?”

You nodded, the ground still feeling as if it were about to give way beneath you. Wiping at your eyes and clearing your throat, you forced yourself to stand, knees wobbling slightly. “Thank you.”

Changbin nodded, watching you with a concerned expression as you stumbled shakily out of the storage room, disappearing behind the rows of store shelves. Swaying slightly, head pounding so hard your eyes struggled to focus properly, you pushed open the glass door. The rumble of the city rushed into your ears, greeting you with the familiar sound of cars and citizens hustling about. A group of freshmen gave you a weird look as they walked past. You must have looked like death itself.

If Jisung had been as panicked as he’d sounded on the tape, there was no way he would have had time to dispose of whatever he’d used to knock Jeongin out -- and yet the coroner’s report had come out claiming that there were no traces of DNA, fingerprints, or murder weapon. Impossible -- how could they have not found a single piece of evidence from the crime scene, the brutally beaten body -- or even Jeongin himself? He was a living witness, and yet the tapes and his clothing had been left completely untouched. It was almost as if...

It was almost as if the coroner had been tampering with the investigation.

You felt a wave of nausea hit you like a ton of bricks and took a deep, shaky breath, screwing your eyes shut as the ground spun beneath you. If everything was true, then there one more man who held the last missing piece of the puzzle.

In the distance, the rooftop of Miroh Heights Hospital loomed ominously. As if someone were pushing you forward, you fell into a run, only one coherent thought on your mind.

You needed to find Lee Minho.

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rhabakoli · 5 years

Note

“I will ruin you, all you will be able to think about is me.” for Geralt & Jaskier pls?

Big thanks to @riviawitch3r for being such an amazing beta, thank you sooo much.

have fun, y’all.

Geralt was seething. The tavern was loud and full, patrons stacked to the roof, all coming to see the mighty White wolf. But being ogled wasn’t why Geralt was desperately trying to hold on to his sanity.

No.

It was that fucking bard.

That one bard, that had not only wormed his way through Geralt’s walls and didn’t take any of his moods seriously, but also managed to aggravate him by simply not being next to him, by his side. Which, is a yet unexplained phenomenon, as Geralt didn’t want anyone’s attention. He didn’t need anyone, and he was glad no one needed him.

No one, but that fucking bard. He turned everything around and now his skin itched and his fingers wanted to tousle his hair and find out if it was as soft as it looked. Geralt had whole dreams about his eyes, those deep blue seas that always seemed to see right through him.

That fucking bard, who was currently leaning against the bar, ale in one hand, grinning at the people around him, laughing with them. Enticing them, luring them, getting their fucking attention. Geralt’s blood was well on its way to boiling. How could Jaskier ignore him? He wanted to be the only one the bard looked at, ever. Not the blonde guy next to him whose hand smoothed down his arm nor the dark haired woman on his other side who looked at his bard as if he was prey.

How could he do that, how could Geralt accept the scene playing out in front of his eyes? Letting them touch him, their hands all over him, their eyes raking down his lithe body, hungry and lusting, their intentions clear as day and filthy as the dark alleys of this godforsaken town. It didn’t matter if it was a man or woman, Jaskier had them all in his pocket. And they loved to be there. At least until the first glamour wore off.

But that’s only where his best traits began. Jaskier was smart, kind, compassionate, and so soft. He was all Geralt wasn’t, kept all his best traits hidden from the world - and Geralt wanted to lay him open, strip him bare in every way possible. Wanted to learn his body and his soul, with his fingers, his lips, his cock. Geralt groaned at the thought of the small bard writhing on him, moaning and screaming. His voice had captured Geralt’s attention long before he was aware. He’d dreamt of it. He’d fantasized about the noises he could lure out of Jaskier, if the young man just let him. Had dreamt about how he’d take him, make him sing for his ears only.

His brain delivered the fitting pictures, and his sanity snapped like a twig in a storm.

Jaskier was enjoying himself and the attention he got – something he felt his travel companion failed to give him -, when a hand grabbed his coat and pulled. He lost his balance, tumbled back and sloshed ale everywhere; his adoring fans right in the middle of it.

Oh. Great.

The two of them looked pissed, ready to throw fists, when Jaskier realized who exactly had pulled him away. That was the exact moment his face drained of all blood and he gave them a tiny, nervous smile. He really hoped they wouldn’t start a fight; this wouldn’t end well and this tavern was one of those that actually served good ale and passable food. Would be a shame to get banned.

So he glanced at Geralt, whose hand was still fisted in the material of his jacket and – oh god. His eyes were aflame. There was no other way to call it. It was terrifying and so was the clench of his jaw and the flare of his nostrils. It looked like he was sniffing them out – well, if he did, he just had gotten a good whiff of Jaskiers nervous arousal.

“Move.”

Jaskier didn’t even try to suppress the shiver that ran through him at the gravelly voice; it was futile, really.

The bard had just barely gotten his feet to obey, when another hand shot out and grabbed his arm. Both Jaskier and Geralt looked down, heads snapping, eyes widening. But while Jaskier was astounded at such idiocy, Geralt was short of pulling out a weapon and cleaving that dude into the floor.

“Hey, we aren’t done having fun yet!”

Geralt took a step forward, his size and height intimidating on their own, but paired with the eyes and the hair and the reputation – Jaskier hadn’t seen him like this, ever before. This was whole new level of fury, of anger, the emotions radiating off him, broadcasting his intentions, if that fucker didn’t back off. Geralt was feral and Jaskier was trying not to piss himself. He wasn’t even target of Geralt’s anger. At least he thought so.

“Let. Go.”

“I think the little bard can speak for himself.”

There was a growl vibrating deep in the witcher’s chest, his free hand curled into a fist, the hand on Jaskiers back shifted to his neck; almost a possessive display? Jaskier wasn’t sure, but he also didn’t get to intervene or think about it any longer.

Geralt had had enough. With an ugly snarl, he took another step forward, shielded Jaskier and rammed his elbow into the other guys arm, broke the hold he had on the bard and then, no hesitation, let his fist collide with his jaw.

By the time the stranger had hit the floor, Geralt had grabbed Jaskier by the back of his neck again, and left the tavern.

“What were you thinking?”

Jaskier wanted to answer but he was too busy trying not to fall on his face, as he stumbled through the dark.

“Didn’t you notice they were trying to get to you?”

“Of course I did, I’m not stupid.”, he mumbled. And then he squeaked, as his body collided with a tree; Geralt shoving his back against it, to be able to face him.

“Please repeat that, I think I misheard.”

While Jaskier knew Geralt wouldn’t hurt him - beyond the occasional punch he probably deserved anyway - the look on his face and the pure fury in his voice had him worried.

“I’d rather not.”

Geralt was right in his face, the hand on his chest holding him in place.

“Did you not think of what could happen to you?”

Jaskier snorted. “Oh, trust me, I did.”

He licked his lips, manic smile stretching his face. Something in him had snapped. What did he care? Wasn’t like it affected him in any way. “Who told you I didn’t want it?”

Geralt reared back, quick enough to make the Bard flinch. His chest was heaving, his hands in fists at his side. With a grunt he turned on his heels, stomped away. Jaskier was breathing hard just the same, but didn’t really know if it was arousal, anger or fear. Maybe it was a bit of everything. His hand rubbed over the spot were Geralt has held him, his eyes on the floor. Of course he’d be disgusted. The bard knew that. Why did it still hurt then?

“No.”

Huh? Jaskier looked up, just in time to see Geralt descending upon him like a wild animal. Then there was lips on his, heat, slickness, a tongue teasing him. Hands were on his body, running down his sides, squeezing when they found his waist, moving to the small of his back and his cheek, to haul him closer. Geralt’s voice was like a thunderstorm – captivating, gravelly, electrifying, absolutely wild.

“No. You don’t get to do that.”

The hand on his back was sneaking down, grabbed his bum and pulled groans from both of them.

“You don’t get to come into my life, make me care about you, protect you,-“ a vicious nip to his lips, then his head was moved, turned to the side so Geralt could easily access his neck; continue his assault there.

“Fucking burrow your way into my brain, heart-“

Hips rolled against his, dick against dick. Jaskier thought he was dying. What in the world?

“-into my fucking dreams.”

Geralt pulled back, eyed Jaskiers clothes. With a grunt he reached for the jacket, pulled it off his bard and then there were hands on hips, fingers dipping into breeches and Jaskier thought he was gonna pass out. Maybe, just maybe, Geralt wasn’t exactly as disgusted as he’d first thought.

All the while, Geralt was groaning and moaning directly into his ear, with that fucking voice of his.

“You don’t get to.”

Geralt whirled Jaskier around, pressed a hand between his shoulder blades to make him bend at the waist.

“Brace yourself.”

If Jasker hadn’t popped a boner the very second his back had hit the tree, he would now, at the latest. He liked being manhandled by Geralt, the big bad witcher showing him so obviously, so blatantly, that he did care. That he did feel something for Jaskier.

So he followed his lead. Hands against the three, head low to watch the witcher’s legs, ogle those delicious goddamn thighs all he wanted. If he also arched his back and shoved his ass back into Geralt’s grip – who could blame him?

A groan, from behind him. A hand gliding from the back of his thigh up, dipping between his legs, just for a second. Hot breaths against his neck, a hotter body aligned with his own, blood rushing in his ears.

“Look at you.” A smack, then a bite at his shoulder, a soothing lick. Jaskier’s buttcheek stung, but he loved it. He was getting goddamn giddy with excitement, giddy at the possibility of Geralt being serious about this. And if not - he’ll get a couple good fucking orgasms out of this. He ignored how his insides churned at that, ignored the sting at the thought. He preferred to be in the here and now, enjoy whatever Geralt was ready to give.

Said man was pressed along the line of his body, hips nestled against his ass in a way that made the bard wish he was naked and ready, and possibly equipped with the ability to stop time forever.

The hands were wandering again. Up his legs, over his hips, slipping underneath his untucked shirt- Jaskier let out a breathy moan, let his hips move against the broad man currently driving him crazy. His nails scratched, fingers tippity-tapped, and then Geralt kissed right behind his ear and pinched his nipples. Which almost made Jaskiers knees buckle – fucking hell.

“You’re so infuriating. So fucking annoying, with your big pretty eyes, and those fucking lips.”

His right hand came up, wrapped around the bards throat, the thumb found his lips.

“So fucking soft, I bet they’ll feel great wrapped around my cock.”

Lips were brushing the shell of his ear as the witcher continued: “I know they’ll look fucking divine.”

Jaskier couldn’t hold back. He wouldn’t. “Geralt, please-“

“Shut up.”

The harsh, commanding tone had him weak, his dick twitching in his pants. The hand around his neck squeezed and then shifted, enough to grab Jaskier’s jaw - fuck, how huge were his hands? - and turn his head. Geralt captured his lips in a bruising kiss, noses bumping, neck straining but, oh royal fuck, this was Jaskier’s personal heavenly hell.

The hips pressed into his ass rolled, Geralt’s dick nestled against Jaskier’s ass – he could feel the size of him and holy fuck.

Geralt broke the kiss to bite his lower lip, then nip at his jaw and breathe a moan against his skin.

“Please.” Jaskier was out of his mind. He’d lost all orientation, body and mind hyperfocused on the bulking figure pressed against him, the man playing him like his favourite instrument. He loved it, loved how good it made him feel, how wanted, desired, cherished.

Geralt’s hand came back around his throat, the weight of it heady and promising. It was a total show of dominance and strength, and it warmed the bard from the inside out, burnt him, until he was begging for Geralt like a man dying.

“Please, Geralt, please.”

A growl, low enough for the bard to feel it.

“You want to say something?”

Geralt’s free hand undid the laces on the bards breeches, then found its way into them and cupped Jaskiers dick. “You want to be loud?”

The bard whimpered, pressed his eyes closed, completely lost in the sensations. “You want to sing?”

A hard tug, a bite to his neck, then Geralt’s lips against his ear. He sounded like a man driven mad, anger mixed with frustration, desire and the need to claim Jaskier, mark him as his and make sure the bard knew it.

“I will make you fucking sing. You will be so sore tomorrow, you’ll beg for some relief. You won’t be able to perform for a week, when I’m done with you.”

Jaskier was shivering now. He was barely able to stand, not with the heady mix of a rough hand in his pants and rougher voice in his ear, hot breath on his skin and hotter body against his. It was too much. It was too much and still he wanted more. He wanted this borderline feral man to take him and never let go again.

“When I’m done with you, you will be just as lost as me.”

Geralt huffed out a laugh, humourless and gave a sharp thrust against Jaskiers ass.

“When I’m done with you, you won’t know your own name. You will be mine, and no one will dare to ever touch you again.”

Jaskier’s eyes were rolling back, his dick straining against Geralt’s big, calloused hand. He was dripping precum, made a mess of his breeches. Geralt tutted at his whimper, bit the shell of his ear, lowered his voice to a lethal whisper.

“I will ruin you, all you will be able to think about is me. You. Are. Mine.”

#the witcher #Geralt x Jaskier #gaskier #Jeralt #possessive Geralt #longing Jaskier

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naptoons · 4 years

Note

I am in dire need of some Christopher Velez content. Anything at all I appreciate 💛💛

You got it bby🤍 hope you like it!!

Rainstorm- Chris Velez

Warnings: none

Summary: Chris plans was to take you out on a date after he just came back from tour. But with an unexpected thunderstorm caused him to change course.

Theme: Fluff.

Laying on the couch as you watched your favorite tv show while twirling the carmine lollipop in between your lips. The front door swung open indicating Chris finally came back from grocery shopping. Smiling you sit up bating your eyelashes at him. Instantly his eyes catches yours in admiration. “well hello the beast is finally awake” christ chuckles closing the door with his foot

“Aye! But when it was you all I did was call you beautiful and caress your hair”

“And I also called you beautiful and rearranged your spine” Chris winks at you , that was the first thing you guys done when he came back, being away from a long time just meant sexting each other. And knowing you could get away with you, you’d tease him just to hear him say things he’d do to you once he got home, just to bite your lip in pride that you’re the only one to make him feel this way. So ultimately you would do just that.

When chris got home it was all sweet and beautiful, two hours later you were ruffling the sheets, screaming through the pillows as your eyelashes touched the peak of your eyelid. While he was dirty talking in your ear whole your legs shaked around his. Needlessly to say Chris remembered what he promised and delivered.

Chris sits down next to you throwing his arm around the couch, as you scoot over leaning your head on his shoulder. His lips press against your head making you scrunch your your nose with a giggle, looking up at him you peck his lips softly smearing the sticky candy on him. “Mmm you’re beautiful” he mumbles but it came out as a desperate moan.

“You’re handsome” you giggle wrapping your legs around his waist you cover the tv from his vision. “So what are we doing today?” You trail your fingers up his forearm.

“Well I did promise you I’d take you on a date when I got back, so we’re going on a date, I have everything planned out” Chris lips tug apart spreading from ear to ear

“You know you don’t have too right? I like doing anything with you” you pop the lollipop out your mouth for a second just to kiss him

Sometimes it still was a mystery to how Chris came to like someone such a polar opposite of him. Chris likes the fast life. You like the freeway. Chris love parties. You love staying home watching movies. But they did say opposites attract. Moral of the story is Chris fell in love with you for loving everything about him, most want the riches or the fame. But you just wanted random walks in the park, crazy Polaroid pictures you can’t explain when you’re older. Sitting on the balcony watching the stars.

Since Chris been dating you , he’s stopped going out to parties every weekend, he’s even converted to drinking less alcohol and soda. Slowly he started to love what you loved. He loved your aura, it was hard for him to get out the friend zone. Your ex wasn’t all peaches and creams, instead of telling you to your face he wasn’t into anymore, he decided to cheat on you, nevertheless with an associate on your job you were getting to know slowly. On top of that she later let you know that he just wanted to take your virginity. Something she wish she didn’t give to him. It took a while for you to trust and love again.

You were tired of the whole opening and closing process. Strangers to friends. Friends to lovers. Lovers to nothing. You didn’t want that cycle to repeat. And Chris was determined to not let it happen. He brought you flowers every once and a while, took you out to dinner. Bought you gifts. Always said “good morning” & “Goodnight” every chance he got he would remind you that he’s so in love with you. Wether you was his girlfriend or not.

Eventually you started to like him taking slow as possible, eventually you broke out of your shell and you were the first to say “I love you” ever since then the nice gestures just increased and he never stopped saying I love you.

“Oh shush, you know I always take you out on a date one a week” Chris shoots down your argument

“I mean you don’t have to keep those gestures up I know you love me” you smile

Chris shakes his head cupping your face in his palms “hey I’m never going to stop them gestures because the same way I got you, is the same things I’m going to do to keep you” planting soft kiss all over your face until he reached your lips “I love you” he mutters

“I love you too” you giggle, “now get dressed sexy, dress casual now, I’m not trying to go anywhere with a hard on” he smacks your thighs

“So you’re saying me casual doesn’t turn you on?” You buck your hips against against his feeling his body tense up, his fingers dipping into your waist hard. “Y/n?” His voice shakes “you better chill, because I will break you like a glow stick”

“Doesn’t sound to bad, but we don’t want your reservations to be wasted” you giggle getting off his lap, crunching the lollipop in your mouth, you give him a wink before turning the corner. “You’re so getting it when we get back!” Chris yells.

After you took a shower Chris went in right after you, sitting on the couch again you placed your feet up on the couch. You were wearing an off the shoulder dress with a pair of strappy sandals, he said something casual so it was the simplest thing in your closet. Besides sweats and a shirt. But it was a date.

Flipping through the channel, Chris came out the shower his aroma filling the whole room already making you weak to your knees before the day was over. Chris peaks around the wall coming in contact with your eyes drowning in lust and love for him. “Did I tell you casual?” He rasps you shrug your shoulders biting on your lower lips softly “I swear you love being a brat”

“Thought I was a princess?” You pout while looking at him chris squints his eyes at you while getting comfortable on the couch next to you you caress his chin with your nails, a simple but affective thing. he loved it. Placing his hand between your thighs his thumb crossed over thumb softly. “You’re beautiful baby” his lips mumble against your skin.

“Thank you” I whisper back to him, Chris begins kissing your neck softly in a intimate way, no matter what he’d never push you into having sex with him, even if he was in the mood and you weren’t he’d handle it himself, instead of asking or turning you on. You’d tell him constantly time after time a relationship involves two people. Then hitting him with the joke “who says I don’t want you?”

“Let’s go, before I have you dress on the floor as a decor piece while I have you screaming in these pillows”

“Doesn’t sound bad” you smile knowing it pissed him off, Chris side eyes you then stands up slowly, just as you are doing the same , a loud roar of thunder shakes the house followed by the crackled sounds of lighting. The rain slowly rolling in. Chris sighs in defeat knowing his plans are all canceled.

“Great” Chris lets our softly, you walk up to him wrapping your arms around his neck, he looks down upon you with glasses of disappointment and love, kissing his chest soft you make your way up to his lips. Carefully avoiding his weak spots. “Hey, you know it’s okay I like staying out home too baby” you remind him

“Yeah I know, but I wanted to take you out to this special place, you deserve more than staying home” chris says softly

“I deserve you, and that’s all I need, I don’t care what we do, now you’ll just have to make those perfect plans here!” walking back towards the couch you kick off your sandals and smile at him.

“Damn am I lucky to have you”

“Same here bubs”

Chris ended up pulling out all the board games you guys have, he even cooked dinner, your favorite food to be exact. He wanted to make up for the rain ruining his parade still failing to realize this is still perfect for you no matter what. Because you’re both together.

“y/n, stop playing I will make you draw four”

“Try it! I’ll double it bitch”

Chris holds his hand up in defense with an eyebrow up “excuse me ma’am I don’t want any of the smoke” you giggle at him throwing down your last card then shouting “uno!” So loud you’re sure going to hear a noise complaint from your neighbors.

“If you end on a plus four you’re a pussy” you squint your eyes at him

“Really?” Chris ponders sarcastically

“Yep, you’re a pussy if you do it”

“Well , pussy builds strong bones” Chris throws down his last card as you dramatically fall back on the carpet mimicking the sounds of a flatline heart monitor, a laughing Chris hovers over you lowering himself down to your level.

“I gotta do cpr” Chris jokes

“No!” You yell jokingly trying to push Chris off of you but he holds your wrist down kissing you all over your face but your lips, he pulls away from your frame, you pout pulling him towards you and placing your lips on his.

“You’re going to give me my kiss one way or another”

“You need to stop before I act up brat” his hands wrap around your neck.

Ending up teasing him and pushing his buttons, he delivered what you’ve missed the entire time he was gone. You missed his hands on your skin, and he missed the way you dipped into his hands, letting out noises of euphoria. But most importantly he missed cuddling with you.

Rubbing his fingertips up and down your arms you guys cuddled in bed just watching the storm raging outside your window. “You know, I’ve been thinking”

“What you’ve been thinking about sly devil?” You turn around in his arms rubbing his shoulder blades. Chris doesn’t reply all he does is grab something out of the drawer, chewing down on his lower lip to suppress his nervous giggles. “This is what I’ve been thinking about”

He hands you a box which you furrow your eyebrows up at “you got me a gift darling what’s the occasion?” You slowly take off the bow and open the lid. Your eyes widen at the sight of a ring along with a pair of house keys.

“Baby?” You pause as your eye fill up with tears

“Will you do me the honors of being your fiancé and moving in with me?” Chris smiles, you jump into his arms kissing him so much he starts to giggle. Grabbing your hand he slides the ring on your left ring finger.

Chris wipes your face and with every kiss on your skin he whispers “I love you” to which you replied “I love you more”

“and you thought dates away from home was better, this was the best date I’ve ever had” you mumble against his neck

“Me too mi amour”

#cnco preferences #cnco imagines #cnco chris #christopher velez

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btssunnyboy · 5 years

Text

Thunderstorms- BTS

In which your fear of thunderstorms leads to a lot of cuddles and a late night movie.

Word Count- 2,092

Warning - Just some tooth rotting fluff and mentions of the movie the conjuring and some profanity.

Also loves my request are open feel free to request anything! It can be ot7 as well! And AU as well!

Masterlist

———————————————————————

The lightly pouring rain outside was soothing you as it fell. A very different contrast to the pounding thunder that shook the buildings walls. You clutched the duvet with trembling fingers as the lightning strikes lit up the whole room. Your body physically jolted upwards the moment another round of thunder rolled in. You hid your head under the covers in hopes of making the room darker to distract yourself from the chaos going on outside. You harshly bit your lip the longer you stayed under the covers almost frozen in fear.

“Screw it.” You lowly mumbled as you yanked the covers from your form. Tip toeing as quietly as possible towards the door. Trying your best to not wake the three others people that were sound asleep in the room. Slowly opening the door a sudden cringe went down your spine as the creak in the door seemed amplified a lot more then usual. Sliding through the decent crack you made you quickly shut the door once more. Trying your best to not make a sound as you descended the squeaky stairs. You swiftly pulled yet another blanket over yourself the moment you settled into the plush couch.

You clicked on the tv and tried to find an interesting show, but that proved to have some difficulty as no good shows seemed to play at three am. After a long, tedious journey of scrolling through unwanted shows you finally gave up on the tv altogether. You paused your movement and gripped the cushions of the couch when another roar of thunder ripped through the living room. You felt your body sway only slightly as you tightly closed your eyes hoping for it to past quickly rather then be dragged out.

“Just when I thought it was simmering down.” You laughed nervously as you made cautious stepped towards the DVD players. Scared that any sudden moment would cause an uproar of those horrendous sounds again, but you knew your movements had nothing to do with the thunder. It was gonna come and go as it pleases no matter what you did. Hastily looking through the mounds of different movies. Ranging from the usual romcom to the horror movies you dare not touch while you’re alone. You clutched the case in your hand as more rounds came in, this time they were accompanied by their best friend also know as the blinding streaks of light.

You didn’t hear the stairs squeak once more as you ears were busy taking in those thunderous roars. Needless to say the moment a stern grip was placed upon your forearm you almost busted a lung at the loud scream you let out.

“Wow! Baby, baby! It’s me. Just me.” Taehyung sheepishly smiles and pulled your body towards him. A small chuckled rumbled in his chest as he stared at your terrified but also pissed facial expression. “What are you doing up so late?”

You softly pushed him off of you and continued to look for a movie to watch. Your eyes scanning the titles at a fast pace, trying to take them all in. “You know how I am about thunderstorms.”

He nodded knowingly and sat down in the floor as well. He wrapped his arms around your body while looking through the dvds as well. He knew you’d most likely cuddle the elephant print blanket as soon as the movie started, but he wanted you to be close to him. So he reached for the conjuring that was in the discarded pile. His boxy grin on full show as he held the shiny dvd in his hand.

“No.” You grumbled, going back to your previous task. You subconsciously moved your back towards Taehyung’s warm chest when the rain suddenly became a downpour. You turned around to show your final decision with a small smile on your face, but we’re only greeted with a tiny frown and Taehyung holding up his choice. A sudden pang of guilt shot through your chest when he glumly tossed the dvd to the side. “If we watch it, you promise to not leave my side. Especially when that demon things pops from the closet.”

“I’ll cover you eyes and hold you as close as I possibly can.” Taehyung grinned as he picked up your body and gently sat you on the couch. He wrapped the blanket around you once more before hastily putting in the dvd and jumped right beside you. His big, warms hands providing you with all the comfort you need when the opening scene rolled across the screen. Taehyung rubbed small circles on your back when he felt you shift uncomfortably as the closet doors slowly opened up and the clapping of hands were heard.

“Shit!” You cursed as the doors slammed shut without warning. You glared harshly when you saw Taehyung stiffle a laugh at your reaction to something so simple. You flinched at the sudden breeze that blew across your neck. It sent a feel of uneasiness down your spine when it happened again. “Jungkook what the fuck!” You bellowed when his hands were wrapped around your shoulders giving them a shake great enough to get your heart pumping once more.

“I’m sorry, love, but I had too.” Jungkook laughed as he held his stomach. He leaned over the couch and placed a soft kiss to your lips. “I love you.”

“Yeah I bet you do.” You huffed as you snuggled closer to Taehyung who this time didn’t even try to hide his amusement. You smacked his chest before trying to interest yourself in the movie.

“Love, did the storm bother you again? Is that why you’re up?” Jungkook asked while popping open the soda can. His head tilted his concern when he looked at you.

You nodded and held out your hand motioning for his drink. You have a pouty look when he brought the can back up to his lips and gulped down more then half. A sheepish smile overtaking his plump lips. “Why are you up anyways.” You questioned after taking a small sip.

“Got thirsty and saw the tv shining from down the hall. You could’ve got in the bed with me you know that right?” He spoke his thumb rubbing small patterns on the back of your hand.

“I know, but it was so late. You guys need your sleep.” You stated as you pulled Jungkook closer. You laid your head across his lap and rested your feet in Taehyung’s lap as well. You closed your eyes in contentment when he started playing with your hair. “Can we please watch another movie?”

“We could, but I don’t want to get up and change it.” Taehyung sighed leaning back against the arm of the cough. “Ow!” Taehyung huffed as a flick was delivered to his forehead. He rubbed the sore spot and went to turned around only to see a displeased Yoongi with his arms crossed. “M-maybe we should change the movie.”

Yoongi nodded his head in agreement as he turned around and walked towards the kitchen. Only to reappear with a small snack cake and a bottle of water. He tossed you the cake and gave a small kiss to your temple before settling in the arm chair.

Taehyung returned to his seat as the oh so familiar marvel logo flashed on the screen. He smiled when a light squeal of excitement left you and Jungkook. Both Taehyung and Yoongi watched with admiration clouding their eyes when you shot up and wrapped your arms around Jungkook. Their small smiles showing so much love for the two of you.

“I’m sorry if I woke you up.” You apologized looking over at Yoongi. You stood up and placed yourself in his lap. "Hopefully this makes up for it."

He held your body close and opened the cake he brought you. Taking a bite for himself and handing it over to you. He softly smiled when he felt you pepper light kisses against his neck. He may not have shown it much, but he absolutely adored it when you smothered him in your feather like kisses. He loved being around you and the boys in general. "This definitely makes up for it."

"The storm is dying down, do you want to go back to your room?" Taehyung asked pausing the movie, only to stop when he noticed your head started bobbing. "Do you want us to put blankets on the floor?"

You slowly nodded while trying to keep yourself awake. You tried to get up and held only for a arm to wrap around your waist and bring you back to their chest. Yoongi put his head in the crook of neck and swayed you both back and fourth.

Jungkook took the throw pillows off the couch and placed them on top of makeshift bed they made. He took you from Yoongi’s grip and placed you in the middle. He laid on your left while Yoongi took your right. They wrapped their arms around you while Taehyung did the same to Yoongi. "Go to sleep, love, well be right here when you wake up."

—

Namjoon, Seokjin, Jimin and Hoseok stared fondly at the sleeping beauties on the floor. Their hair was in every direction with a small stream of drool going down their chins yet they still looked ethereal. Namjoon stepped forwards in attempt to wake up all up, before the rest pulled him back.

"Let me get breakfast done and then wake them up." Seokjin smiled warmly and pulled the three boys into the kitchen. He didn't notice that Hoseok made a b-line for the others instead of the kitchen. He only shook his head with a small smile when he heard a few groans.

"Sleepyheads, time to wake up!" Hoseok grinned as he threw himself across the four of you. He only laughed in response to the loud groans. "I'm hurt you didn't wake me up to join in the cuddle fest."

You sleeply replied, "I didn't want to bother you. It was three am and besides they all came down willingly."

He huffed playfully as he pulled your arms and helped you up. Hoseok smiles as you clung to his warm body, he helped you to the kitchen table and got you a cup of juice. Giving you a single kiss before moving to his reserved seat at the table.

"Baby, you know you could've got in the bed with anyone of us during that storm right instead of sleeping on the floor?” Namjoon spoke up and placed the food in front of you. He gave you a chaste kiss and pulled out a seat.

You nodded your head, but continued to sip on the juice.

"To make up for lost time how about we all just have a lazy day!" Jimin smiled with a small clap of his hands. His eyes shining brightly while staring at everyone's loving faces and at the thought of getting to relax for once in a while.

Everyone nodded as they soon crowded around table, even the three who were previously sleeping like rocks on the floor. They all chatted amongst themselves and hurriedly places food into their plates.

"Now hurry up! I want my y/n time." Hoseok giddily stated his hand softly gripping your thigh. He quickly shoved the food into his mouth the excitement at the thought of being with everyone being completely obvious.

"Hey who said you got her first!" Namjoon argued his eyebrows rasied in a questionable manner. "And please slow down before we have to do heimlich maneuver."

You rolled your eyes at the meaningless bickering, but knew everything was in good spirit. Looking around the table at the bright expressions everyone had only warmed your heart even more.

"I genuinely love all of you so much." You grinned and resumed eating. Unaware of the dazzling and shy smiles that came to everyone's face when you said those simple words.

"We love you so much, y/n." Jungkook smiled. He knew he was speaking for everyone, but it was true. They loved you with everything in them and they knew for a fact that you felt the exact same way.

"Well I'm gonna go get the movie set up!" Taehyung pushed himself from table while having a small pep in his steps. He was grinning from ear to ear while leaving the kitchen. Everyone could only imagine the tricks that the boy had up his sleeve.

"Taehyung I'll legitimately fight you if it's the conjuring!”

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okaybutlikeimagine · 5 years

Text

Harringrove for Australia: Ihni♥

hi there!! the gorgeous and fabulous and fantastic @ihni asked me to write this for #HarringroveforAustralia! and here it is!! ♥

prompt: someone wants to get back at Billy so they do something Very Stupid that leads to Billy getting hurt; guilt and hurt/comfort ensues!

tags: mentions of abuse, bruising, implied (light) blood, past child abuse, hurt/comfort, angst, hopeful ending (♥!)

You can catch it on AO3 here if you so desire!

Word Count: 4,452 (i’m legit the worst i’m so sorry i went over my word limit!)

thank you babe and thanks again @tracy7307 for putting the whole thing together!

(kay time to finish and essay, bye, love you)

---

~On Your Best Behavior~

Steve may not be the smartest kid in school. He’s right at average in even his favorite classes, and, truth be told… there’s not a lot of those. He likes to think he has street smarts, but Tommy always has to show him up; has to remind him what position his “rich boy privilege” has left him in. It’s gotten to the point where he feels like there’s nothing special about his own knowledge. He doesn’t know about history, or grammar, or even music, or movies… some days it feels like he doesn’t know anything. Like everyone’s right when they say his head is just there to carry his hair around.

But if there's one thing he knows… one thing he’s absolutely sure of… it’s that Billy Hargrove is the biggest asshole in all of Indiana. And Steve has met Mayor Kline.

But Billy takes it all. He’s the culmination of every jackass in the state, all rolled up into this punk who can’t seem to keep his fucking shirt on. He saunters around like he owns the place, shoving into Steve in the hallways and wagging his tongue like it’s some kind of… threat or something, Steve isn’t sure.

He just blew into town like a wild thunderstorm a little over 2 months ago and already he’s given everyone grief- at least, everyone Steve knows. He cheats on every girl he’s out with (if the girls of Hawkins are to be believed), he’s in detention every day for mouthing off to teachers, he stole Steve’s friends which… yeah he’s having a hard time reconciling that one because if they left that quickly maybe they weren’t too good of friends but still.

And worst of all, what absolutely takes the cake in the Shit-Show that is Billy Hargrove and his bullying….

He picks on the kids.

He picks on Steve’s kids. He scares Max, he bullied Lucas, he nearly killed all of them with his little stunt with the car that first week he was here. He splashed them with rain water once as he drove past them, he kicked over Dustin’s bike when he was standing outside of the arcade, he dropped Max’s backpack in the mud the other day. Hell, one time they were all bouncing a basketball around and Mike missed it and it accidentally rolled over to Billy (who was leaning against a wall smoking a cigarette) who took out a pocket knife and stabbed it, letting all the air out before tossing it back and walking away.

He’s a jerk. An outright punk. And yeah, maybe the stuff he’s done isn’t criminal. Maybe most of it at this point is just kind of bratty and petty. Maybe Max explained away the Lucas thing pretty definitively (with a lot of “He didn’t mean it that way”s and “You don’t understand the whole situation”s and “He hates all boys who look at me”s and one quiet “It’s his dad who’s the strict one…”), but… but still. It doesn’t matter, he’s still an asshole and people shouldn’t just be able to get away with being an asshole like that.

Yeah, sure, Steve himself was kind of an asshole for a little bit. Yeah, sure, Steve got let off the hook a lot of times for doing some of the same things Billy has done. But Steve had reasons. Plus he was young when that stuff happened. He doesn’t do that anymore.

Either way, it shouldn’t really matter why Billy’s doing it or not. They’re horrible things to do and Billy needs to stop.

Which all leads up to right now, which finds Steve in a diner with Dustin, Lucas, and Mike (because Will and Max had a project they had to stay behind and work on). They’re on the heated topic of Billy because apparently the older boy popped the tires on Dustin’s bike.)

“He’s such an asshole.” Dustin lisps into his soda (that Steve was very reluctant to give the boy, but he pouted about his bike enough that Steve gave in.

Mike nods, mumbling angrily into his french fries while Lucas, across from Mike, rolls his eyes.

“We need to do something about him.” Dustin says again, before getting that sly little grin on his face that lets Steve know he’s hatching a plan.

And if Steve’s honest, it’s a very very childish plan. Mike is even adamant that it’s childish, claiming they could come up with something better before switching his tune with very little convincing, citing Billy as a child. So it really is childish. And Steve knows that because someone did this to him once back in the 5th grade. It pissed him off to no end which, honestly, is the only reason Steve begins to consider it. It’s not like any real harm can come of it, it’ll probably just be more annoying than anything which is honestly what Steve wants.

He mulls over it for a second before deciding: “Yeah. Sure. Fuck that guy… tomorrow. I’ll do it tomorrow.”

Dustin and Mike laugh triumphantly with each other.

Lucas has become stunningly quiet as he takes a big sip of his water.

----

When Steve rings the doorbell around 5:30 pm when he’s sure his intended target will be home, the sound comes out as a far more pleasant chime than he was expecting. He doesn’t come to this side of town very often, even though Tommy used to live on this street back when they were kids. It’s not bad, but Steve definitely notices the dying grass, the empty front yard, the worse-for-wear sidewalk…

He waits patiently, mentally preparing what he’s going to say, while hearing heavy footsteps approach the door in a way that Steve can only describe as menacing.

The door swings open, and there before him, in all his 6’ glory, is Billy’s dad. Mr. Hargrove.

He’s only an inch taller than Steve and yet he carries himself like he’s got a foot over him.

“Can I help you?”

Steve clears his throat. The house is deafeningly quiet, even from the fully opened doorway. It confuses Steve for a second, because any time he drops Max off home and Billy is there, the house is raging with music. And Steve knows Billy is here now, if the arrogant blue Camaro is anything to go by.

“Hello! Mr. Hargrove, right?” Steve offers his hand up, putting on his best ‘good rich boy’ voice that he saves specifically for meeting friends of his parents. “Steve Harrington.”

“Harrington.” Mr. Hargrove says with some kind of bitter admiration in his voice. “I’ve heard about your parents.”

Steve isn’t surprised. Neil takes his hand firmly. It feels like a power move, how hard the man grips, but Steve does his best to rival the strength. He needs to be as credible as possible here.

Steve just isn’t quite sure what to say about his parents. He opts for a charming smile that doesn’t quite disarm Mr. Hargrove like he was hoping.

“So,” Mr. Hargrove begins, letting go of Steve’s now sore hand. “What brings you here?”

“Oh, well Mr. Hargrove-”

“Go ahead and call me Neil, son.” The man says in a way that feels more intimidating than he thinks it should. Steve hears a door close rather harshly from inside the house. Mr. Hargro- Neil grimaces at it for a split second.

“Okay uh… Neil. I just wanted to talk to you about your son. Your son is Billy Hargrove, correct?”

“That’s correct.” Neil’s face stays as stoic as before.

“Well I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but I felt someone should bring it up with you. Your son has been a… a… menace. To a lot of people at school.”

Steve worked through so many words in his head and menace is what tumbles out of his dumb, nervous brain. It’s like he’s holding cotton in his mouth, he feels so stupid.

It does the job though. If human eyes could turn red, Neil’s eyes would be like a firetruck. Or maybe the fire itself.

“He has, huh?”

“Yes, sir.” Steve hates saying sir. Feels he needs to, here. “And outside of school as well. To a lot of little kids and… and even to your younger daughter.”

Steve knows Max isn’t his biological daughter. At least, he’s pretty sure. Pretty sure the dad is Billy’s and the mom is Max’s. But it slips out before he can stop it. More cotton balls falling from his mouth. Still, it’s working as he meant it to.

Right? This is what I’m trying to do?

Because suddenly, seeing the tension in this man’s jaw and the fire in his eyes, Steve’s not quite so sure he wants to be here anymore.

“Oh really? And have your parents witnessed this?”

Steve blinks. He doesn’t really understand the question.

“Uh… excuse me, sir, my parents?” Steve starts to pick at the side hem of his jeans.

“Yes.” Neil’s teeth are clenched. Steve fights not to take a step back. “Your parents. Do they notice too?”

Steve really has to wrap his mind around the question before he can come up with an appropriate answer. This man has heard of his parents, probably because people gossip. If people are gossiping, it’s probably about their money. It’s always about their money. Their influence even though, if anyone were to ask Steve, they don’t really have any. They’re never around to influence the town like everyone seems to swear they do. They just have money, and apparently money talks. As far as Steve is concerned, it’s more of a whisper, but he knows not everyone feels the same way. He knows someone who lives in a house like this, with untended gardens and unpaved walkways, probably doesn’t feel the same way.

He thinks he has an answer now.

“Yes, they have noticed. They think it’s a little… embarrassing.”

Neil looks like he’s going to growl. Steve takes that step back now, even though he doesn’t think about it.

“That’s very interesting.” Neil really might as well be snarling at this point. “Well, thank you for telling me, son. I’ll definitely have a chat with William.”

Steve nods his head and before he can think about it or even say a word, the door is in his face and the man is gone, the only thing left behind being the sound of heavy footsteps.

Steve feels like he’s in a bit of a daze as he walks back to his car, but not before tripping over the crack in the poorly paved walkway. And Steve may not be the smartest kid in school, may not be the smartest kid in Hawkins at this moment, but if there’s one thing he does know, it’s that Billy is getting grounded right now.

He’d call this a success.

---

Billy isn’t at school the next day.

Steve tries to pretend like he’s not nervous about it.

And really, he isn’t all that nervous. Sure, it’s in the back of his mind for most of the day, but he’s not exactly nervous. He's not even sure what he would be nervous about.

It’s not until he sees Max yelling at Dustin and smacking him upside the head that he gets a little nervous.

It’s not like it has to be a particularly special occasion for Max to do something like that to Dustin, but still. There’s something in Steve’s gut that tells him he’s involved in this. If Max’s angry eyes that turn on him are anything to go by, he’s right in his assumption.

“Did you come to my house last night?” She asks like she knows. It’s hardly a question.

“Yes.” Steve shoves his hands in his pockets to keep them from lifting in the air in submission.

“You idiots! What were you thinking?” Max yells, smacking Dustin then Mike then Lucas, who whines that he didn’t want it to happen. She then turns to Steve, punching his arm harshly.

“Woah woah woah, what did we do?” Steve asks like he doesn’t know.

“Like you don’t know, you moron! You- you! Did you talk to Neil?”

Steve is so taken aback that he just nods. Max growls.

“You moron! Never come to my house again!” Max’s face is red with anger, absolutely fuming as Dustin and Mike and Lucas sputter all at once in a vain attempt to make things right. But Max isn’t listening, she’s laying her board on the ground, about to skate away.

“Wha-? Max, what’s wrong? We were just-”

“I don’t care what you were trying to do!”

“Your brother is an asshole! You say so all the time!” Dustin yells in a desperate type of defense. Max’s eyes look far more hurt now than anything else, even as she’s still glaring daggers.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” She says and there’s a lot less malice in her voice now. Her shoulders are slumped as she starts to skate away.

Steve can’t take it.

“Max.” It’s in vain. He tries harder. ”Max! Where’s your brother?”

“Stay away from him.” Max calls back, pushing off to skate faster.

The boys all look to Steve, who knows in an instant.

---

At least, he hopes he does. It’s not until he’s about a mile out from the quarry that he starts to have second thoughts about if his gut was right.

He’s driving slowly, mind reeling, heart pumping blood so loudly through his ears that he can’t hear his music, when he sees a figure he wasn’t expecting to see.

Hop?

It is. It’s Hop. Standing above a hunched over boy that Steve is praying is the boy he’s been looking for. He knows it is- no one else has that haircut in Hawkins.

Steve steps out of his car gingerly, does his best to avoid twigs and leaves on the ground as he walks up to the pair to listen in on what they’re saying.

Hop’s face is serious, with a tone to match.

“Look, like it or not you’re still a minor. If you keep not showing up for school your parents are gonna get in big trouble.”

“Promise?” Billy’s voice is weak.

“Har har. Get to class tomorrow.” Hop says, entirely unimpressed. A few seconds go by, the white noise of Indiana bugs fill in the silence between them in the strangest way Steve has ever experienced. Suddenly the air is different. It shifts in a very personal way. Steve immediately picks up on the fact that he shouldn’t be here, right before Hop begins again with:

“… You... know, right? If you need someone to drive you I can-”

It’s soft and sincere and Hop’s hand is reaching out towards Billy’s shoulder gingerly, like he’s going to pet a strange animal, when he catches something in the corner of his eye- and that something is Steve.

Hop clears his throat, and Billy looks over to Hop at the sound.

“I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone.” Hop says, voice void of emotion. Billy turns his head just enough to see Steve out of the corner of his eye before he whips back around. “Stay outta trouble, kid.”

And with that, Hop gives what looks like a sad smile in Billy’s direction before leaving. He gives an odd nod of acknowledgement to Steve as he passes, his face looking rougher than usual. More tired.

Steve takes a couple of steps forward, suddenly finding himself in the position of approaching a strange animal. This “strange animal” that he’s seen almost every day for the past couple of months.

Billy’s still sat on the ground, his legs in a folded up form of criss cross that allow his elbows to hook around his knees. Steve thinks he looks rather small like this. He hasn’t moved to look up at Steve at all. Steve isn’t even sure if the boy looked at Hop when he was here.

“Hey…” He starts, hoping it’ll get the boy’s attention. It doesn’t. “Uh, Billy?”

He’s met with the white noise of the screeching bugs. They stand there until Steve can’t take it, which is only about 3 seconds tops.

“Billy?”

Again, nothing. Billy doesn’t even move-doesn’t even flinch.

“Hargrove.” Steve is stern with it this time.

Steve’s getting impatient, but Billy’s a rock. Steve shifts to sit in his hip.

“Hey, asshole!” He calls a little louder than he needs to when he’s a few feet away. The response is rather instant this time.

“You called?” Billy’s voice drawls and it gets under Steve’s skin like nothing else.

“God you’re annoying…“ Steve groans, exhaustion visible in his face and audible in his voice. He rubs a hand down his cheek as his heart races with the words building up in his mouth. The cotton balls are back. “Hey uh… Why weren’t you at school today?”

He doesn’t know what to expect, but the unattractive snort definitely isn’t surprising.

“Ha…” Billy’s laugh comes out more like a puff of air. “Got some new accessories that I don’t think fit the dress code.”

Billy’s looking at the ground when he says it and Steve almost doesn’t hear. Certainly doesn’t understand.

“What? What are you talking about?”

Billy’s shoulders shake and it takes a few seconds of debating if Billy needs a comforting hand or something to realize he’s chuckling and not crying. The boy shakes his head, curly mullet bouncing in a way that’s far too light for how Steve feels right now.

“Why do you care, huh Harrington? Miss me that much?” Billy looks to his feet now. Steve sees the hint of a smirk on his lips, past his curls. “Can’t handle a day without me?”

“Shut up, it’s not like that-”

“You came all the way out here to look for me.”

Steve pauses.

“I was heading here anyway.” He lies. Billy snorts like he knows it’s a lie. Because he does know.

“Right. It’s fine to miss me, babe.”

Steve’s face burns.

“Don’t call me that.” He hisses, blood boiling where it’s pumping fast through his body. Billy cackles for good measure.

Steve’s got half a mind to turn around. Damn this guy, whatever he got, he fucking deserved it. He’s an asshole. Whatever happened should have happened.

But…

But Max. The image of her red face and tired eyes flashes into Steve’s memory. She was livid. Screaming. Close to crying.

You don’t know what you’re talking about.

Steve didn’t like that. Because how is he supposed to know if no one says anything? How is he supposed to understand if no one tells him?

He sighs.

“Look Hargrove I… I’m sorry. Okay?”

He feels defensive. Billy almost looks at him, but looks at Steve’s shoes instead. Steve still can’t see his face from the shadows of the trees and curls.

“Sorry for what?”

“I… I-” Steve stammers because he didn’t expect a question.

“Use your words, princess.” Billy says on a snort and Steve breaks.

“I don’t know! Okay? I don’t know. It’s just… Max was upset this afternoon and said something about your… your dad, I guess and now I… she made me feel awful and I don’t even know why but I do know I’m sorry, alright? So can you just quit being an asshole and accept my apology and-”

Steve’s eyes wander back to the boy at his feet. Billy’s shoulders are tense. Up by his ears, muscles taut all down his back, absolutely strung out.

“What do you know about my dad?” His voice is dark now. Dangerous. There’s a growl in it. A familiar one.

Steve fights his step back.

“I just… Not a lot. I just met him-”

“Shit.” Billy whispers, loud enough for Steve to hear. His shoulders are shaking- like a leaf in the fall wind and suddenly Steve feels that concern again.

Billy throws his head back, eyes closed and grimace on his lips as he shakes his head in what looks like disbelief, hair falling down behind him as the sun catches him and makes his face light up in a way that's near blinding and Steve knows this is a serious situation and thus is definitely not thinking about how the late evening sun does Billy and his gorgeous skin every favor.

“Shoulda known. The rich and famous Harringtons.”

Steve rolls his eyes at the statement.

“We’re not famous. We’re not even that rich, I-”

And that’s when Billy finally turns his head to Steve. Finally lets Steve see what he’s been wanting to see- that stupidly smug face with that stupidly cocky grin, telling Steve everything is fine and-

And-

“Holy shit… Billy, what happened?”

Billy’s face is more purple than it is tan. The skin around both eyes is bruised, his left worse than his right. There’s a bit of red on his cheek and his lower lip is split. The side of his neck has a few bruises as well, and Steve knows just from looking at them that they weren’t done out of passion- not romantic passion at least. No, rather a far more malevolent passion.

And now Steve notices the way Billy is moving. Gingerly and slow, like everything aches. It probably does.

Good lord…

“Billy?”

Billy’s looking up at Steve with the saddest eyes and it hits Steve like a freight train. There’s no anger to be found in them. Any fire that was there is there for a split second before they just turn tired. Bloodshot and worn and tired. His lips curl up into a grin that carries poison in it.

“I ran into a wall. Fell down the stairs.” Billy says, in a voice that tries so hard to be innocent that it’s haunting. “I’m a real clumsy kid.”

Billy’s voice wavers at that last part and it strikes Steve like a knife to his chest. Because he doesn’t want to say it, doesn’t even want to think it… but he thinks he knows. This happened to him once. Those words sound familiar and they link back to when Steve was 13- the first and last time his father ever backhanded him- and Steve could see the fear in both of his parents faces as they implored him to tell everyone he just fell down the stairs.

Steve doesn’t know what to say. What to do with his hands. Just looks into Billy’s eyes until he can’t anymore. Until he’s fidgeting and his mind is racing and his heart is threatening to rip a hole in his chest and-

“Can you do me a favor?” Billy asks, voice quieter than Steve’s ever heard him.

“Uhm…” Steve has to bite his tongue before he starts babbling.

“Real simple favor.” Billy turns his eyes to his own shoes. “Never come by my house again. Alright?”

Steve’s heart drops. He sees Billy heave a heavy sigh after he says those words.

“Wha-?”

“God, Harrington.” Billy’s exasperated. Tilts his head back and this time the light catches all of that purple on his face. It’s a universe of the most confusing pain Steve’s ever felt and he feels stupid even thinking that. “Can you hear me or do you have too much dried hairspray caked in your ears? I need you to listen.”

“I’m listening.” Steve’s voice is near a whisper. He can’t take his eyes off the bruising.

“Good. Don’t come by my house. Ever again.”

Steve feels a lump in his throat. Billy turns blue, expectant eyes on Steve, who just nods in what feels like shame. The most hideous and painful shame.

“Yeah… yeah okay I uh… fuck Billy. Shit, I’m so sorry-”

“Save it.” Billy stretches his legs out in front of him, head tilting back, face catching the sun.

“I’m serious I-”

“I said save it.” Billy screws his eyes shut. “I don’t wanna hear about it, alright?”

Steve nods, heat prickling the back of his eyelids.

Billy sighs.

“I’ll be back in school by Monday. I’ll be sure to be a real asshole. Make up for lost time.”

Billy’s acting like this is normal. Like this isn’t major. Like Steve didn’t just discover something he’s sure in a million years he wasn’t supposed to see.

The curly haired boy looks up with tired blue eyes and Steve can’t do anything. All he can do is watch this boy ache when he moves and it makes Steve livid. Saddened. Frightened.

“Billy… I don’t know who’s doing this-” A lie. He’s pretty sure. He has a good inkling, at least. He saw that man. “But they shouldn’t be. You don’t deserve it.”

And now all Steve can think about is how he didn’t believe that statement not 20 minutes ago. Any action Billy made always left Steve begging for a comeuppance. The boy’s an asshole, sure, but… no one deserves this.

Steve is boiling over it. Boiling in a cold sweat because it took this- this horrific moment of realization to realize the boy’s just a kid. Like him and Tommy and Jonathan. Just a stupid 17 year old who does some bratty things.

Billy looks up at Steve and chuckles in tired disbelief.

“You don’t deserve it.” Steve implores, made desperate by the disbelief he sees in Billy.

Billy just looks up at him, looking utterly hopeless, utterly defeated.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Neither can take their eye off the other, and Steve’s sure it’s for different reasons, but his mind is racing, rushing, flooding with his own- with his own concern for the exhaustion that he sees, with his fear of how long this has gone on, with his (truthfully, surprising) anger towards the fact that this boy’s beauty has been bruised and bloodied and that’s a new revelation… beauty…

Billy looks away first. He tells Steve to go. Raises his voice a bit when Steve takes a step in the wrong direction and moves to sit with him. Insists he’ll see Steve at school and it’s all a blur as Steve’s voice doesn’t allow him to say anything.

And in a few minutes of his rushing blood deafening him, he’s back in his car and Everybody Wants to Rule the World comes to life through the speakers as he drives away from this boy that he didn’t know he cared this much about until… until maybe too late.

And Steve’s blood is rushing, boiling inside of him until... until a near calm smile rests on his lips. A small, hopeful smile.

Because Billy promised to talk to him Monday. To keep their dynamic going.

Maybe the ball is back in Steve’s court. And if it is, he’s definitely running with it.

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dragonslayer-5fanfiction · 5 years

Text

My Burly Love Chapter 5

Alright, I got it done. The picture credit goes to @umetakenoko, who has the most amazing artwork, please go check it out. It’s stunning!

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

I was sad to leave Rivendell behind, because there I knew we were safe, and I was getting some training in. I knew that once we stepped out of Rivendell, training would be put on the back burner. I valued the one on one time I had with Dwalin. I could hardly get that outside of training. I sighed as I knew we would be thrown to the wolves once on our journey again.

We were traveling for a couple of days when we came across the mountain pass. As the day started to come to a close, angry black storm clouds started to gather. This looked like a horrible storm, nothing like the deluge we encountered earlier on in the journey. The pass was narrow and with the wind and rain pelting us, it was a miracle we were making any progress. Lightning lit up the sky as the mountain shook. Bilbo almost fell off, but Dwalin had quick reflexes and caught him.

“We must find shelter!” Thorin shouted over the noise of the storm. Dwalin pointed somewhere in the distance.

“Look out!” He yelled and I ducked against the rock face, grabbing hold of Dwalin’s cloak to keep myself from falling off the steep edge of the cliff. A huge boulder was hurtling its way towards us. It hit the mountain directly above where we huddled, a cascade of small rocks and pebbles bouncing and falling toward us. In the midst of all this, Dwalin reached back to make sure I was still there.

Balin stepped forward and pointed at the sky, “This is no thunderstorm! It's a thunder battle! Look!” A giant stood up from nearby and ripped a chunk of rock off the mountain.

“Well, bless me! The legends are true! Giants; stone giants!” Fili called out. They continued to throw rocks at each other, the debris continued to fall on us. We tried to take cover as much as we could on a narrow path. Out of nowhere the ground beneath began to shake and it split, “Kili, Kili, grab my hand!” They were separated moved farther apart as the giant stood to full height. One of the other giants came over and head-butted the giant we were on. It fell back into place and Thorin, Oin, Gloin, Kili, and I scampered onto a safe part of the path. We stood watching as the giant stood back up ready to fight. A third giant came out of nowhere and punched our giant.

“No! No!” I screamed as the other half of our company was crushed between the giant’s knee and the mountain. Kili grabbed me to keep me from lunging forward and falling. I was fighting against Kili as much as I possibly could, I think my heart shattered when the rest of them were crushed, however, I could only think of Dwalin. The giant managed to stand up straight and none of them could be seen. I watched as the giant fell unceremoniously onto the narrow canyon floor. I scrambled over to where they were and just around the bend they were all hanging on for dear life. I counted heads, and realised we were missing Bilbo.

“Guys, we’re missing Bilbo. Where is he?” I yelled kind of panicked.

Everyone started to look around for him. “There!” Fili yelled spotting him over the edge of the cliff, hanging on for his life. Everyone gathered around him, trying to pull him up. Finally, Thorin had it, and hopped down the side of the mountain and pushed him up. Dwalin helped Thorin up, who was pissed he had to save Bilbo.

“I’d thought we’d lost our burglar,” Dwalin said. I was standing next to him looking over Bilbo to make sure he wasn’t hurt. He was merely shaken by the near-death experience.

“He’s been lost ever since he left home. He should never have come. He has no place amongst us.” Thorin replied Bilbo looked hurt by what was said. I gave Thorin a dirty look and went back to tending to Bilbo. “We need to keep moving.”

We started back up the path, but I was so upset by what had happened that I was shaking the entire way up. At one point I grabbed Dwalin’s cloak, to make sure that I didn’t fall.

“Ey, lass don’t worry I won’t let ye fall.” We finally made it up the hill and into a small cave away from the raging elements. I looked around and saw how exhausted everyone was. We all laid out our bedrolls and got ready to sleep. Thorin assigned Bofur to the watch. I laid down betweenh Bilbo and Dwalin. I don't know how long I was asleep when I felt Bilbo get up. I opened my eyes and listened to him and Bofur talk. Bilbo wanted to leave, to go home, he missed it. I understand I miss my home too, but something about being here with my friends felt just like home too. Maybe not quite exactly the same, but it was close.

I heard sand shifting like there was something moving. Thorin sat up, “Wake up! Wake up!” Before anyone could even respond, the floor opened up and after a moment of being suspended in the air, we plummeted downwards. I swear I was plummeting to my death. We all landed in a heap of elbows, knees, and beards. I couldn’t distinguish one dwarf from the other. I sat up and was greeted by the face of some greyish purple chin. I stared at the warted created with disgust and fear.

“What is that?!” I shrieked and pushed myself backward away from it. Even more of them rushed forward. Dwalin grabbed me and pushed me behind him. He tried to fight the creatures that came to grab me. There was no way he could have won, there were too many of them. He finally relented and made sure that I stayed behind him, holding my hand. They grabbed everyone and guided us over these rickety bridges that I swear, could not hold all of our weight. Whenever we went over one, I squeezed his hand a little tighter. We made it to this area where there was a giant Creature sitting on what looked like a rickety throne. Under his feet was a pile of smaller creatures.

“Who would be so bold as to come armed into my kingdom? Spies? Thieves? Assassins?” He got more crazy at the end. As they were talking I leaned into Dwalin

“What are these things?” I asked.

He turned his head slightly and whispered, “Goblins.” my eyes widened and I stepped back again. He was about to bring out something called a mangler. Thorin stepped forward to stop this.

The great goblin was surprised by this. “Well, well, well! Look who it is! Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King under the mountain. Oh! But I’m forgetting you don’t have a mountain, and you’re not a king. Which makes you nobody really. I know someone who would pay a pretty price for your head. Just the head, nothing attached. Perhaps you know of whom I speak, an old enemy of yours. A pale orc astride a white warg.”

“Azog the Defiler was destroyed. He was slain in battle long ago.” Thorin responded with disgust.

“So, you think his defiling days are done, do you? Send word to the pale orc, tell him I have found his prize.” The goblin responded and his scribe scooted away on a zip line. He continued to shout at his minions, telling them to bring some things up. As they were doing this, he started singing. “Bones will be shattered, necks will be wrung, and you’ll be beaten and battered, from racks you’ll be hung. You will die down here and never be found, down in the deep of Goblin-town.” They brought the devices up, and some of them were rather terrifying to look at. I stepped closer to Dwalin and grabbed his cloak.

He glanced back at me, with a raised eyebrow. “What are those? Am I going to die here? I’m not fit to be tortured.” I whispered to him. With my hand on his back, I could feel him sigh.

He turned towards me, “Lass, don’t ye worry about a thing. Ye will not die, and ye will not be tortured.” I had tears gathering in my eyes, they were threatening to flow out. “Lass, as long as I am alive, I will protect ye with my life.” He grabbed my arms, pulling me into him. “Nothing will happen to you. I swear to Mahal.” I didn’t know much about their culture, but I knew that swearing to Mahal, was a very serious thing. I smiled and leaned into him, finally feeling safe for a brief moment in his embrace.

I looked up at him, directly into his eyes, “Thank you Dwalin.” I thought for a brief moment about giving him a kiss on the cheek, but before I could do anything the head goblin gave out an ear-piercing shriek.

“I know that sword! It is the Goblin-cleaver! The Biter! The blade that sliced a thousand necks!” He was scurrying away from Thorin’s sword. He looked like I do when I see a mouse. Balanced on his throne, standing on one foot, the body turned, pointing at the thing like it was emitting toxic gas. It would have been comical had we not been in a life-threatening situation. “Slash them, beat them, peel them, kill them all!” They started to thrash the whip harder against us. The pain was debilitating. I felt the split on my back and knew I was going to have scars. He then turned on Thorin, “Cut off his head!” It was chaos, the dwarves started to fight against the goblins even more, and out of nowhere BOOM!

Just to the right of the throne came a blinding white light. Goblins went flying everywhere, and I collapsed onto the ground. I sat up, and a shadowy figure was walking towards us. Upon closer look it was Gandalf. Gandalf was here!

“Take up arms.” He commanded, when we didn’t pop up immediately he began to yell some more. “Fight! FIGHT!!” We all fought to get up, and while we worked to gather ourselves, Gandalf started swinging.

“He wields the Foehammer! The Beater! Bright as Daylight!” The Great Goblin hollered. Bombur stepped up and started to throw the weapons to their respective owners. I pushed the goblins away from me as much as I could, seeing how I still don’t have a good handle on how to wield my weapon. It was pure chaos after that. We stood there fighting the goblins off until Gandalf found a way out, and we followed him.

We ran over the bridges, and I had to fight my hardest to not fall off. The Great Goblin popped up out of nowhere and swung at Gandalf. The dwarves caught him from falling and pushed him back up. Gandalf poked him in the eye, cut his stomach and his neck. When he collapsed on the bridge it shook it loose, we went sledding down the side of the chasm. The walls saved us from dying, however, when the Great Goblin fell on top of us, I thought I was going to die. He was so heavy, it was awful. Some of the others managed to get out of the rubble easier. I was struggling, so Dwalin came over and helped pull me out. I smiled in thanks to him, we didn’t have time to converse.

Kili let out a yell, and we all looked up. Those goblins were like a million baby spiders coming down the wall. I let out a scream and turned to help the others get out of the rubble.

“There are too many to fight! We don’t stand a chance.” Dwalin said looking at Gandalf.

“There’s only one thing that will save us, daylight,” Gandalf said and we headed towards the exit of the chasm. We were running for our lives, and they were hot on our heels. We made a mad dash and believe it or not, I’ve managed to build up some endurance over the course of this trip. We came flying into the clearing. It was downhill, and we were coming out fast. I tripped over a tree root, that I didn’t see. I reached forward and grabbed onto Fili’s coat. He just so happened to be in front of me.

“I’m sorry. I tripped.” I squeaked out when he turned to look at me.

“It’s fine, don’t worry.” We finally came to a stop and Gandalf took a headcount. We realized Bilbo was missing and I started to panic again.

“Curse the halfling, now he’s lost?” Thorin bellowed out. Then a fight erupted between the company, all arguing about who he was with, where he was. “I'll tell you what happened. Master Baggins saw his chance and he took it. He has thought of nothing but his soft bed and his warm hearth......since first he stepped out of his door.” He looked to the side, and I rolled my eyes. He has had no faith in him the entire time. I think he’s wrong, Bilbo will come back. “We won’t be seeing our hobbit again. He’s long gone.”

“No, he isn’t.” Bilbo literally appeared out of nowhere. I looked around, trying to figure out where he came from.

“Why did you come back?” it was accusatory.

“Look, I know you doubt me. I know you always have. And you're right, I often think of Bag-end. I miss my books. And my armchair and my garden. See, that's where I belong. That's home. And that's why I came back. Because......you don't have one. A home. It was taken from you. But I will help you take it back if I can.” I smiled and walked up Bilbo giving him a hug.

“I’m glad you’re here. I knew you wouldn’t leave us.” I pulled back and held him at arm's length giving him a sincere smile. We heard the thundering steps and turned to look up the mountain.

“Out of the frying pan…” Thorin said.

“And into the fire. Run!” Gandalf yelled guiding us further down the mountain.

Chapter 6

Tag list: @fentah, @reignofglitter, @perseny-blog, @xxdragonagequeenxx, @captainrainbowpanda, @hufflepuff25

#dwalin x reader #dwalin imagine #the hobbit #the company #dwalin #my burly love

83 notes · View notes

bangtanstanst · 5 years

Text

Thunderstruck

When you and Namjoon stay late at the office, you just expect to get home a little later than usual. But when you finally leave for the night and step into the elevator, you set out on a different trip entirely.

“Just be careful out there, weird things happen in thunderstorms.”

A fic crossover event in which the Bangtan Unsolved crew meets office workers Namjoon and Y/N! But don’t worry, you can still definitely follow the whole story if you haven’t read either of them :)

≽ pairing: namjoon x reader, ft. the rest of ot7 ≽ genre: fluff, angst, (attempts at) horror ≽ warnings: paranormal stuff, mentions of death ≽ word count: 8.4k

a/n: hiiiiii, I hope you’re all having a good week!! As you may or may not know, my blog’s one-year anniversary was on the 7th of July and I wanted to celebrate it with a fic; so here it is!! I’m really excited to share it with you all, and I hope you like it :)) As I said, you don’t have to have read the fics that cross over in this, but I’ll link them anyway if you want to do it before or after :) Thanks so much for making this year so great and for reading my works, I appreciate it so very much and I hope to continue sharing more with you for a long time :))

And, of course, thanks to my amazing friends mars & snail for helping me out by betaing this and being wonderful people in general!!♥♥♥

›› tag list: @nambewb @dimplemono @sugasheart @csol16 @joon94net @lilacdreams-00 ‹‹

bangtan unsolved | only you | masterlist

You jump when a clap of thunder rings in your ears and makes the entire office floor flash with white. Rain is aggressively battering the large windows that surround the desks and the sky is dark and grey, an endless sea of thick rain clouds hanging over the city’s skyscrapers. Nervously tapping your foot against the carpeted floor, you cross your arms and turn to glance at Namjoon. He doesn’t seem to notice much of whatever’s happening outside, his eyes glazed over as they stare at the screen and his fingers fly over the keyboard.

Turning your gaze to the desk you’re sitting at yourself, you glare at the monitor, eyes idly scanning the spreadsheet but not quite registering anything that’s in it. You shift in your chair – it’s uncomfortable, but you’re scared to adjust anything to it, lest you piss off the guy whose desk you’ve planted at while you’re waiting for Namjoon to finish up his work.

“Hey, guys, I’m gonna get going, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Jimin says, his briefcase swinging around in his hand as he walks up to your desks.

Your gaze snaps up to look at him and you send him a smile. “Of course!” you reply, standing up to quickly hug him goodbye. Another bout of thunder hits the streets outside and you jump yet again. “Walk safe, okay?”

Jimin just laughs as you break apart, nodding. “Yeah, I’ll be sure not to drown in the subway,” he replies, holding out his hand to Namjoon, who absently claps it and gives him a half-hearted hug. “You just make sure to pull this one away from his work before midnight, yeah?” he adds with a grin as he pulls back, pointing at Namjoon.

You snort. “What, or the gremlin in him is gonna jump out?” you retort, dishevelling your boyfriend’s hair until he laughs and takes your hand to push it away.

“Yes,” Jimin replies very seriously, frowning as his eyes flicker from Namjoon back to you. “You’ve never seen it?” When you laugh once more and shake your head, he shrugs. “Well, I guess you just don’t know him as well as I do, then,” he teases through a long sigh, patting Namjoon’s shoulder.

You let out another laugh. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jimin,” you tell him rather than responding, sitting back down in your chair. More thunder rumbles through the night sky and your smile falters, your eyes snapping to the office windows.

“See ya,” Jimin replies, his hand folding over your shoulder. “And at least, if you and Namjoon die because of this storm, you’ll go down together.”

“Ha ha,” you say dryly, narrowing your eyes at him, despite the fact that you don’t really doubt the possibility of that happening. “You know, maybe you should stay after all.” Tilting your head at him, you raise an eyebrow. “Die with us.”

Jimin just chuckles, taking a step back and sauntering towards the elevators. “Bye, guys!”

With a huff, you sit back in your chair and cross your arms, watching as he turns the corner and listening to the elevator doors opening and closing. You’re the only two left in the office now, and it’s awfully silent in here. You look back at the monitor on your temporary desk, the Excel sheet it’s displaying glaring right into your soul – but the numbers are blurry when you try to look at them and you know you’ve long surpassed the timeframe of Y/N’s brain is able to work.

Letting out a sigh, you quickly save your work and log out, shutting off the desktop. “Can we go soon, Joon?” you mutter, rolling your chair over to his desk and leaning your chin on his shoulder, eyes fluttering closed. “I’d rather die at home than at the office.”

He chuckles. “Of course, baby,” he mutters lowly, pressing a warm kiss to your temple. The thunder and lightning fade to the background as you focus on his touch, and a small smile teases over your lips. “I just need to send out these emails and I’m done.”

You hum, sliding both your arms around his torso and hugging him tightly as he types. His hand leaves the keyboard for short moments here and there, his fingers absently brushing your arm or your hand, moving up to play with your hair or tickle your cheek. Minutes pass and you seem to lose track of time, though your mind can’t help but focus on the rain, the thunder, the lightning flashing outside, and you remain tense no matter what you do.

“Namjoon…” you mutter after what feels like plenty of time to send out a few emails, and he hums in reply. “How many emails were you talking about, exactly?”

“I’m done, I’m done,” he says through a soft chuckle, running a hand through your hair as your eyes pop open and you jump up – another burst of light illuminates the office floor. “Ready to go, I take it?”

You laugh, nodding fervently. “Oh, yes,” you reply, holding out your hand for Namjoon to take. “So please, before we die?” you add, cocking an eyebrow at him.

He laughs, briefly turning back to his desktop to turn off his computer, then taking your hand and rising to his feet. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” he mumbles, taking a step towards you to peck your lips.

You can’t help but smile at him as he pulls back. “Right.” A burst of thunder rings in your ears, but you don’t jump this time.

Namjoon is wearing a fond smile and stays in his place for a moment, even as you take another step back and tug at his arm. “You okay, there?” you ask, chuckling in amusement.

His smile just widens and he nods as he takes a step forward, intertwining your fingers with his. “Definitely,” he replies, glancing down at your hands for a second before lifting his eyes to yours once more. “Hey, I love you, you know that, right?”

Another amused chuckle escapes your lips, but that laughter soon fades as his eyes catch yours – there’s something in the way he’s looking at you that makes you suspect there’s more behind his words than he’s letting on, but you don’t feel you should ask. “And I love you, Joon,” you reply instead, upon which he grins and kisses you briefly. Thunder and lightning continue to rage outside, and you let out a shaky breath as you pull back, looking up at Namjoon. “Now let’s get the fuck out of here, yeah?”

He laughs, nodding as he steps back to grab his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. “Let’s.”

You let out a happy sigh, turning to walk back to the elevators and pulling Namjoon with you before he can decide to send another ‘few’ emails. Your footsteps are drowned out by the thunderstorm outside – but otherwise, silence cloaks the entire office, all of your coworkers having gone home before the storm even started.

“Hey, Al,” Namjoon says from behind you and you’re confused for a moment, looking around to look for whomever he’s talking to – when you see the janitor cleaning the kitchenette counter in the breakroom, and you almost squeal when a loud clap of thunder echoes in your ears, a burst of bright light illuminating the figure in the room. Fortunately, you manage to hold it back, and you just paste on a smile as you wave back at Al.

“You kids staying late again?” he asks, and you’re practically forced to come to a halt so you can talk to him.

Namjoon squeezes your hand, running his thumb over the back of it – it’ll be fine, we’ll get home before death gets to us. “Yeah, work never stops, right?” he jokes.

Al laughs and nods, gesturing to the break room around him. “‘specially when you’re cleaning stuff, eh?”

“I’ll certainly give you that,” Namjoon returns with a smile. “I hope we kept the room clean for you, though?”

“Oh, couldn’t wish for a neater floor,” Al replies with a smile and a wave. “You should see the fifteenth.”

Al’s eyes catch yours and you clear your throat, suddenly feeling nervous with the way he’s looking between you and Namjoon – almost worried. An involuntary shiver runs down your spine and you frown, blinking at Al, who just keeps intently staring at you. There’s a strange, unsettling feeling in your gut and the air feels heavy all of a sudden. Wait, were you actually right? Are you really gonna die here in this office?

Trying to push through the weird feeling, you clear your throat, unable to tear your eyes away from Al’s. “Well, we’ll leave you to it, then,” you say cautiously, nerves rushing through your veins as a beat of silence falls and you wait for Al’s answer.

But in a split second, it’s as if a spell is lifted, and Al’s expression returns to his usual smile. “Right on,” he replies, picking up his cleaning rag. “Just be careful out there, weird things happen in thunderstorms,” he adds just before you step out of sight, and the look he gives you is so piercing and intense that you can’t help but stop and stare, lips parting. “Bye, kids!”

With that, he turns back to the counter and starts wiping it vigorously, leaving both you and Namjoon gaping at him for a moment. “Bye,” you reply, dazed – but Al doesn’t look up nor respond. Your eyebrows furrow and you look up at Namjoon, who has the same level of confusion etched into his features as yours as he shrugs at you.

“Good luck on the fifteenth floor,” he says, eyes diverting back to Al. Yet again, he doesn’t look up, simply waving at you as you slowly start to walk to the elevators.

“What’s wrong with Al?” you whisper as you come to a stop at the elevators, hitting the button to summon one of them. The sound of rain and thunder has faded slightly now that you’re further away from the windows, but a low rumble still booms in your ears every so often.

Namjoon hums and shakes his head, looking over his shoulder into the direction of the break room. “I don’t know, he’s never acted this weird before,” he mumbles in reply, the elevator doors jumping open with a harsh ding! – your heart skips a beat and you let out a breath. “Maybe he’s just tired.”

You hum and nod, pulling Namjoon into the elevator, pressing the button for the ground floor and leaning against the wall. Namjoon looks down at his feet as you ride the elevator down, tapping them against the floor rapidly. You tilt your head at him, eyebrows furrowing, and you squeeze his hand to grab his attention – he looks up.

“You okay?”

He exhales sharply and nods, his shoulders relaxing at once. It’s relieving to see the stress seem to flow out of him so quickly, though you’re still curious as to what got him nervous in the first place. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he replies, nodding once more. He looks down at your hands and smiles softly as he plays with your fingers, his free hand dug into his pocket. “I just –”

A sudden boom of thunder interrupts him and you jolt out of the conversation, looking around with wide eyes – it sounded way too close to be safe. Ears starting to ring, your lips part as the elevator starts to actually shake underneath your feet, and you stumble into Namjoon’s arms. Your heart drops into your stomach as the shaking grows wilder, and you close your eyes, grabbing a fistful of the fabric of Namjoon’s button-up as you try not to literally start screaming into his chest. You feel a strange sensation in your gut, as if you’re falling down the elevator shaft floor after floor after floor without ever coming to a stop, likely only nearing the inevitable end.

Okay, so you are gonna die tonight and there’s literally nothing you can do about it, though at least you’re with Namjoon for it all and –

“It’s gonna be okay,” Namjoon whispers, putting a hand on your back – but you can feel his fingers trembling against your spine as well, and his words don’t quite get through to you. “We’re gonna be fine.”

Just as the last word leaves his mouth, the shaking stops, and the elevator goes completely silent. Completely. You look up at Namjoon, your grip loosening around his blue button-up as the two of you exchange wide-eyed looks. Are you stuck here now? Are you gonna have to wait here all night without food or water or enough oxygen? Fuck, how are you gonna –

Ding!

You jump and look to the side, where the elevator doors have jumped open to what is definitely not the ground floor. The space is empty as far as you can see, your sight blocked by the dirty plastic sheets hanging from the ceiling. Faint moonlight breaks through them and illuminates the few support beams you can see, and it’s as silent as your own office floor was when you left it, only the sound of rain beating against glass echoing through the large space.

“Let’s just take the stairs,” Namjoon proposes in one exhale, his grip around your hand tightening subtly. As his voice echoes off the concrete surroundings countless times, he nervously fumbles with the shoulder strap of his bag, adjusting and readjusting it.

You nod hastily, straightening out your blouse with your free hand and rushing to step out of the elevator before the door somehow closes on you and you might get stuck forever. Namjoon is walking right behind you, your footsteps echoing off the concrete surroundings. “Where are the stairs around here, again?”

“They should be in the same spot as they are on our floor,” he replies, looking around and slapping a sheet out of his face when he almost runs into it. It rustles with the movement, even the soft sound echoing harshly throughout the floor. “So I think it’s right –”

“Y/N? Namjoon?”

You whirl around at the strange voice ringing in your ears, your eyes darting around. For a moment, you don’t see anyone, only hearing footsteps – when suddenly, someone pushes a plastic sheet out of the way, and an entire camera crew steps out from behind it. They’re only a few steps away from you but you can barely see them, and you have to squint to not be blinded by the bright lights shining into your eyes.

Namjoon, however, seems to have more luck in seeing who the hell you’ve run into here. “Jimin? What are you doing here?”

The lights and cameras lower slightly, allowing you to finally see beyond an arm’s length. A group of six has gathered in front of you, all looking at you with furrowed eyebrows. Two cameras are now pointed at the floor, the beam of a bright flashlight pointed at your feet. One guy has a harness around his waist, a selfie stick with a Go-Pro fastened to it, pointing at his face from what seems to be the least flattering angle that could ever be. He’s frowning at the two of you, his eyes narrowed.

“What do you mean, ‘what am I doing here’?” sounds the reply, and your eyes snap over to the source of the voice. It’s undoubtedly your desk buddy, and you almost feel relieved to see him – but the confusion etched into Jimin’s features makes you wary more than anything. “You were up on this floor for almost thirty minutes so we went to get you.”

“What?” you and Namjoon breathe out simultaneously – you can feel your heart starting to beat faster. “Is this some sort of prank?” you add, eyes wide as they glide over the crew standing in front of you.

The relieving answer you were hoping for doesn’t come, however, and no one breaks out in laughter like you’d hoped – there’s just a stunned silence hanging over you.

“Weren’t you supposed to wait in the lobby?” Namjoon inquires lowly, leaning forward as if that’ll keep you from hearing what he’s saying – but you still catch his words and you frown at him, confused.

Jimin only furrows his eyebrows, tilting his head, just as you turn to look up at Namjoon with just as much confusion on your face. “What?” Jimin returns, chuckling in disbelief. “What the hell are you talking about? We’re not finished shooting yet.”

The words make Namjoon frown, and he opens and closes his mouth again and again and again as he tries to formulate an answer. You put a hand on his arm to pull his attention and he turns to look at you, his confusion unfaltering. “Joon, he already went home, I don’t get how –”

“Okay, sorry, but we don’t have time for jokes like this, guys,” another familiar voice speaks up. You tear your eyes away from Namjoon to look at the owner of the voice, your eyes widening to the size of dinner plates when you see your boss standing at the back of the group. “We’re running further behind the longer we stay here,” Seokjin remarks, filing through some of the papers in his hands. It certainly sounds like him, but…

“What?” Namjoon asks, his frown deepening. His fingers tighten around your hand, and you look around the floor. It looks no different than when you stepped out of the elevator, though plastic sheets obscure your path to the exit – you can’t even see it anymore. “Running behind on what?”

Seokjin frowns and looks up at Namjoon. “The… schedule?” he replies slowly, papers rustling in his hand. “Are you guys okay? Did you hit your head on something?”

You remain silent – neither of you is quite sure as to how to answer that question. Did you?

Suddenly, the guy with the Go-Pro strapped to his chest gasps, the sound echoing through the space. “Oh my god, so it’s true!” he exclaims, his hand slapping to his mouth.

Confusion washes over the entirety of the group and you turn to him, frowning. There’s only one person who laughs, jokingly elbowing the man in the side. “Come on, Hoseok, they’re just messing with us. Nothing we’ve ever been to has ever been cursed.”

“Cursed?!” you repeat, lips parting in shock. Your hands are starting to go clammy, but you hold onto Namjoon’s as tightly as possible – you’re afraid that either he or you will disappear once you let go. “What do you mean, cursed?”

“See?” ‘Hoseok’ insists, pointing at you as he frantically looks between the guys standing around him. “The real Y/N wouldn’t react like this, she’d literally burst out laughing!”

“Excuse me, since when am I not the real me?” you inquire, tilting your head as you take a step forward. “I think I know who I am.”

“No, I –” Hoseok lets out a sigh, shaking his head. “I meant our Y/N. The one we know.”

“Okay, you lost me,” the laughing guy says through a snort.

“The curse, Jungkook! How else could you explain it? Different clothes, different hair...” Hoseok hisses, eyes flickering to you and Namjoon. Jungkook. Now that you hear his name, you’re starting to think he does look like the Jungkook you once talked to on some company drink. But it can’t be.

When Jungkook simply raises his eyebrows at Hoseok, looking no less confused than before, Hoseok huffs. “The one that sends you to a parallel universe!”

Even though the words Hoseok is saying are absolutely, ridiculously far-fetched and you normally wouldn’t even come close to believing it for one damn second, they hit you in the face like a ton of bricks. Your eyes widen and your mouth falls open, your heart starts beating faster and faster. Meanwhile, the thunderstorm outside is still raging on, and a flash of lightning cuts through the plastic sheets surrounding you.

“A parallel…” Namjoon mumbles beside you. When you look up at him, you notice the way he’s staring off into nothingness, his eyebrows furrowed into a thoughtful frown, his fingers idly playing with yours. “That’s impossible.”

“But it happened, didn’t it?” Hoseok insists, taking a step towards you. “What was the last thing that happened before you got here?” he asks the two of you, his eyes seeming to grow wider by the minute.

“We uh… we were working late and then we got into the elevator,” you reply cautiously, your eyes flickering to the two guys you know – at least, you think you know. But with the way they’re looking at you, you’re starting to see some merit in this curse theory. “And some lightning hit and then the elevator started shaking, and then we got onto this floor.”

Hoseok breathes in sharply and claps his hands, stumbling back. “Just like the stories!” he exclaims. His voice is sharp and cuts right through the sound of the rain against the windows, now slowing down to a pitter-patter. “The elevator – where was it?”

“Just over there,” Namjoon replies with a frown, pointing to the direction you came from. “But –”

His sentence is cut off when Hoseok starts to sprint, plastic sheets rustling as he pushes them out of his way, his footsteps as loud as the thunder outside. You only wait a moment, exchanging confused looks with Namjoon before decide to chase after him – hell, at this point, you’d love to just go back into that elevator and go down to the ground floor and get the hell home, away from whatever this situation is.

“Right here?” echoes Hoseok’s voice only seconds later. You push away the last plastic sheet to reveal the set of elevators that you stepped out of – but they all have an out of order, take stairs sign pasted to the metal doors. You let out a shaky breath, your skin going cold. “These elevators?”

Hoseok hits every single button he can hit to summon any of the elevators, but there is no response. The buttons don’t light up, nor do the elevators arrive, even after minutes and minutes and minutes of waiting. Behind your back, you notice that the crew has started to film again, walking around you in circles in an attempt to find the best angle to capture whatever the hell is happening here.

“They worked just a few minutes ago…” Namjoon protests weakly, letting go of your hand to press the buttons again. You cross your arms, biting on your lip as your mind starts to run off in all directions – what the hell is happening?

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” Hoseok mutters, shaking his head and pressing the button twice more before he whirls around. His selfie stick wobbles along, and you’re surprised that it hasn’t broken yet. “What the hell do we do?”

“Wait, hold on– are you seriously saying that these are different versions of Y/N and Namjoon?” a low voice chimes in from the back. You turn to see the owner of it take off his headphones, lowering what looks like some sort of recorder in his hands. “Are you listening to yourself?”

“It’s the only explanation!” he shoots back. “Why the hell else would we be investigating this place if the stories could never be true?”

Silence.

“I mean… we could be dreaming,” you say slowly, tilting your head – and you want to believe your own words with all your heart. Only problem is, you don’t.

“Pinch yourself, then,” Hoseok replies, crossing his arms despite the selfie stick that’s in his way. “See if you wake up.”

You’re taken aback by his words and you open and close your mouth in surprise, blinking at the stranger standing in front of you telling you to pinch yourself. “I –”

“Just do it,” he insists. “See if you’re dreaming.”

Opening and closing your mouth once more, you look aside at Namjoon, who shrugs at you – and before you can change your mind, you pull back your sleeve and pinch hard. Your skin stings and you wince at the feeling, the spot starting to burn as the blood rushes up to your arm – but when you look around, your surroundings seem as real as they could be.

“See?” he says through an exhale, turning to the others in his crew. “Not dreaming. It’s a parallel universe, I’m telling you!”

“Wait, so are you saying we ended up in your universe somehow?” Namjoon inquires, tilting his head at Hoseok. “That this elevator is some sort of vessel to get us there?”

He hums and slowly shakes his head. “That would mean that our Y/N and Namjoon would be here too,” he mutters, rubbing his bottom lip as his eyes dart around the environment. “We must’ve all travelled to a universe that isn’t ours in some way…”

He stays silent for a moment, lifting his gaze and narrowing his eyes at the sheet right behind you. He lets out a sharp breath, which comes out in a white cloud – suddenly, the room feels colder than it did before, and you shiver. “I have to check something,” he mumbles, slipping past you to push through the several sheets in his way, walking to wherever he’s planning on checking – leaving you behind.

“He isn’t like this all the time,” someone mumbles as the five remaining crew members brush past you to follow Hoseok, though you don’t quite catch who it could be before they melt into the group.

“Are we supposed to follow them?” Namjoon whispers, letting out a breath in disbelief.

You stare at the same plastic sheets as him, silently taking his hand in yours. “Well…” you say through a sigh, closing your eyes for a moment to try to calm down your pounding heart. “The elevators aren’t exactly working, so what else are we supposed to do?”

“But this parallel universe thing…” he adds, slowly shaking his head. His eyes are still fixed on the dirtied sheets, on the way they subtly sway back and forth in the draft that travels throughout the floor. “It’s ridiculous, right?”

He looks aside at you, his eyebrows furrowed, and you look back at him – only you stay silent, simply biting your lip instead. His face falls at your non-response, his lips parting. “Babe…”

“I mean, what other explanation is there?” you reply, letting out a sigh. “It can’t be just some –”

“Oh my god!”

Your head snaps into the direction that the others disappeared into, and you and Namjoon exchange only a single glance before curiosity gets the best of both of you – you rush towards the spot where you first bumped into the crew, pushing your way through several plastic sheets and moving towards the low hum of chatter.

“What? What’s wrong?” you ask as soon as you push the last sheet out of the way, coming to a halt in front of the stairs. Two crew members are pushing at the door to the stairwell as hard as they can, hitting their shoulders against the glass embedded into the frame.

“The door’s locked,” Jimin – who is apparently not your Jimin – replies, glancing at you. “And before you ask, no, it’s not a pull.”

You let out a laugh, playfully elbowing his side as you shake your head. A bright smile washes over his features as well, and he quickly looks down at his camera, starting to mess with the buttons. “So are we stuck here now or something?” you ask, crossing your arms as your eyes divert to the crew members trying to break into the stairwell.

Jimin shrugs, glancing up as his apparent crew members keep trying to get the door to open. “Well, I mean, Hoseok thinks the stairs are a portal to whatever this universe is, too, so I guess we are if it stays locked,” he says with a frown, shaking his head at the scene in front of him. “Oh, in that case, I guess I should introduce myself, huh?” he adds with a grin, holding out his hand for you and Namjoon to shake. “Jimin. I film Hoseok and the other Y/N while they bicker about ghosts,” he says, holding up his camera.

“Y/N,” you return, shaking his hand. “I calculate stuff.”

He laughs, nodding approvingly as Namjoon shakes his hand as well, and Jimin turns to face him. “Namjoon,” he introduces himself. “I also calculate things.”

“Nice to… re-meet you guys,” he says with a laugh, looking over his shoulder as someone lets out a shout, pounding their elbow against the glass – it doesn’t budge. “Hey, has someone called the site rep?” he calls.

Not-your-boss Seokjin turns to Jimin and shakes his head in response, wiggling his phone at him. “We don’t have service or wifi here apparently, so it’s no use.”

“Oh my god, we somehow ended up in a strange parallel universe and we’re definitely gonna die,” Hoseok mumbles through an exhale, shaking his head as he turns around and starts pacing back and forth, running his hands through his hair.

Your smile falls and your eyes widen in fear. “What?!” you gasp, blinking at Hoseok. No matter how many times Namjoon tries to soothe the dread building in your chest by running his thumb over the back of your hand, it won’t go away. “Why do you think we’re gonna die?!”

“We’re not gonna die,” Seokjin corrects Hoseok calmly, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder and making him stop at once. “We just need to figure out how to break through these windows and get out of here, okay? That’s all.”

“But we’re in a parallel universe, it’s dangerous,” Hoseok says with a shake of his head. The rain is picking up again and the sound of water beating against glass booms in your ears – a low rumble of thunder sounds in the distance. “We could mess up everything for the versions of us that live here.”

There’s a short silence as Seokjin takes a slow breath in and then pushes it back out, looking up at the concrete ceiling as he subtly shakes his head. “Okay, then we’ll each figure out how to get back to our right parallel universe. It shouldn’t be that hard, should it?”

Hoseok chuckles, his hand pinching the bridge of his nose as he shakes his head. “Yeah, parallel universes are so very simple to figure out that we might as well –”

A sudden beep cuts off his sentence and his head snaps up, eyes wide as they dart around the space. Another beep, followed by one more, then more, until the beeps get so fast that they almost sound like one long, high-pitched sound.

“Isn’t that the EMF reader?” the guy with the headphones – Yoongi, apparently – says with a frown, nodding to Hoseok’s bag. He gasps and slings it off of his shoulder, rummaging around in it until he pulls out a weird, rectangular device that looks more like an old, flat cellphone than anything – antenna and all.

“It’s going haywire,” Hoseok mumbles, hitting the thing a few times before looking at it again – it’s still beeping, showing no signs of shutting down. You wince at the sound, moving your hands up to cover your ears when, suddenly, a loud, static sound cuts through the beeping EMF reader and Hoseok’s eyes grow wider still. “That’s the spirit box!” he shouts over the loud bursts of white noise, undercut by voices that are starting and stopping so quickly that you can’t hear a thing they’re saying.

He bends over to search his bag once more – and then pulls out another strange device you’ve never seen before in your entire life. The spirit box is black and just as rectangular as the EMF reader, emitting an annoyingly loud sound of white noise that never seems to stop – until one of the voices you’ve been hearing every once in a while speaks for longer than a millisecond.

“Trapped. … Die.”

Despite the fact that you have no idea what any of this means for you, your heart drops into your stomach and the blood drains from your face. Your eyes wide, you look up at Hoseok, who seems to be just as shocked. “I…”

“That didn’t sound good,” you breathe out, looking around – the others you don’t seem as fazed, though their faces are visibly paler and their eyes noticeably wider. “What was that?”

“It’s a spirit,” Hoseok breathes out, tearing his gaze away from the spirit box to look at you. When you show just as much confusion as before, he lowers both the EMF reader and the spirit box, taking a breath in, a breath out. “The– this building is constructed in the exact spot where an old and really cruel prison used to be,” he starts, his voice shaky. “And they say this whole place is haunted for exactly that reason.”

Your eyebrows shoot up and your eyes widen. “The whole place is what now?”

“Haunted,” Hoseok repeats, as much concern etched into his features as you feel there is in yours. “There were like fifteen escapees that died trying to get out,” he adds, his breath coming out shakily, and he’s starting to blink a lot. “And they say that their spirits opened up a portal to a parallel universe, just to be able to get away somehow, but they never got to leave themselves.”

“Jesus fuck,” you breathe out, lips parting in surprise. You shiver when a cold breeze runs through your hair, and you grit your teeth to keep them from clattering. “Since when is our office haunted?”

“I mean, Al’s joked about it before, but I never thought…” Namjoon mumbles, his grip tightening around your hand. “I just figured he was really joking.”

You whimper, hand coming up to cover your forehead as you keep shaking your head. You’re cold, you’re tired, you’re scared, and you just want to go home. The only consolation here is that you’re with Namjoon, but even the steadiness that simply holding hands provides doesn’t make the discomfort go away. “That’s not good.”

“Come on, you’re not supposed to do that!” Hoseok says through a groan, even going as far so as to stomp his foot on the ground, and you blink down at his shoe in surprise. “You’re supposed not believe any of it and laugh at my suffering and annoy me out of being scared!”

You raise your head to look at him, letting out a bitter chuckle. “That sounds like a lot.”

It’s silent for a moment and he lets out a breath, shoulders relaxing as he sends you an apologetic smile. “Sorry,” he says, his voice so soft that you almost can’t hear it over the sounds of the EMF reader and the spirit box – but your brain seems to have relegated both of those to the background for the time being. “I just– you’re usually the one who thinks straight and finds… non-paranormal reasons for everything.”

You clear your throat and nod, glancing down at your feet before looking up again. “I’m sorry I’m not the sceptical ghost hunter Y/N tonight, then.”

“Hey, what can you do?” Hoseok says with a shrug, fumbling with the EMF reader and turning it off. “You didn’t exactly ask to be transported to a parallel universe and be threatened with death by some ghost.”

“You’re definitely right about that,” you return with a laugh, nodding as Hoseok switches off the spirit box as well. “Now we just need to figure out how to get the hell out of here and we can all go on with our lives,” you add, wrapping an arm around Namjoon without thinking much of it – and you’re immediately reminded of where you are and who you’re supposed to be when you only see eyes widening briefly and gazes averting.

“I take it we’re not dating in your universe?” Namjoon says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck – when you look up at him, you swear you see his cheeks have flushed a faint red colour.

Seokjin laughs, shaking his head as he stuffs some papers in his bag. “No,” he simply answers through a chuckle. “But we should see how you guys’ll fair,” he adds with a grin, looking up at the two of you. You don’t quite know whether you should laugh or not here – but you do it anyway.

“Let’s get out of here before we start planning alternate-universe experiments, alright?” Yoongi interjects, eyes gliding over the group.

Seokjin shrugs. “We could do both.”

Trying to hold back laughter, you scratch the corner of your mouth in an attempt to smooth out your amused smile. “We should see if there are any other ways to get out,” you say after clearing your throat, looking aside at Namjoon. “There should be an emergency exit, shouldn’t there?”

“Oh shit, you’re right!” Namjoon breathes out, a relieved smile washing over his features. “It should be on the other side of the floor, but…” He turns his head this way and that – but suddenly, there are plastic sheets all around you, and you can barely see a few steps ahead.

“There were less of these before, right?” you note warily, taking a step back from Namjoon to inspect one of the sheets closer, poking the one in front of you – it feels real.

“I –” Namjoon pauses. The others seem confused as well, their soft murmurs, shuffling footsteps echoing against the concrete surroundings. Turning your back to them, you tilt your head at one of the sheets reaching out to push it aside – more sheets. “I think so.” His voice sounds further away than it did before, but you don’t pay it much attention, simply stepping forward to check if there are as many sheets behind the next one as you think there are.

And the answer is yes.

“It’s like a maze or something,” you note to the others, turning to look over your shoulder and huffing when you don’t hear any response – but when you push the sheet aside to walk back to them, your heart drops into your stomach.

Everyone’s gone. In their place, there are only more plastic sheets, dirtied and musty, softly swaying back and forth in whatever draft is blowing through the floor. No people, no cameras, no stairs, nothing.

“Namjoon?” you breathe out – silence. The rain has stopped, and so has the thunder, just like the street sounds you can usually hear when you’re working at your desk. There’s just your heart beating in your ears, your breathing starting to grow ragged – the silence feels almost suffocating.

“Namjoon?” you repeat, turning around and around, a feeling of dread tightening around your chest and your lungs, making it hard to breathe. Your surroundings don’t change in the slightest. “Jimin? Seokjin?”

More silence.

“Hoseok!” you shout at the top of your lungs, falling silent right after – but, much like you expected and unlike you were hoping, there is no reply. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you mutter underneath your breath, over and over and over again.

Closing your eyes for a moment, you wrap your arms around your own torso, trying to stop yourself from shivering too much, trying to get yourself together. Your foot is tapping against the concrete floor, blood rushing up to your face, but you try to ignore all of that, focusing on keeping your breathing normal.

Why can’t the fearless, professional ghost-hunting version of you be here instead of you?

You push aside a sheet of plastic, faced with yet another one behind it, then another and another and another. Starting to pick up your pace, all you can do is try to push through the fear closing around your throat, making your muscles tense up, try to channel this other, apparently existent version of yourself right now, to be fearless and sceptical and not afraid of any of these goddamn ghosts. You’ve long lost control of your breathing and you feel like you could trip over your own feet any second now, your legs burning, your heart beating out of your chest.

But when you push aside a last sheet and come to a stop in front of the emergency exit, it momentarily stops beating.

You’ve found it.

It’s right there in front of you. A single door painted a dark green, its glossy varnish shimmering in the soft moonlight – you’d almost say it’s glowing. A green sign with a drawing of a running stick man hangs right above it, flickering frantically. You take a step forward, reaching out to grip the metal doorknob –

You feel a tap on your shoulder. Namjoon?

With a gasp, you whirl around, looking behind you, your eyes scanning your surroundings.

No one.

You let out a slow breath, your heart rate picking up so much that you can hear it beating in your ears. It wasn’t. A. Ghost. Not a ghost. Not. A. Ghost.

Turning back around, a relieved sigh escapes your lips when the emergency exit is still there. You’re gonna open the door and call for the others to come to you until they join you. You’re not leaving this spot, no matter what.

Your hand closes around the doorknob and you take another breath, gripping the cold metal so tightly that your knuckles turn white and its edges dig into your skin.

“Stay.”

The voice sounds so close to your ear that you let out a yelp, hand shooting off the doorknob as you jump a mile in the air. Shivers run down your spine as you recall the sensation of actual breath ghosting over your skin, goosebumps prickling on your arms and legs. Not a ghost. Not a ghost. Not a ghost. Just open the door, wait for the others, and get the hell out and then figure out how to get back to whatever ‘your’ universe is.

“Guys!” you shout out, eyes squeezing closed as you grip the ice cold doorknob once again. “I found the door!”

As expected, there is no response, but you push on. “Guys!” you repeat, slamming the door open, ignoring the shivers running down your spine as breath ghosts over your skin yet again, setting one foot outside and –

You jolt awake.

Inhaling sharply, you sit up, wincing at the shrill sound of a phone ringing in the background. Your back is stiff and your eyes are puffy – you rub them in an attempt to see better, letting out another sigh. Blinking as you lower your hands into your lap, you look around, dazed.

You’re sitting at a colleague’s desk in your office, a thunderstorm raging outside, rain beating against the windows. A flash of lightning illuminates the entire floor in white, and you squint to protect your eyes from the brightness. “What the –”

“Y/N?”

You gasp and your head snaps to the side, seeing Namjoon sitting in the chair right next to you. He’s looking at you with wide eyes and parted lips, his eyebrows furrowed as his gaze darts over your face.

Without another thought, you pull back your sleeve and pinch. You wince but smile when it hurts like a bitch, and you look down to see a red spot start to form on your skin. Ignoring the second red spot right beside it, you look back up again, your smile widening.

“Namjoon,” you breathe out, your shoulders relaxing as you throw your arms around him. He breathes out a relieved laugh, wrapping his arms around you in response, and you close your eyes to focus on his warm embrace. Your heart is beating hard, beating fast, and you can’t help but open your eyes again to look around the office to see if you really could be back. The desks, chairs, carpet, windows – everything looks the same as it always has. There isn’t a speck of dirt that seems out of place, even the weird stain on the wall by the printer looking the exact same. You’re back.

“Is it just me, or did we just have a really weird dream?” Namjoon mutters into your shoulder, his arms staying tight around you.

You breathe out a laugh. “Did it have something to do with ghosts and universe travelling?” you ask, flashes of plastic sheets, concrete floors, bright camera lights running through your mind. They seem real, they feel real – but you’re starting to wonder if they even happened in the first place.

“I –” Namjoon pauses, letting out a disbelieving breath as you break apart, leaning back in your chairs and staring off into the distance. “It did.”

You lift your eyes to his, holding his gaze for a prolonged moment. It wasn’t real, right? “Just... a weirdly similar dream, then,” you mumble, saying it more to yourself than to Namjoon – and even though the both of you seem to want to believe it, you aren’t exactly convinced.

“But how did we –”

“We fell asleep and our brains just synced up somehow,” you insist, shaking your head. “Just a dream,” you repeat firmly, though your eyes flicker to the two red spots on your arm and you wonder...

Namjoon stares at you for a little while longer. His eyebrows are furrowed and he’s fidgeting with his fingers, though he’s nodding slowly.

A phone continues to ring in the background, its shrill sound cutting through the soft pitter-patter of the rain outside. The thunder has ceased for the time being and so, the office feels much calmer and more peaceful than before you left – or, at least, you think you left. But you’re not so sure of anything right now.

Abruptly tearing his eyes away from you, Namjoon jumps into action and swipes his phone off his desk, clearing his throat when he looks at the screen – you swear you see his cheeks flushing as he purses his lips. Before you can ask him about it, though, he quickly slips his phone into his pocket.

“Let’s just go home before we fall asleep again,” he says with a soft smile, getting up from his chair and holding out his hand.

You grin up at him, lacing his fingers with yours and letting him pull you up. “Or are we just trying again?”

He narrows his eyes at you, though he can’t help but laugh, shaking his head as he quickly hits the off-button of his computer. “Too soon,” he says with a chuckle, snatching his bag from the ground and slinging it over his shoulder.

A short silence falls as you walk away from his desk, and you look down at your hands as you trail behind him, watching the way you can make his fingers move with yours, feeling the way his hand slots into yours so easily, and smiling softly.

“But let’s take the stairs, just to be sure.”

With a laugh, you nod eagerly, following him as he strays from the path towards the elevators and heading for the stairs down instead. You feel yourself growing tired, exhaustion starting to take over you. The memories of a shaking elevator, footsteps echoing through an empty office floor, your heart pounding out of your chest – they’re all starting to feel less and less real with every step you take. Names and faces start to fade from memory, images growing blurry until there’s nothing left but the sensation of breath softly ghosting over your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Hey,” Namjoon pipes up as you take the umpteenth set of stairs down, the both of you panting, out of breath, though not complaining.

You look up at him, eyebrows raised. “Hm?”

Frowning, you notice the way he bites his lip as he looks at you, then quickly averts his eyes, stopping in the middle of a set of stairs. “I know it was just a dream and everything,” he starts, and you stop on the step right above his. “But I’m curious.”

A smile teasing over your lips, you take another step down, taking his hand in yours. “Curious about what?”

“How did you get out?”

“Emergency exit, like we said,” you reply. Yet another shiver runs down your spine as you feel the sensation of breath tickling your skin, goosebumps spreading over your arms and legs. “I wanted to call you guys, but you were gone and –” You heave a sigh, looking down at your hands as you play with Namjoon’s fingers. “I woke up before I could find you.”

Namjoon hums, and you lift your eyes to look at him, noticing the way his frown is deepening, the way he’s chewing on his bottom lip.

You tilt your head, letting go of his hand to run your fingers through his soft hair. “Why?”

He lets out a slow breath, his eyes closed as he smiles. “Nothing. Just curious,” he mutters, quickly leaning in to peck your lips and pull you further down the stairs. The door to the lobby is already in sight, freedom lurking on the other side. “Anyways, I hope this weird dream doesn’t overshadow tonight too much.”

You raise your eyebrows at him as he opens the door for you, letting you step outside. “What’s tonight?” you ask slowly, tilting your head. You walk backwards into the lobby, keeping your eyes on him as your footsteps echo off the shiny white floors. It’s not as brightly lit as usual, which makes you frown – the lights are dimmed instead tonight. “Did I miss an anniversary?”

Namjoon just smiles at you, nodding to something behind you. With a frown, you turn around, and your heart skips yet another beat as you draw in a sharp breath – rose petals rain down on you, courtesy of Jimin, who is standing a few feet away from you with a bright smile on his face. He’s dressed in his usual office clothes, and you suddenly realise why he stayed late with you, as well. On the floor, candles are carefully arranged into the shape of a heart, and the shape almost seems to glow right in front of you.

Are you still dreaming?

“Namjoon, what –”

You swallow your words when you turn around and Namjoon isn’t at eye height anymore. Rather, he has sunk to the floor on one knee, holding open a small, black box with a ring inside.

Holy shit.

You pinch yourself for the third time tonight, blinking fast in an attempt to get rid of the burning feeling in your eyes. Hurts like hell – you’re not dreaming. And all you can think as you look at Namjoon, his eyes glittering in the low lighting as he smiles up at you is – you’re so fucking glad you live in this universe.

“Will you marry me?”

bangtan unsolved | only you | masterlist

a/n: thanks so much for reading, I hope you liked it!! I know it’s a bit different from my usual stuff but I still had a great time writing it, and I hope you enjoyed it too :)) Let me know what you thought, I’d love to hear from you♥ Have a wonderful day/night wherever you are, and I hope to see you next week :))

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hopeyouweretheretoo · 5 years

Text

U2 - Sydney - 11/22/19

Pics --> https://www.flickr.com/photos/15363256@N08/albums/72157711891076158

I just wrote up this entire show and Tumblr crashed and the fucking thing is gone. I’ll rewrite it when I am slightly more rested and less pissed off about it.

UPDATE:

I’m back home now – I don’t know what day it is, but here we go.

To start – like a lot of folks in the audience in Sydney (and elsewhere), INXS was a big part of my life. The X tour was my first real rock show as a teenager, not even old enough to drive, and it set the bar. I loved that band, and Michael was amazing to watch – every night he had 20,000+ people in the palm of his hand…all at the same time. He induced a reaction from the female sector of the audience that I can tell you I have rarely experienced at a show. Beyond that the music was great and we all shook our asses the whole show. I know how I felt when he died, and so I can only imagine how his friends and family felt. Actually – I can’t. And I hate how it all happened. It was a circus. I remember emailing my sympathies to Martha Troup and, to my shock, her writing me back and sending me an old pass from the X tour. I still have it and it’s hanging in my music room, along with the pick Kirk flicked at my forehead with stunning accuracy during the WTWYA tour. So to say that I was impacted by the references to Michael at this show is an understatement. More so than the inevitable “Stuck In A Moment,” I barely kept it together during the end of Bad (it returned to the setlist with gusto, eh?) when we lit it up and Bono went downstairs into the cellar and dug up the 1990s soul in his voice that infused Rattle and Hum. That hint of a bluesy growl as he wove in “Never Tear Us Apart” was epic. And I don’t use that word. It was a fucking revival. For weeks we knew they would do something, but THAT was organic. They’d been weaving in Devil inside, and playing INXS songs before and after the show. But the tribute with the visuals was very sweet. Those sort of things can become caricatures of themselves, but it was tastefully done. I know I never knew him, or anyone in that band. But I know how their music and live shows made me feel. And when you can have a shitty day and throw on your favorite record, and in 20 minutes you feel better, you can’t put a price tag that. I’m eternally grateful to the artists that bravely share with us, sometimes at the expense of themselves. Right now some guy on the other side of the earth is listening to an INXS record…or a U2 record…and getting through the day. And they will never know. …and that’s totally ok. We have all been that person, and it’s the magic of music.

Other bits:

- It rained. Finally. Sydney has been on fire and the first morning I was there my hotel smelled like a fire pit. It’s so horrible. But the late afternoon thunderstorms gave me time after dinner to pop over to the hard rock and see the “Mystify” lyrics and INXS guitar. Got in to SCG just before Noel and found a rail spot on Edge’s side just behind Red Zone. I could finally see the Tree stage, but I felt a little far away from the happenings so the next night I was back on Adam’s side.

- Fucking Noel Gallagher. The guy is an international treasure. He is absolutely hilarious and his band is great. Poor dude was getting rained on but was a trooper.

- This time I was the one who almost got in a fight with a drunk dude behind us spilling beer all over everyone. You can take the girl outta the south side….Fucking hell, can ANYONE drink in public without turning into a complete asshole?

- Bono invited his doppelganger circa 90s up onstage, only to have the wildly incompetent SCG security bum rush the stage thinking he was some how attacking the band. ???? I was literally screaming “HE TOLD HIM TO GO UP THERE. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU???” So then U2’s people go up there, poor Bono is trying to explain the whole thing without it turning into a fiasco mid-song. Too late. But it all seemed to end well, and if I were U2 I would have had a long fucking talk with the fine folks at SCG, and my first question would be, “What is your reason for clearly NOT paying attention to what is going on at the show?” Because if they had been doing their job to begin with they would have seen EXACTLY what was happening up there. The next night security couldn’t have given two shits – we had to call over U2’s folks because a drunk guy was being obnoxious. SCG did NOTHING. One extreme or another I guess.

- Rest of the show was just fun and business as usual. Good crowd singing, I thought. Went back to the same old banter pretty much during the “Irish Inventions” part of the show. They seemed less playful than Adelaide – I am guessing in part because all eyes seemed to be on the Sydney shows. Especially this first one.

- The stadium is in the middle of nowhere and there is no good or easy way to get in or out. Followed the crowd toward the city until I found a bar open until 2am. But all around a great night.

#U2 #adam clayton #the edge #bono #australia #joshua tree #november 22 2019

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blessed-but-distressed · 5 years

Text

#FindEmmaSwanAFriend

Feeling left behind by her more successful, settled friends, Emma Swan moves to Scotland on a whim. Sure, she’s winning at Instagram, but something is still missing from her new life. Fortunately, her friends back home are on it. #FindEmmaSwanAFriend goes viral. Enter Killian Jones, reluctant columnist, who is on the hunt for his newest subject, and may just have found her. CS AU

***

also on ff.net and ao3

***

Tagging: @katie-dub , @wholockgal , @kat2609 , @whovianlunatic, @optomisticgirl, @ladyciaramiggles, @the-lady-of-misthaven, @emmaswanchoosesyou, @ilovemesomekillianjones, @biancaros3, @cigarettes-and-scotch-whisky, @ms-babs-gordon @ab-normality, @andiirivera, @fangirl-till-it-hurts, @onceuponaprincessworld , @natascha-remi-ronin, @kiwistreetswan and whoever else asks me.

***

A/N: Part 1 of 2. We’ll get there when we get there.

***

Emma

It had been building for weeks. Months, really.

It began with a series of fences up on the Castle Esplanade, robbing the selfie-stick set of their outlook towards Arthur’s Seat. Before long it became a full-blown construction site, scaffolds looming up on either side of the tarmac like a bad omen.

Then came the anti-terrorist bollards on the Mile, at once ugly and terrifying in their design. By the time the placards went up at the tail end of July, you could feel it in the air, like an encroaching thunderstorm.

August.

For as long as she’d lived in Edinburgh, Emma had heard the war stories.

A bloody nightmare, was how Killian had once phrased it. Imagine, if you will, if every insufferable wanker in London with even the slightest dramatic inclination took it upon himself-

Or herself, Tink had interrupted.

Or herself, he’d amended, with a roll of his eyes, to decamp 400 miles up the East Coast line, en masse. And not just for a weekend, either. An entire month. And then imagine they proceed to spend that time putting on dodgy comedy shows, getting pissed as newts, and trying to get off with each other.

Don’t forget the inflated prices, Will had cut in.

The traffic, Tink lamented.

Hipsters with posh accents taking up all the seats in your local, Will added mournfully.

The flyers, Killian sighed. At that, the other two groaned.

So it’s busy? Emma had asked.

Aye, Swan, Killian had replied, a weary glint in his eye. It’s busy.

***

It wasn’t that she didn’t believe them, exactly. She’d seen the crowds at Christmastime, swelling up around the markets in Princes Street Gardens. She’d stared the drunken aftermath of Hogmanay in the face, and lived to tell the tale. She knew busy.

The Festival was, well… most days it wasn’t unlike navigating the Battle of Thermopylae. Every major thoroughfare, every centrally located eatery turned into a desperate crush of bodies, all attempting to coexist in too little available space. And there on the periphery the thespians lay in wait, ready to exploit any signs of weakness.

The first few days, she took every flyer on offer. It was the polite thing to do. But as her bag, and the crowds swelled, she was forced to reassess. By week’s end Emma learned to do as the locals did, keeping her head down, headphones in, and her hands stuffed in her pockets at all times.

So when August, the man, promised Emma he could sneak her into the green room at the Book Festival, she took her chance to escape the rabble.

Compared with the madness up on the Mile, the Book Festival in Charlotte’s Square was an oasis of calm. The crowd skewed older, and it showed. They sat drinking up the sun in plastic lawn chairs, whiling away the hours until the next panel or signing with the unhurried air of the newly retired. Yet even as she sipped her overpriced plastic cup of gin, Emma felt content.

It was summer. She was on vacation. And she was one Q & A session away from having her apartment all to herself again.

“Emma!” Her houseguest fell onto the grass beside her, spilling half of his gin in the process.

“You got them?” Emma asked, leaning over to top up his drink with some of hers.

Taking a few surreptitious glances in either direction, August unzipped his jacket, and tossed something into Emma’s lap. “I’m a man of my word.”

Emma wouldn’t go quite that far, but she snatched it up anyway. It was a sweater, pale blue with a prominent STAFF designation across the back. Her ticket into the green room. “And where did you get that? Did you slip some poor underpaid usher a tenner, or something?”

August just tapped the side of his nose, and smiled his usual mysterious smile.

Tamping down her urge to kick him, Emma sighed and pulled the sweater over her head. It was a little big on her, but not comically so. She rolled up the sleeves, and waved a little to get August’s attention.

“What do you think? Do I look like I’d volunteer at a Book Festival?”

“No,” he replied, without looking at her. “And I think your columnist just came out of the Zadie Smith signing. Kevin?”

She squinted against the sun, to where the crowd was pouring out from the Signing Tent. Sure enough, there was a familiar monochromatic figure loping his way across the square. It’d been more than a month since she’d seen him, but if the signature walk hadn’t given him away, the outfit would’ve. Who else would insist on black leather in the middle of summer?

“Killian,” Emma corrected automatically, already regretting rising to the bait.

August knew full well who Killian was. He’d Facebook stalked him the same as Ruby had. He read his columns religiously, picking them apart in their group chat with the zeal of a literature major on Adderall. He just liked being a dick.

As they emerged from the throng, Emma saw the petite woman at Killian’s side, matching his stride in impressively tall heels.

How does she walk in those things? Emma wondered to herself. But before she could voice this aloud, August was already on his feet.

“I’m going to go say ‘hi’.” There was a twinkle in his eye, one she didn’t much like the look of.

“August...” Emma gave a low warning, but it was too late. He’d already passed her the last of his drink, and disappeared across the square.

Lord help her.

Downing the last of the gin, Emma straightened her sweater one last time and went after him.

***

August wasn’t famous, exactly. His debut, a semi-autobiographical account of his early twenties backpacking through South East Asia, had made some waves when it first came out. There’d been movie interest. A profile in the New Yorker. Everyone was a sucker for that foster-kid-made-good fairytale.

But when he switched focus to fantasy fiction, his agent jumped ship. Likewise, most of his readership. These days, he was what Emma might charitably call a “midlist author.” Consistent, but not exactly setting the world on fire. Mostly, he survived under the radar, letting the royalties from his successful debut prop up his middling career. But every once in a while, he’d run into a fan in the wild, and things would get... strange.

When Emma finally caught up to August, she came to two sudden realizations;

On closer inspection, the woman with the impressive ability to navigate across grass with spike heels was none other than Belle. Librarian Belle. As in, I-really-like-sad-songs-and-married-a-complete-douchebag Belle.

Belle was staring at August with the kind of gobsmacked, I-just-swallowed-a-goldfish expression that could only mean one thing: She was a fan.

“You know August Booth?” Belle shout-whispered to Killian. The hand clinging tightly to Killian’s bicep might’ve stirred Emma’s interest, if she didn’t think it was all that was keeping the girl upright.

Killian seemed entirely puzzled. “Err… in passing?” He looked from August to Emma, searching for a lifeline.

“You’re a Swords of Storybrooke fan, I take it?” Emma asked, helpfully.

Belle seemed to shake herself a little. “Emma! Hi!” She reached across to give her a one-armed hug, the best she could do with the books still cradled against her chest with her other hand.

“Are you kidding? I’m in love with those books! I have the last line from Good Form tattooed on my-” She trailed off abruptly, cheeks flushing red. “Sorry,” she said, turning again to August. “You must get that all the time.”

“Not as often as I’d like,” he said with a flash of teeth. “Always nice to meet a fan. It was Belle, wasn’t it?” Emma saw the flash of recognition cross his face, as he matched the name with the story. “You’re a friend of Ruby’s, right?”

“Ruby? Ruby Lucas? Uh, yeah. We dated. Sort of. You know her?”

“We go back a ways. Do you like gin, Belle?” he asked, coaxing her closer to the bar. “I heard they’ve got some here that tastes like Earl Grey…”

It took Emma a moment to realize she’d been abandoned. Alone. With Killian Jones. Exactly as August, that slimy son of a bitch, had intended.

To his credit, Killian looked similarly startled, trying and failing to cover it with a casual scratch behind his ear. It was just a small thing, but it killed her.

“Sooo…” he began, never one to leave a silence unfilled, “Been a while…”

5 weeks, not that she was counting.

“Not that I blame you for avoiding me, mind...” he added.

“I wasn’t-” Her first instinct was denial, but she swallowed it back down. He knew her better than that. “Yeah, okay, I was, a bit. Sorry. I just needed…”

“Space,” Killian finished for her.

“Yeah. Space.”

The smile they shared was fragile. Precious. She wanted to tell him she’d meant to call. That she’d had to fight off tears the whole time she’d read through his latest column. She wanted to tell him what it had meant to her.

Instead, she just said the first stupid thing to pop into her head.

“Sorry, I think August just stole your date.”

“Date?” Killian looked back to where Belle and August had disappeared, and it dawned on him. “Belle?” His laugh was incredulous, if Emma was any judge. “Err… no. We just kind of met in the line.”

“To Zadie Smith, right?”

“Aye.” He held up the autographed copy of her latest, before tucking it back under his arm. “Elsa’s a big fan. Her birthday’s coming up, so-”

She felt a prickle of attraction and hated herself for it. Just because he was a good brother-in-law, it didn’t mean she had to let her guard down again. Ted Bundy had probably been a great brother-in-law too.

“She’s coming home soon?” Even as strained as things had been, he’d been unable to keep the implosion of his home life entirely to himself.

“Next week. Let the boys settle back into things before school goes back.”

“And things with her and Liam are…?” She let her words trail off, not wanting to overstep.

“They’re… I don’t know.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “They’re talking now, at least. These long, overwrought transatlantic Skype conversations that I pretend very hard not to overhear. It’s a start, I suppose.”

Emma shrugged in agreement. As thoughtful responses went, it fell short of the mark. But what did she know about fixing a broken marriage? She’d had one functional adult relationship in her entire life, and she hadn’t even made it through the entire proposal before she’d cut and run.

“So you’re working here?” he asked suddenly.

“Huh?” She looked down, confused, only to realize she was still wearing her baby blue STAFF sweater. “Oh, this? No, this is stolen. Or borrowed? You know what? I’m not really sure on the specifics.”

“Oh..kay?” Amusement was definitely winning out over his confusion.

Emma shrugged. “August said he’d sneak me into the Green Room. This is part of my cunning disguise. Pretty convincing, huh?”

“You know they check lanyards at the door, right?”

She didn’t. Fucking August.

“There is, of course, another way in…” He tried for his usual irrepressible swagger, and it rang a bit hollow to Emma’s ears. But he was trying.

“Oh, is there?” she asked , crossing her arms sullenly over her chest.

He nodded, eyes growing brighter as they fell into a more familiar rhythm. “A secret way. Only known to the chosen few…”

Emma shot him a flat look.

With a grin and a flourish, he pulled a lanyard from his pocket, and held it out for her inspection.

It was identical to his in every way, right down to the Saorsa logo stamped on the back.

“Our photographer never made it, so I had a spare. What do you say, Swan? Want to ditch that awful jumper and join the big leagues?”

Emma cocked her head, considering this proposal. ”Would I actually have to take photographs?”

“If you like. But you’d definitely have to hold the camera. Authenticity and all that.”

“And we’d breathe the same air as actual famous authors?” She was kidding, but only a little.

“Breathe the same air, eat the same Chocolate Digestives. We could even talk to a few, if you like.” He shrugged. “That’s kind of why I’m here.”

Somehow, that trumped her original plan of playing the wallflower while August caught up with his cadre of fellow fantasy authors.

She didn’t say anything, but Killian must’ve already intuited her answer, because he gently pulled the lanyard from her grasp, and slipped it over her head with a smirk.

“Congratulations, Dr Swan. You’re now a proud member of the fourth estate.” He held out a hand. “Shall we?”

Emma looked down at the proffered hand and hesitated.

It was just a hand, and it wasn’t. Because here was the truth: Emma had started to trust Killian Jones. Started to lean on him. Confide in him. And even now, after he’d kicked the metaphorical chair out from under her and shown he was capable of being a complete ass when the mood struck, she still wanted to.

It was a hand, but it was also a second chance.

And maybe it made her weak, but Emma reached out and took it.

***

I can’t believe I met a Pulitzer Prize winner! ES

I can. You only made me take twenty pictures of the two of you together. KJ

Funny. ES

Not a hardship, I can assure you. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. It was good to see you, even if only for a wee bit. KJ

Huh. Sincerity. Not sure what to do with that. ES

I’m trying a new thing, where I occasionally let the people in my life know that I actually appreciate their company. KJ

And how’s that working out for you? ES

Will is now convinced I harbour a dreadful crush on him, and Liam asked me if I had a concussion. Soo… I’d call it a work in progress ;-) KJ

Good to see you too. ES

***

August’s Q & A went better than expected, if you didn’t count the guy at the front whose question was more of a diatribe, really, about all the things he would’ve done differently.

There was always one.

But on the whole, the genuine fans outnumbered the assholes, and it took a good two hours to finally extricate August from his adoring masses, after the fact.

He was already flushed, drunk on ego and free booze when he finally emerged from behind a tent flap, and pulled Emma into a lazy hug.

“Where to next, oh tour guide extraordinaire?” he asked with hot gin breath.

Emma grimaced, and held him at arm’s length. “There’s no next. You have a train to catch, remember?”

“Last train for London isn’t for another three hours,” August shrugged. “Still time for a last bit of revelry. Didn’t you promise you’d actually take me to a Fringe show?”

She had, but she’d also counted on August being distracted by his own brilliance long enough for her to welch out of that particular contract. The last thing she felt like doing was wading back into the madness of the Old Town.

“It’s kind of last minute…”

But August already had his phone out, scrolling through the app and Emma knew a lost cause when she saw one.

He looked up suddenly, eyes lit with a tantalizing prospect. “How far’s the Tron?”

***

During the semester, The Tron was a studenty kind of hang out. Plenty of drink specials, and always a free table downstairs. She usually avoided the place, none too eager to bump into her students during their messy nights out. Least of all during hers.

During the Festival, however, it was a very different beast.

Gone were the baby faced clientele, and reasonable prices. It was standing room only, and foreign accents were more common than not. In this crowd, she might’ve been just another festival-goer, at a loose end between shows.

Even with having the push through the late afternoon crowds on the Mound, they still made it with ten minutes to spare before August’s chosen comedian started his set downstairs. She sent him down to save them some seats, and after a lot of pushing, shoving and gratuitous cleavage displays, managed to attract the attention of the nearest bartender.

“Alright, love?” he asked, with little better than a leer.

She ordered a pint for herself, and a tap water for August.

“That’s £10.”

Emma nearly swallowed her tongue. “For a pint? That’s extortion!”

The bartender shrugged, snatching the bill from her hand. “That’s August.”

She turned around, drinks in hand and the crowd surged around her, gunning for her vacated space by the bar. Some of her lager slopped onto the shoes of the guy in front of her, and she was halfway through her apology before she took a look at his face, and froze.

Graham.

Her Graham. Standing in The Tron. And decidedly not somewhere in Northern Ireland, studying the possible ramifications of Brexit on the Irish Border. Contrary to the text he’d sent her two hours ago.

“Emma, hey!” the words were friendly, but there was no disguising the tension in his jaw.

He was not pleased to see her.

And when Emma looked behind him, and saw the dark haired young woman whose hand was clutched tightly in his, she realized why. It wasn’t just the white knuckled hold they had on each other, so they wouldn’t lose each other in the crush.

It was the matching silver wedding bands.

Mother. Fucker.

Emma barely had time to process before she was tipping her overpriced pint down his shirt. All £10 of it.

The crowd of people around them suddenly went deathly quiet, so quiet Emma could hear the rush of her own blood inside her ears. She saw at least one person raise a camera phone.

Graham, himself said nothing. Even as his companion, his wife, stared between the two of them, dumbfounded.

“Sorry,” Emma said, with the least amount of sincerity she could muster. “Really crowded in here, huh?”

The crowd parted for her as she left. Someone even slow clapped. It was all she could do to keep her face level until she was outside on the Mile, already dialing August’s number.

***

August never did end up catching his train that night. Instead they went back to Emma’s flat, and tore through Emma’s entire cache of American candy while bingeing episodes of Bake Off.

It was only around 3am that she finally let him lead her into her bedroom, tucking her in like she was still a kid. Like nothing had changed in the last twenty years.

“You don’t need to say it,” she said, as he settled on top of the covers beside her, both of them staring at the ceiling.

“Say what?” he asked, leaning over to turn off her lamp.

“That my taste in men sucks.”

August snorted, settling back down beside her. “Well, you said it.”

“You’re right,” Emma admitted to the dark. “And you were right about Walsh. I didn’t love him. I just kind of… got used to him. And it’s not the same thing.”

“No,” he agreed. “It’s not.”

She turned over then, so she could see the vague outline of his face in the near darkness. “Have you told Jefferson how you feel, yet?”

They’d never discussed it. Not explicitly. But from the moment August had introduced his editor into their little group, Emma had known. And it didn’t seem to matter that Jefferson was a widower. Or a single father. There was something there, something between them as they traded insults and bickered over line edits. Something more than colleagues, or even friends. Something rare.

The silence was telling, as August regrouped.

“I wrote him a letter, once,” he confessed. “I was going to submit it with my finished manuscript. Right on the last page. But I ripped it up before I could give it to him.”

Now it was Emma’s turn to snort. “We never stood a chance, did we?”

“Some kids get trophies. Foster kids get abandonment issues.” It was a recitation. A line she’d heard before.

They knew the truth of it better than anyone.

#cs ff #cs au #findemmaswanafriend #cs fic

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