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thesmokingguns · 3 years

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WAP Headcanon

Word Count:2726

WARNING: DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18. THANK YOU.

Warning Part Two: There is a lot of sexual content behind the cut. Oral Sex, Sex, Degrading, Exhibitionism, Masturbation, Lots of swearing,

Summar Request:”i was wondering if you could write a motley crue headcannon of them with a fem s/o that got that WAP lol” I listened to WAP 700 times well writing this. I also made a playlist that you can find HERE

A/N: THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO READS MY WRITING! I appreciate you all so much and just wanted to let you know that I appreciate you all sending me requests and talking to me about fandoms. You all make me so happy and I can’t even put into words how much I appreciate the reblogs, likes, and messages you all send me. Thank you!

Tag List: @ayablackwood @littlemisscare-all @thenobodies-inc @agroupiewhore

VINCE

“I could make you bust before I ever meet ya”

-You met Vince well working as a lifeguard the summer before college

-He literally was so obsessed with you that he went to the beach everyday for two weeks until you finally agreed to go out with him.

-Watching you climb up the lifeguard with your little red bath suit cut high so he can stare at your ass bouncing with each step

-He picks you up in his sports car and literally almost falls on his ass when you come out of the house with a sheer white dress and white lingerie on under it.

-Teasing him all night so he feels like he’s going to explode

-Sucking your finger well making eye contact with him

-Reaching out to push his blonde hair away from his face

-Touching him constantly, in innocent ways to build him up

-Complimenting his lips and running your fingers over them and pressing a thumb against his wet lower lip and then licking it and dragging your lower lip down

-The sexual tension is so high Vince thinks he’s going to cum as he drives you home

-Telling him you don’t sleep with men on the first date and not giving him a time for a second date

-”In the food chain, I'm the one that eat ya”

-He sends gifts all the time until you finally agree to go out with him again

-When he picks you up you’re wearing a fur jacket and a pair of high heels.

-”Take me to your house”

-Walking into his house and sliding out of the coat and letting it fall to the floor as you look over your naked shoulder.

-Vince has been with a ton of woman but you’re fucking demanding.

-You spread your legs pulling his blonde hair to your aching pussy pushing him down and watching him eat you like it’s a last meal

-He’s a clean eater, licking and sucking, using only his mouth to suck up your juices and suck your clit

- Keeping your heels on as you lay them over his shoulders laying back on bed

-Kissing your thighs after you cum and licking up your thighs tasting the wetness that leaked over them.

-Putting a condom on using your mouth

-Being on all fours, ass in the air, letting him go deep and hard as he fucks you

-The feeling of your wet pussy leaking over his balls making a slapping sound that is driving him crazy

-Loud and Vocal during sex, telling him how he’s fucking you so good. And Vince is eating it all up. He loves being praised and you’re stroking his ego like your pussy is stroking his cock.

-Switching positions so you can reverse cowgirl

-“If he fuck me and ask, "Whose is it?",When I ride the dick, I'ma spell my name”

-Vince loves watching the way your ass bounces and twirls on the top. He watches the way you pull up, lowering yourself on the tip of his cock and spinning down on his cock like you’re screwing it in tight.

-Skin slapping skin, wet slaps as you ride him, watching your pussy sliding out around his cock

-Telling him you’re going to cum again and Vince moving to fucking you with your legs bent over his shoulder so he can fuck you hard and deep

-Legs shaking, squeezing Vince as you cum around his cock

-Vince would be praising you as you came, so enamored with you and also feeling like he had reached some level of success

-His sweaty forehead pressed into your shoulder as he clings you you emptying inside

-You got what you wanted so you roll out of bed making yourself comfortable as you go take a shower, locking the door so you get your privacy. Completely throwing off this teddy bear of a man who loves cuddling and pillow talk after sex

-Coming out after your shower to a surprised Vince wondering why you were shutting him out after what he thought was great sex

-You tell Vince you’re calling a cab home and he’s surprised but you don’t sleep over guys' houses. But you know what you want, you got it and now it’s time to head home

-Vince is literally left speechless as he watches you put on your coat wondering if he’ll see you again or if he is going to have to keep stalking you at the beach

-“Will I see you again?”

-Shrugging as you get into a cab and giving him a coy smile before shutting the door and leaving.

-Calling him that night and letting him know you’re free tomorrow

MICK

-Everyone jokes that Mick is an old man but dude is seriously Daddy

-Like sugar daddy and gives you daddy dick

- “Pay my tuition just to kiss me”

- Always showering and lavishing you with attention when you meet up

-But whenever you meet up you know he is going to want too hook up in public

-He gets so horny knowing you can get caught and you do little things to make him go crazy

-Like wearing a little collar, that goes to the bondage set he bought, out to brunch with him

-Or when you go out you wear sheer shirts so he can see the outline of your brown nipples

-Sunday Brunch was your weekly meeting with Daddy Mars

-You’re outside, the sun shining on your skin. Sunglasses over your eyes when you feel lips on yours

-Mick is always just looking at you, admiring you.

-You’re wearing this crop top white peasant blouse that ties in the front and a denim skirt

-“I don't cook, I don't clean, But let me tell you how I got this ring”

-You met Mick at a bar one night with your friends. He bought drinks for you all night, and you made him laugh with your witty one liners. He had asked to see you again and that’s how Brunch started. He knew he was older than you but when he met you he had proposed helping you with school fees and you spending Sundays with him.

- Your foot slipped out of the sandal running along the inside of his thigh

-His eyes are dancing, loving how you know what he wants

-As you’re eating the sky is turning dark, warning of a summer rainstorm.

-the sky breaks open after Mick pays and you expect him to take you to the car to have a quickie or go to his house but he’s leading you over to the beach.

-As much as you like to tease him you hadn’t expected for it to rain so your thin shirt is completely translucent against your skin

-“Sit on the wall.”

-He sinks into the sand in front of you, tossing his jacket next to you, rolling up your wet denim skirt. Legs over his legs as he tasted you

-“Make it cream, make me scream,Out in public, make a scene”

-Gripling the concrete wall, he’s in front of you lapping at your clit as his fingers plunge into your wetness. Fingers working you with the same precision he plays a guitar. Curling into your core tapping the g-spot

-Head thrown back, rain water flowing down over you

-“FUCK DADDY!”

-People are driving by wondering what the hell you’re doing out in the rain because they can’t see Mick working better. Your legs are shaking as he holds you in place, fucking your wet pussy with his fingers, toying with your clit witb his tongue.

-“I’m going to cum”

-Mick moved a little, fingers going into overdrive as he spread you further watching as you squirt.

-Kissing your thighs as you try to breathe again after he just dragged out a super strong orgasm from you.

-Wrapping his jacket around you as you go to his car

-He pulls up to your dorms and slips some cash into the jacket pocket.

-“See you next week, baby.”

NIKKI

-“He bought a phone just for pictures, Of this wet-ass pussy (click, click, click)”

-Nikki just bought a new video camera and you’re going to be the star of his film.

-He has you posed, sitting on the floor with knees bent and legs spread naked so he could video you touching yourself

-You’re looking at the camera, not shy as your hand dips lower. You take your fingers in a V splitting your lips to reveal the juicy wetness inside your aching cunt

-Nikki audibly groans seeing the sticky sweetness in a glistening pattern across you

-It’s obvious he wants to touch you but he’s trying to record all of this.

-Holding your lips apart you take a free hand swiping a finger over your wetness and holding it out for Nikki to taste. His mouth is around your fingers in an eager moan as he licks them clean

-The way he licked your fingers just had you wanting more

-You love performing for Nikki and driving him crazy

-Rubbing your wet fingers over your nipples, soft moans that cause him to curse under his breath

-Using your fingers to rub your clit and tugging your nipples well looking at him

-Nikki takes out his cock, stroking it as he’s watching you.

-You open your mouth, tongue coming out as an invitation

-He’s setting down the camera at an angle, gripping your head as his cock slides into your mouth

-”I don't wanna spit, I wanna gulp,I wanna gag, I wanna choke, I want you to touch that lil' dangly thing, That swing in the back of my throat”

-He’s gripping your hair, compliments like “fuck baby” “so good” “take it all” and deep groans of appreciate coming from him. You’re drooling, tongue lapping to stroke every inch of him as he’s holding himself all the way in your throat. You feel your spit sliding out of your mouth, covering his balls as Wet gurgles of pleasure come from you around his cock

-Nikki tilts your chin up, “Eyes on me.” You look up, eyes watering and mascara leaking down your face from not being able to breath but you put on your big eyes good girl act

-“I’m going to paint your face in my cum, Princess.”

- Pulling out of your mouth and shooting his hot cum across your face, licking your lips to taste him as he grunts out as he cums.

-“Stay like that I want a picture”

-Nikki shuts off the video camera and starts taking Polaroids of you covered in his cum, smiling like the little whore you are

-He’s posing you, and giving you a towel to clean your face as he starts taking pictures of you on your hands and knees ass in the air

-“You’re still so wet for me.”

-You get on your back, Nikki covering you with his body, his lips hovering above yours. Your heart beating with anticipation and you whisper out a “Please” the smug smirk of satisfaction is illuminating his face.

-Nikki slides into you, filling you until you’re stretched almost uncomfortably around him

-Deep strokes making you see fucking stars as he holds your hips, letting you wrap your legs around him, and he fucks you

-”Spit in my mouth, look in my eyes”

-Your mouth is hanging open and you go to lick your bottom lip and he spits in your mouth, taking you off guard at the intimacy and

-You’re looking up, open mouthed and horny shocked that he did that.

-“Treating my princess like a whore. “

- You nod your head to let him know you liked it and you’re okay with it. The way your nipples hardened and you squeezed around him gave him the confirmation you were his little whore.

-Your wetness was coating not only you but Nikki’s thigh as it slipped from your body

-You opened your mouth to tell him you were going to cum but it was shut off by his lips slamming into yours. He knew our tell tale signs. Your arms holding onto him, soft mons coming out as you pushed into him, writhing in your orgasm

-”I’m going to fill you up, Princess.”

-Your head was nodding, his lips easing you with kisses he peppered on your skin, the way his pants met your ears before the groan and you knew he had finished.

-You lay on the floor for a moment well you both get your breath back. And then you head to the shower

-Nikki helps you clean up, his hands gentle on your shoulders.

-”You were so wet today, Princess. I guess you like being in front of the camera”

-Just hearing him says that just gets you started all over again and you want him again

Tommy

-”Big D stand for big demeanor”

-Can not keep his hands off of you

-You sit down and he’s either next to you on the couch of he’s behind you reaching ove of his freakishly long arms over to hold your shoulder

-This man loves you and is always ready to go

-At a show, he’s making eyes at you backstage before the show and you know exactly what he wants from you

-Standing next to a table talking to someone you feel his hands on your back squeezing a hip as he leans in to whisper to you, “Come with me”

-He pulls you into a dressing room and everyone knows exactly what you tw are about to do.

-Tommy is quick to pull up your skirt and he’s dropping to his knees in front of you, tugging your panties to the side and pulling a leg over his shoulder

-He loves eating pussy, this man loves sliding his tongue into your pussy, swirling his tongue around to get your taste on his tongue. His fingers pinch your clut rolling it in tiny circles as his tongue fucks you in little thrusts and than laps hungirly

-”Fucking love the taste of you, babe. You’re so sweet.”

-You feel like you’re going to collapse, your thighs are trembling and you want to cum with him inside you

-”Tommy, fuck me. Stop fooling around.”

-Do not need to tell this man twice. Very good listener.

-”I want you to park that big Mack truck, Right in this little garage”

-Tommy has you bent over the couch before you can even realize what is happening, his cock teasing your entrance, sliding the tip in and pulling out. Inch by inch he goes in and comes out until your legs are shaking, needing all of him inside of you.

-He knows there isn’t a lot of time so he’s slamming into you, his bare cock filling you after his teasing and groaning Y/N in appreciation.

-Your pussy squeezes against him, making the drummer curse in surprise

-He’s wrapping your hand around his hair pulling you so your back is arched and he can really slam into you

-Your ass is slapping against him with each thrust and you’re meeting him

-”Fuck babe, you’re so wet. Your thighs are like a fucking slip and slide”

-Tommy is more vocal during sex than you. He’s always praising your body, telling you how hot he thinks you are, telling you exactly what he likes, making little groans of pleasure when you clamp down on his cock, and just really making the whole thing feel good.

-”Stop squeezing me, I’m not going to be able to pull out if your pussy keeps sucking me in.” He warns you as you bounce back against his cock

-Tommy wants you to cum, you can tell he can’t hold on much longer

-His fingers reach around pressing your clit and after a few touches you let go against him, falling forward with a shudder

-Making you cum just gets this man even more fucking excited. He’s pushing deep into you, getting a sweat appear

-He’s pulling out, jerking his cock in fierce needy motions, shooting his load over your ass in white stringy patterns. Slapping your ass playfully

“Quick, jump out 'fore you let it get inside of me “

-After his boner brain goes away and he can think like a normal person again he’s helping you clean up.

-All about aftercare and making sure that you’re okay

“I said, certified freak, Seven days a week, Wet-ass pussy, make that pull out game weak”

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waitimcomingtoo · 4 years

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In Case You Don’t Live Forever

~chapter two rewritten~

Pairing: Peter Parker x Venom!Reader

Synopsis: you are Peters greatest love and Spider-Man’s greatest enemy

Masterlist and Series Masterlist

Moving and finding an apartment can be an incredibly long and stressful process. Unless you’re you, and life likes to throw a lot of curve balls at you for the utter hell of it.

Your dad dropped dead three weeks after you told Andy you were moving to New York. Coincidentally, right in the middle of you trying to find a place to live. He drank himself to death. Figures. You doubted you’d ever had a conversation with him that he was sober enough to remember. His untimely demise was unfortunate for him, because he died or whatever, but very fortunate for you. As his only child, you got his apartment in Queens and all his smelly hoodies.

You said your goodbyes to Andy and Dani after a night out in the streets of San Francisco. You had originally moved there after high school to start your show, The L/n Report. San Francisco was known for its crimes against the homeless population and you wanted to start with a story on that. You ended up interviewing Andy at the police station while investigating a missing person, and dated him for two years. Now, you were spending your last few hours in San Francisco with the very boy you once loved and the very girl he now did.

“Are you all packed?” Dani asked you, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Pretty much. I gotta put my toothbrush and hairbrush in my suitcase in the morning. Other than that, I’m good to go.” You answered her. She smiled fondly at you as she linked her arm through yours.

“Hey, I’m really gonna miss you. More than that guy over there.” You whispered, nodding towards Andy, who had his head buried in his phone. Dani laughed and nodded in agreement as you continued to walk.

“I’m going to miss you too. You’re my best friend here.” She sighed sadly.

“I’m glad we’re friends. Most women in our position would hate each other.” You thought out loud.

“Uh uh. You’re thinking of women in films. It’s 2021, baby. Women support women. You and I are two talented, smart, beautiful women who would never be caught fighting over some boy. Especially not one who can’t take his eyes off his phone for two seconds.” Dani said loudly and smacked Andy’s arm. You laughed at the domestic moment but couldn’t help feeling a pain in your heart knowing he used to be that way with you.

“What, sorry?” Andy looked up. You and Dani looked at him before looking at each other and laughing.

“What’s funny?” He asked, growing annoyed.

“We’re laughing at you babe. Put your phone away. It’s Y/N’s last night here.” Dani scolded playfully. Andy sighed and reluctantly put his phone in his pocket.

“Right, sorry. And it’s not her last night here. She’s coming back. You are coming back, right?” He asked you. You nodded, though you weren’t entirely sure.

“Of course I’ll be back.” You shrugged. “I just want to experience something new for a while. I’ve done a million pieces on homelessness and poverty. I want to see what fresh stories New York has to offer.”

“You’re quoting the Daily Bugle, aren’t you?” Dani teased you.

“That is verbatim what they said to me.” You admitted with a laugh. “But hey, it worked. As of tomorrow, I’m the Daily Bugle’s newest investigative reporter.”

“Who are you reporting on anyway?” Andy showed a rare interest in your work.

“Some guy named Cletus Kasady.” You answered. “He’s some hot shot serial killer down in Queens. No one knows how he’s hiding his victims bodies. Apparently none have ever been close to being found.”

“And they want you to write the story on him?” Andy raised an eyebrow, always with the condescending tone.

“Well they heard about the whole Carlton Drake situation and decided I hadn’t been through enough trauma in my career.” You replied, earning a laugh from Dani but not Andy. You and Andy had already broken up by the time Carlton Drake contracted a symbiote and tried to kill you and Venom. You stopped him before he could hurt anyone and wrote a career defining article on his lethal human experiments. You managed to leave out all information regarding symbiotes from the article, so your secret was still safe. You were a fairly well known reporter since the incident and your next job was waiting for you in New York.

In the morning, You and Venom got on a plane and made your way to New York. Being on a plane with Venom turned out to be the equivalent to traveling with a toddler. You tried to sleep, but every two seconds you had to stop Venom from getting into trouble. She kept trying to open the window, even after you explained to her that everyone on the plane would die horrible death if the window were to open.

“Stop that.” You whispered when you noticed a black tendril creeping towards the window. The lady in the seat next to you shot me a look of confusion. You gave her a fake smile and turned back to the window, doing your best to conceal the small black tendril that was coming out of your body and fidgeting with the airplane window.

“We want it open.” Venom replied telepathically.

“Do you also want us to blow out of the plane and into space?” You said through my teeth.

“We didn’t anticipate that but it’d be appreciated.” Venom answered, making you groan. The rest of the plane ride followed in similar fashion.

Seven hours later, you arrived at the apartment building. You had never been to your dads apartment, you didn’t even know he had one. You wondered what happened to your childhood home as you looked around the place. The apartment wasn’t too small but not too big either. The rent was practically nothing compared to how expensive San Francisco was, and The Daily Bugle offered to cover your expenses until the story was done. You figured after some redecorating and moving in, it would make a fine new home.

The first seven days in the apartment went by smoothly. You unpacked, with little to no help from Venom, and set up the furniture. On the eight day, you sat on the couch, aimlessly flipping through channels in the TV when you had a thought.

“Oh shit.” You said out loud.

“What?” Venom, who was curly nestled around your neck like a neck pillow, asked.

“I forgot mail exists.” You frowned. “We better go check the mailbox before it overflows.”

You and Venom grudgingly walked to the mailboxes and back again. No one was around, so she manifested herself and rested on your shoulder as I looked through the mail.

“Oops. I grabbed someone else’s mail too.” You clicked your tongue when you read a strangers name off the envelope. “I gotta find them.”

“Let’s go.” Venom said and pulled you towards the front door.

“Sorry, babe. This is a me thing, not a we thing. You know I love you but I don’t want to scare our neighbors. Not yet anyway.” You reasoned. Venom grumbled and went back inside your body.

You checked the address of the envelope and discovered that it belonged to the apartment directly across from you.

You knocked on the door and patiently waited for someone to open it as you mindlessly cracked your knuckles. Just as you were about to walk away, the door opened.

“Hi, are you May Parker?” You asked right away. You looked up from the envelope and your face instantly flushed. The person staring back at you definitely wasn’t May Parker. It was a boy around your age, maybe a little younger. He had soft brown eyes and wavy brown hair. It was gelled back loosely and you could see the outline of soft curls. To your surprise, he was just as flushed as you were. You stared at each other for a moment, no one wanting to be the first to blink.

“Yea. I’m May Parker.” The boy said finally. He shut his eyes in embarrassment and shook his head.

“I mean, no I’m not. But that’s my Aunt. May is my Aunt but I’m not May. That’s my Aunt May. I’m her nephew…obviously. Aunt May is my Aunt May. I…what?” He stumbled over his words and somehow turned even redder. His blush reached all the way down his neck, to his blue jumper that read “Midtown Tech” in yellow letters. You recognized the name of one of the most prestigious high schools in New York, already impressed with your new neighbor.

“Well hello, not May Parker. I’m also not May Parker. But I seemed to forget that when I grabbed your mail this morning. Sorry about that.” You said sheepishly as you handed his mail to him. The boy rubbed the back of his neck as he looked at it and attempted to redeem himself.

“It’s not problem. She and I always forget to check the mail so you actually helped us, um, whoever you are.” He smiled weakly. His voice was cute. He had that Queens accent that the people of San Francisco lacked, for obvious reasons.

“Oh, right.” You laughed in embarrassment. “I’m Y/N L/N. I just moved here from San Francisco. I live across the hall.”

You pointed to the door behind you as if he didn’t know what “across the hall” meant. You didn’t know what was wrong with you. You were never this awkward.

His eyes lit up a bit once you told him where you lived.

“Really? I thought that smelly guy lived there.” The boy said and you stifled a laugh.

“That smelly guy was my father. He died a little while ago so I live there now.” You told him, malign the boys eyes widen. They were so brown. Like little pools of honey. Or little pools of the Hudson River. You had seen a million pairs of brown eyes before, but none like his. They were quite distracting to be honest.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I had. I had no idea-“ he began to frantically apologize but you cut him off.

“Don’t worry about it. We never got along. And you��re right, that man stank.” You chuckled. It was the first thing you said that felt like your old self. You hadn’t really talked to anyone since moving to New York, with the exception of Venom and the occasional phone call from Andy or Dani. You liked talking to this boy, though you still had no idea who he was.

“Oh thank God. I thought I screwed this up before it even went anywhere.” He immediately turned red when he heard his own words. You saw the regret in his eyes and decided to throw him a bone.

“Well it certainly can’t go anywhere until you tell me your name.” You flirted. Again, he relaxed. You felt a surge of confidence knowing he wanted this to go well.

“Parker. I’m Parker Peter. I mean, Peter Parker.” He fumbled over his words again, making you smile fondly.

“We like him. He’s cute.” Venom said telepathically. You looked down at my shoes and blushed, knowing you liked him too.

“And he looks delicious.” She added, ruining the moment.

“It’s nice to meet you Peter Parker.” You gave him your best smile. “I’m glad there’s someone my age around here. Everyone I’ve met so far is either an old bitty or a creepy uncle type.” You regretted it as soon as it left your mouth. You didn’t know what his sense of humor was like and he might not find you the slightest but funny. Andy always told you you were bad at telling jokes, and you feared he might be right.

Lucky for you, Peter burst out laughing.

“Ah. I’ve seen you’ve met Henry.” Peter pointed a finger down the hall. “Yeah, I’d stay away from him. He asked me if he could have pictures of my feet once. He said he’d “pay me handsomely” for it too.”

“Damn. So he beat me to asking you.” You pretended to be upset, which made Peter laugh again. The sound of his laugh made your heart pick up speed. You weren’t used to feeling like this. Boys rarely impressed you, Andy was just lucky you liked a man in uniform.

“Yeah. You better stay away from him.” Peter advised.

“It might be hard.” You clicked your tongue. “Our mailboxes are pretty close. I’ll make a mental note to never check my mail while wearing flip flops, though.”

Peter smiled at your joke. He had the kind of smile that you would make the person laugh just to see it again. It was brilliant.

“Well my mailbox should be directly above yours. So don’t worry, I’ll protect you.” He grinned, and you grinned back.

“My hero.” You gushed as you put your hands over your heart. The tips of his ears went pink, like he was shocked that you said that.

“I’m no hero.” He sounded almost panicked, like you touched a nerve or something.

“We’re hungry. We need to eat.” Venom interrupted abruptly, causing you to jump. Since Peter couldn’t hear her, he looked at you strangely, not knowing the cause of your sudden jolt.

“Sorry, I uh, I thought I saw a spider.” You lied.

“If there was a spider, we’d eat it. We need food. Now.” Venom demanded.

Peter looked up at his doorframe for the imaginary spider.

“Yeah, New York is full of them.” Peter said skeptically. “Not that full, though. And some spiders are nice. One might even call them friendly.”

“Right.” You laughed at his strange wording, unaware that you were both keeping a secret.

“Would…” Peter began but trailed off, seemingly mulling something over in his head. “Would you like to eat dinner with my Aunt and I? I remember when we first moved in, it took us a while to get into the swing of things and make dinner every night. If you like, you could join us. And, you know, we could get to know each other.” He offered. It all came out in one breath. You could tell he was nervous and that only drew you in more.

“I’d love to Peter.” You said, and he smiled in relief.

“Great.” He gave an awkward thumbs up. “We usually eat around six so maybe come around then? She’ll be so happy to meet you. She loves cooking and she always tries to get me to learn but I once burnt cereal and I still don’t know how.” Peter began to ramble. He cut himself off and shook his head again. “Sorry. I’m rambling.”

Then, you did something stupid. You put your hand on his arm like the dumb bitch you were. You barely knew this guy. Who the hell were you to touch him? He must’ve been thinking the same thing, since he instantly froze under your touch and stared at your hand on his arm.

“Don’t apologize. I can’t cook either. Unless you count making tater tots as cooking. Then I’m Gordon Ramsey.” You assured him, feeling him relax under your touch.

“You’re just gonna mention tater tots without warning us first? Our mouth is watering. Can we eat Peter?” Venom asked, making your eyes widen.

If it was socially acceptable to scream at your symbiote in public, you would’ve yelled “NO, WE CANNOT EAT PETER” from the top of your lungs. But since you didn’t want to scare Peter and the rest of the neighbors away, you merely smiled and made another mental note to smack the shit out of Venom later.

“I love that man. “Where is the lamb sauce?” Peter mimicked in a bad British accent. He had no right being as charming as he was.

“No no no.” You shook your head. “His best line is “I’ll get you more pumpkin and I’ll ram it right up your ass. Would you like it whole or diced?”. He’s said some pretty wild things but that one makes me cry.”

Peters laugh rang through the halls. To be the cause of that laugh was a feeling like no other. You stood there for a while, just looking at each other. His eyes grazed down your body, but not in a crude way. You berated yourself for not dressing better when going to meet the neighbors, clad in nothing but a grey hoodie and some leggings. Peter looked cute, but you had a feeling he always did. His jumper was pretty baggy and you could see a collared shirt poking out the top. He was dressed almost professionally and you found it incredibly endearing.

You wanted to know more about him. You wanted to know his secrets and his hobbies and what makes him itch. You wanted to see if he dresses this way on weekends too or what his summer clothes looked like. Your gawking was interrupted by Peters phone ringing. He broke out of his trance and answered it quickly.

“Hi, Mr. S. No I’m not busy. I mean, I’m super busy but I can totally make time for you. Yea, Happy talked to me. Okay. Okay. Where? Okay. See you in a bit.” Peter hung up and looked at you apologetically.

“That was my job. I have to run but I’ll be back in time for our dinner. I live at…you know where I live. I’ll see you then. Don’t be late.” Peter called as he ran down the hallway, towards the elevator.

“I won’t. See you later.” You called back.

You went back to your apartment and like a kid, broke out into a happy dance.

“Venom!! Did you see how cute he was?” You gushed. “And how funny he is? I have to get ready for tonight.”

Venom manifested and swirled around my arm.

“Someone has a crush.” Venom smirked. Well, as much of a smirk as she could muster with that huge mouth of hers.

“I don’t have a crush. I just think he’s cute okay?” You replied coyly. “Cute. And funny and sweet and charming and amazing. But that’s it.”

“We can feel your heart beat.” Venom reminded you. “It was going ten miles an hour. What would Andy say?”

You had been rummaging through your closet and stopped in your tracks. With Peters new inhabitance in your mind, you had forgotten all about Andy. You moved to New York to avoid his wedding and his moving on, and you might’ve succeeded.

“I don’t care what he’d say.” You decided. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“But we want him to be.” Venom insisted. “We want him back, remember?”

“I don’t know what I want.” You answered honestly. “I just want to get ready for tonight.”

“Why are you getting ready now? You have 5 hours until you have to be there and it’s right across the hall.” Venom teased.

“Only 5 hours?” You sighed. “We better get moving.”

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker x venom!reader #venom!reader #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfiction #iron man

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 4 years

Text

mango, m | jjk | 2

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: A love story between bad boy Jeon Jungkook and a strange girl with mango eating obsession.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; mentions of parental abuse and suicide; suggestive words/actions; alcohol consumption; mentions of nightmares plaguing the reader; non-idol!AU - university!AU; badboy!Jungkook x sociallyawkward!reader, ft bestfriend!Hoseok and friendly!Namjoon

Your head leaned against the wall of the library. Too many books around you, research paper already outlined for you seminar class. That was good. You only needed a partial outline next week and you would finish tweaking the outline tomorrow. You phone was open beside your papers, screen blaring at you.

Jungkook’s text, asking where you were. Your reply.

Library.

No further information. A guy like that probably never stepped foot in a library his entire life.

You closed your eyes. Placed your arms over your papers, sighing softly. You were in one of the study rooms in the upper floors of the library, where all the scientific journals were.

Why had you given him your phone number like that?

Self-destruction.

You turned your head the other way, eyeballs shifting under your closed lids.

Guys like that only cause self-destruction.

Your thumb ran over your glossy nails. You wondered if he would be mad at you for associating yourself with someone who looked dangerous and wild. Maybe he would tell you it was a bad idea. Maybe he could make you see reason. All you had to do was call him and ask for his opinion.

I’m sorry, Hoseok.

You ran your other thumb over the nails on your other hand. The little stickers caused raised bumps, but none of them had peeled off yet. You pressed your thumb down on one of them. At least he was still there, with you in this way.

A soft blackness swallowed you up, taking you into deep slumber.

Then, a coated sweetness pressed against your lips. A familiar taste. You opened your mouth and the thin, flat piece of dried fruit slid partway in. Your teeth stopped it. Spun it slowly with your tongue. Then it went into your mouth. Chewed.

Opened your eyes.

Jeon Jungkook, standing over you.

Holding a pack of dried mango. Eating a piece, his straight white teeth gnawing at it. Pink lips closing around the orange fruit. The mole under his lip danced with movement. His brown eyes were darker due to the harsh fluorescent overhead light. Tan skin glowing, black hair slicked back with too much gel, revealing his clean undercut. Leather blazer over a low-cut black t-shirt. Black jeans. Black backpack far too deflated to be holding much.

“Don’t know how you eat this stuff,” Jungkook said absentmindedly. He sat down on the chair next to you. Scooted closer. You could smell his cologne. Something sharp, but clean. “It’s not bad, but I couldn’t eat packs and packs of it like you.”

You lifted your head. “Habit.”

He nodded. “I noticed you do it whenever I talk to you.”

You chewed slowly.

“I don’t talk to people.”

“Hmm.”

He looked you over. Black turtleneck. Maroon oversized hoodie. Black flared miniskirt. Black opaque tights. Black boots with a ten-centimeter platform.

“What do you do for fun?”

You reached over and stuck your hand into the pack of dried mango. Picked a piece and placed it in your mouth. Sat back in your chair as you chewed on it.

“I don’t have fun.”

Jungkook sucked his teeth. It seemed like he was trying to unstick some candied fruit from them. “You seem like the creative type though. Moody and artistic.”

You shifted your eyes, staring into the bookshelves. “Creation is meaningless without an audience.”

Jungkook scratched his nose. “Maybe you just don’t want anyone to know what you’re thinking.”

You stopped chewing.

You turned your head to face Jungkook. He frowned at the packet of dried mango and placed it on the desk, sliding it to you. Then he noticed you staring at him. His lips curved into a slow, sly smile.

“You doing anything tonight?”

You didn’t go to parties.

Never. In your entire life. Not even a birthday party. You didn’t have birthday parties yourself either.

You only remembered beatings on your birthday.

You stood at the edge of the lawn, looking up at the large house. Too many people. Too much drinking. Too much danger. You reached into the center pocket of your maroon hoodie, pulling out a piece of dried mango. Slowly placing it in between your teeth. Spinning it. A couple was making out on the porch, pressed against the wall. Sucking the dried mango in your mouth. On the other side of the porch, a girl was slapping another guy and tossing the contents of a red plastic cup at him.

Chewed.

You shouldn’t have come. This wasn’t where you belonged.

A strong hand gripped your upper left arm. Familiar fingers. Long, strong ones, with small tattoos.

“How long you been standing out here?”

Alcohol on his breath.

“How much mango you consumed in that time?”

You held out an empty cellophane bag.

“Wow. Impressive.”

You chewed. The fingers let you go. They danced up your shoulder.

“You don’t seem to be bothered when I touch you.”

You swallowed.

“That’s because it’s obvious what you want.”

Jeon Jungkook chuckled. Deep and amused.

“But talking bothers you?”

You exhaled. Took out another piece.

“Words, intentional or not, leave everlasting scars far longer than a meaningless fuck.”

You placed it in between your teeth.

“Do you think it will be meaningless?” His voice was low, treacherous.

You paused. His fingertips balanced on the shoulder of your hoodie. A gust was wind made your black skirt flutter against your thighs. You felt nothing. Not cold, not hot. Nothing but those fingertips balanced on your shoulder. You sucked in the piece of mango and chewed. You could walk away. Not provoke him anymore and not try to walk through that fire.

You could back away and continue on your tightrope, high above.

But if you were already standing on this street, in front of this house, didn’t that mean your feet were already on the asphalt? Weren’t you already on the ground, wandering down that lost highway?

“There is no meaning in the arms of a stranger.”

You reached for your hoodie pocket again but his fingers wrapped around yours. Stopping you. Pulling you to him. Face shining in the moonlight, brows furrowed as he looked down at your face. Thick silver chain glinting at his throat. Dark hair slicked back but falling apart due to the events of the night. Eyes like the dark side of the moon.

He leaned down.

You could feel his breath against yours. Alcoholic, but somehow not unpleasant. It mixed with his sharp, clean cologne and the leather of his jacket. You saw his eyes flicker. He was really staring deeply into your eyes. He was as handsome as everyone said he was. You tilted your head at him.

Guys like him were always looking for a target. A puzzle to solve. The harder and more difficult it was, the better the thrill. That’s how it was and that’s how Jeon Jungkook was. So, you stood there. Waiting for him to do it.

Thing was, Jungkook wasn’t doing anything.

He finally backed off; expression unreadable. You pulled your hand out of his.

“Let’s go on a walk. I have to sober up.”

You looked from the house to him. He cocked his head. You two began to walk, stepping into the moonlight. Not touching each other, but walking side by side. The silence was deafening. He wasn’t speaking to you. Not even looking at you. You placed your earbuds into your ear and put on some violin music.

“What are you listening to?”

You jumped, surprised he noticed. Jungkook tilted his head at you. You handed him one of the Samsung buds. He placed it in his ear, tucking his hair back. Profile illuminated by the moon, nodded slowly at he listened.

And then you two walked, serenaded by violins.

Jungkook texted you and showed up in the library again. You were in the middle of writing your seminar research paper. To be honest, he was a welcome distraction. The scientific articles were giving you a headache.

He handed you a piece of dried mango before speaking.

“Let’s date.”

You blinked at him. Jungkook grabbed a seat and sat down, taking out a slice himself. You placed the piece of dried mango in your mouth and chewed slowly. He watched you the entire time, chewing with you, staring at your lips. You swallowed, sighing.

"Jungkook, you don't want to date me."

He nibbled at another piece of dried mango. "Pretty sure I do."

You took in a deep breath, feeling the annoyance rise in your chest. "Your body is the literal reincarnation of Adonis himself and you radiate bad boy vibes like nobody's business. You would ruin your image by dating the strange girl with a dried mango obsession."

Jungkook chewed slowly. "That's the first time your tone has changed with me."

You froze, realizing that too. Realizing that, for once, you were actually irate instead of being objective or apathetic about it. You were not making an ambiguous comment or philosophizing humanity. You were just stating what you were thinking straight up.

"And, anyway, you're the literal reincarnation of sex goddess Aphrodite herself, so there should be no problem if you're worried about looks."

"That's not..." You cut yourself off, not bothering to correct him. "You can barely see my body."

Jungkook's eyes traveled down to your legs. Your black pantyhose-covered legs, with your short red skirt and black hoodie. He reached out and grabbed your hand. You tried to pull away, but his grip was like iron.

"True, your skin is always covered," he mumbled.

Then Jungkook pressed your hand into his crotch.

Your eyes widened, feeling his semi-hard length in his jeans. He let go of your hand and you recoiled as if burned. Did he really just–?

He gnawed thoughtfully. "And yet every time I hear your voice, that happens to me."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Sexual attraction is not a solid foundation to a relationship."

"It's not," Jungkook agreed, grabbing another piece of dried mango. Then his eyes flickered to you, dark and serious. "I just didn't like how you dismissed my physical attraction to you so easily." He went back to nibbling.

You looked away; ears hot. "In the end, all you want is to boast that you fucked me."

"That was my original intent, yes." You snapped your head back, furrowing your brows. Jungkook inspected the dried fruit, licking some sugar off. Your stomach flipped a little as you watched his pink tongue. "But now I want to take you on dates, hold your hand, and make you eat real meals that aren't only composed of candied mango."

You looked down at your lap. "I'm not a hand-holding kind of girl."

"Then I'll hold your ass."

A muscle in your eyebrow twitched. You glared at him, but he was smiling, popping the mango in his mouth.

"One date. And then we'll see how it goes."

You closed your eyes. Inhaled deeply. You could say no. You could refuse and tell him to leave you alone and never speak to him again. You could and maybe you should. Because once he knew... he would know. You chewed on your lip. Fear was an understatement. And you were afraid because you knew the truth. If there was a flame between you two, the truth would likely snuff it out.

Was that better or worse than you smothering it yourself?

"Before we go on a date," you said quietly but firmly. "I need to show you something."

“Okay. What is it that you have to show me?”

You were standing in Jeon Jungkook’s apartment. Different day, different clothes. He was wearing a loose leather jacket, white shirt, and distressed acid-wash jeans. He stuck his hands in his pockets. Black hair slicked back as usual, sculpted dark brows framing intense brown eyes. Even though he was dressed like a delinquent, his apartment was well-kept and clean. It was one of the student apartment complexes, decently expensive, segregated for men and women. Not that it mattered, since you were obviously standing there right now.

You were wearing your black turtleneck and flared black miniskirt. But instead of your usual opaque pantyhose, you were wearing black thigh-high socks. They made you very uncomfortable and not because Jungkook was staring at the sliver of exposed flesh. To be honest, you couldn’t care less if he was staring or not.

You chewed on you lip, clutching your messenger bag.

You really wondered if you should show Jungkook. Your thumb ran over your nails. Painted royal blue with raindrop crystals. You asked Hoseok to do them for you this time. He was excited to pick a design and style for you. Asked you what it was for and you said you just felt like it.

Hoseok was very happy to hear that.

Jungkook seemed to sense your unease.

“Are you okay?” he asked gently. “Do you want a piece of man–”

You shook your head furiously. Just do it. Do it and maybe he’ll leave you alone. Do it and he’ll understand this is a bad, bad idea.

You took a deep breath and bent at the waist. Then you yanked down both your thigh-highs, all the way to your ankles.

Jungkook gasped sharply.

You stared down at your legs. At the knife scars, mostly on your calves. Some white and thin, but there were a few big dark ones, knotted and twisted from the skin trying to grow back evenly but failing. Your legs were quite pale too. They never saw the sun.

You hated looking at them. They reminded you of why you had nightmares.

“What… happened?”

You didn’t look at him. His normally smooth, suave voice was trembling. Confused.

You sucked in your lips and clicked your tongue.

“My father was not a nice man. I was an only daughter and he was not happy about it. Perhaps he was never happy about life to begin with. He reminded my mother and me about it constantly.” You straightened, still not looking at Jungkook, but no longer wanting to look at yourself either. “He beat us up a lot. At the time, I really thought that was how it was. Men lost their temper sometimes. Happens. What else am I supposed to think?” You shrugged. “But it was always slapping around, the occasional punch. Not that bad, perhaps.”

You had to remember to breathe. Breathe.

“But when I was twelve, thirteen, it got worse. I don’t know if it was because my mom was slowly fighting back or if work became more stressful and he acted out, but the reason doesn’t matter. He simply got worse. Things thrown at us. Years of insults made them cut deeper, harder. He pulled a knife on me, when I was home alone and my mom was at work.”

You had to swallow hard, trying not to go back there. Trying not to get too detailed, because the nightmares already did that for you. You pulled up your sleeves. There were a few unpleasant scars there too, but nowhere near as bad to your legs.

“Anyway,” you continued. “I think he thought I was bleeding out or dead. My mom, feeling that something was off, decided to come home early. I don’t think I would be alive if she hadn’t thought to do that.” You inhaled deeply, pausing for a moment before continuing. “My father took his car and drove to the other side of town. Drove to a deserted area and ended his own life with the knife he cut me up with. I don’t know if it was guilt or fear of being exposed. But it doesn’t matter. I went to the hospital and stayed there for a long, long time. Not because of the cuts or almost bleeding out, but because I had to talk to a lot of psychologists. A lot of counselors.”

You reached into your bag and pulled out the pack of dried mango. “My mom would buy me these. She couldn’t visit often. She had to sell the house and work overseas to pay all the medical bills. Maybe she has a hard time seeing me too.”

You chewed on your lip, shoving it back into your bag.

“I look more like my father, unfortunately. And, even though I understand what has happened to me, I can’t escape it. I see it every day in the mirror. I am reminded all the time. I can’t talk to people unless I’m eating dried mango. It’s a stupid tick, but my therapist told me once that it was better than cocaine, so, whatever, right?”

You chuckled darkly, feeling empty.

“And I have nightmares. They don’t go away. When I take medication, it gets worse, so I don’t try anymore.”

You kept your eyes on the wall, still not looking at him.

“You’re handsome, Jungkook. Handsome, decently smart, could clean up well,” you said, still gnawing on your lip. “I’m not pretty like the other girls you hang around with. I don’t get to wear what I want because I don’t want to be asked what is wrong with my skin. Sometimes, I wake up screaming, remembering everything that happened that night. I eat way too much dried mango and speak like a fucking robot.” You closed your eyes and sucked in a shuddering breath. “I spend a lot of time trying to not feel anything. I’m not okay. You shouldn’t date someone like me.”

Silence.

Ten seconds past.

Then, the creak of leather. You suddenly felt his presence right in front of you. Strong arms wrapped around you, holding you tight. The sharp, clean scent of his cologne, the thinness of the white shirt revealing his toned torso. Well, the reaction wasn’t disgust. Maybe it was pity and that was worse. You did not want a pity fuck.

“At the risk of something insensitive,” Jungkook murmured quietly into your hair. “Your battle scars are really fucking cool.”

… What?

You laughed.

You laughed, because, what? That wasn’t a reaction you expected. Your laugh was raspy and kind of gross, considering you hadn’t laughed like that in years. But you laughed into Jungkook’s chest, laughed because it was ridiculous, laughed because it was a little insensitive, laughed because you didn’t care. No one who knew about your scars ever said anything like that. Everyone else was very serious and solemn, pity in their eyes as you explained.

Jungkook buried his face into your hair. You could feel his smile.

“Your laugh is cute.”

You wheezed, shaking your head a little. “It isn’t. I didn’t even know I could laugh,” you choked out weakly, breathless.

You felt him kiss the top of your head. You froze, a shiver running through you.

“You know,” Jungkook murmured. “I was really nervous in the library when I was asking you out.”

You didn’t reply. Couldn’t breathe, really.

“I found myself continuously eating that mango. I think you rubbed off on me.”

You remembered. And then you realized.

“You only ate one piece though,” he muttered. “It made me even more nervous, honestly. I just kept eating to keep my mind off it.”

Was this… was this the first time you had an entire conversation with Jeon Jungkook without eating mango at one point?

The only person you weren’t like that with was Hoseok, and that was because he was your oldest friend. The only friend who knew it all, who witnessed your bruises and tear-stained cheeks. The only friend who saw you in hospital gowns and did his best to cheer you up. Drawing pictures with you, making bracelets. Telling you that it was going to be okay, that he was going to be your daily dose of sunshine, your hope, never getting discouraged. There weren’t romantic feelings between you two, but there was love, and you were eternally grateful that Hoseok never gave up on you.

Jeon Jungkook?

He was just the annoying kid who kept trying to copy your Chemistry homework.

“You’re… not that bad at Chemistry, are you?”

Jungkook chuckled. “Nah. I always do the homework. I just wanted to annoy you.”

“You are, indeed, very annoying.”

You two stood there, Jungkook hugging you, your thigh-highs at your ankles, clutching your bag. To be honest, you thought it would have been a lot weirder. But somehow, it was kind of nice. You were okay with it.

“Where do you want to go on our date?” Jungkook suddenly piped up.

You spoke into his chest. “We’re still going on a date?”

He hugged you tighter. “Yeah, of course.”

You were pressed against his body, held so close that your ribs felt like they were being crushed.

“Jungkook.”

“Hm?”

“Something is poking me.”

“… Please ignore him. He doesn’t know time and place.”

A few silent seconds passed.

“I mean, maybe you needed some reassurance that I still think you’re fine as hell.”

“He’s getting bigger.”

“I told you to ignore him.”

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x you #jungkook fanfic

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kanerallels · 3 years

Note

OKAY OKAY ROUND TWO OF THIS! Kanera fix it or Kanera and waffles! Whichever works <3

*has no self control* *writes my first fix it* This was hecking fun! I hope you enjoyed it!

Pairing: Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla

Word Count: 2,455

Tags/Warning: rated T (for time travel! *insert Hulk gif here*) and also near death

This wasn’t how Kanan wanted things to end.

He'd wanted more time. He'd wanted to explain things to Hera, to tell her how much she meant to him.

But things had moved too fast for him. Kanan was too late.

He felt the heat of the fire from the fuel pod singing the tips of his fingers, and concentrated on pushing it back with all his strength, his hands shaking slightly and his face twisting with the effort. The fire billowed high above him, but Kanan wasn’t afraid. Just full of regrets.

Behind him, he heard Hera scream his name, her voice full of raw desperation and fear. Kanan knew, without even needing to look, that she would run towards him and she did, her steps barely audible above the roar of the flames.

Turning without looking, Kanan diverted part of his concentration and caught her in her steps, holding her back with the Force. He felt her struggle against the grip, panic and fear pulsing through her.

Slowly, on some instinct he didn’t understand, he turned to face Hera. Maybe it was because of how much he ached to see her. Maybe it was to give her one last glimpse of him. Kanan sensed her desperation, her fear, how much she wanted to reach him.

But he couldn’t let her. There was too much at stake. So with a quick thrust, he sent her flying back to where Ezra was waiting, ready. His apprentice caught hold of her, holding her back. Kanan felt a flicker of gratitude-- he could always count on Ezra.

An odd tingling sensation swept across his eyes, and for a moment he thought he was crying. But crying had been impossible ever since Malachor. Since he’d been blinded.

Even as he thought the word, it was like a cloud was swept away from his eyes, and he could see. Kanan had no idea how, but he accepted it calmly, as he’d accepted his fate.

His gaze locked onto Hera first-- Hera, clad in an orange prisoner’s jumpsuit, a look of complete horror and fear in her eyes, with the slightest hint of surprise and awe as she looked at him. Kanan took her in, drinking in the very sight of her. She was older than she had been when they’d first met, and had only grown more beautiful. And Kanan had only grown more in love with her.

Behind her, holding her back, was Ezra-- Force, Ezra. He was so tall, so grown-up looking. Kanan was well aware he’d only ever pictured the little boy from Lothal, and he felt pride stirring in his heart. Stay safe, kid, he thought. You know what to do. I love you both.

And so he released his hold on the flames and used all his power and strength to send the ship that held Ezra, Sabine, and Hera flying away from the fuel depot. It would be enough. It had to be enough.

They would be safe. And they would keep fighting. Hera always did.

That was Kanan’s last thought before the flames swallowed him.

But it wasn’t his last thought.

Even as the fire swirled around him, he heard a strange whoosh, and the sound of boots impacting on metal, and suddenly the fire was gone. And Kanan was somewhere else entirely.

“Did it work?”

A young male voice came from behind Kanan, stunned but excited.

“Of course it worked, idiot, he’s not dead and we still exist,” said a dry female voice that sounded… bizarrely familiar. Almost like--

Kanan turned towards the sound and someone tackled him to the ground, slapping a hand over his eyes. “Sorry, sorry-- eyes closed,” the young man ordered. “If you look, I’ll tell Hera.”

“What does that even mean?” Kanan demanded-- although it was a fairly compelling argument. Trying to shove the young man off of him, he said “Who are you? What are you doing?”

“Saving you, you dumb--”

The young man cleared his throat loudly, cutting off the woman. “We were sent here to save your life.”

“What?” Kanan’s jaw dropped, surprise flashing through him. “Wha-- no, I was supposed to die. It had to happen, to save Hera and Ezra and Sabine--”

Letting out an exasperated sigh, the woman said, “They’re FINE, trust me. Well, other than the fact they think you’re dead.”

The young man groaned. “Okay, you should probably stop talking now. I’ll handle this.”

“You’re not much more diplomatic than me!”

“Everyone’s more diplomatic than you, Depa.”

“Depa?” Kanan asked, a frown knitting his forehead.

He heard his two rescuers freeze, and a muttered curse. “Yeah,” the young man said cautiously. “That’s her name.”

“That was my master’s name,” Kanan said, his mind racing. There was no way that could be a coincidence. Sure, there were probably other people in the galaxy named Depa, but--

“You can probably stop sitting on him-- he’ll behave,” Depa said dryly. “Right, Jarrus? That means keep your eyes close, and NO PEEKING or I’ll punch you out.”

“You can’t punch him out,” the young man said with a sigh.

“Why, because he’s an old geezer? I’m not afraid to hit an old man.”

Kanan sensed the young man rolling his eyes. “He’s not even that old right now! Okay, I’m gonna let you up-- please keep your eyes closed.”

The young man scrambled off of him, and Kanan slowly rose to his feet, wincing. He’d been burned, he could feel that much-- his hands, the back of his neck and his face especially. But somehow, impossibly, he was alive.

“I-- thank you,” he said. “I don’t know how or why you saved me, but thank you.”

“Someone had to,” Depa said, her voice surprisingly sincere. “And Force knows you needed help.”

“True,” the young man agreed. “But we don’t have all day here-- we need to get you back.”

“Back?” Kanan asked.

“Back to Hera and everyone else,” the young man elaborated. “If you follow us, we can get you out of here and back to them. They should be expecting you. Hopefully. We’re pretty sure Ezra warned them.”

“Reassuring,” Kanan said, keeping his eyes shut. “Which way are we going? And where are we, exactly?”

“This way,” Depa said, giving his shoulder a slight nudge in the right direction. As Kanan started walking, she added, “And we’re in some dumb alternate dimension.”

“It’s a world between worlds,” the young man corrected from ahead of them. “And it was really hard to get here. You wouldn’t believe all the stuff we had to do to get here. But it led us to where you were, which makes it worth it.”

“Why?” Kanan asked, releasing the question he’d been turning over in his mind. “Why did you come to save me? Why you in particular?”

He heard the young man’s footsteps stutter, like he’d paused in his steps. “Oh. Um…”

“Subtle, Jacen,” Depa said sarcastically.

“Jacen?” Kanan felt a grin cross his face. “So that’s your name.”

Jacen let out a sigh. “Nice one, Depa. Look, D-- Kanan. You’re… really important. To a lot of people. And they couldn’t just lose you if there was something that could be done.”

“So we did it,” Depa said matter of factly. “As you do. Oh, we’re here! This is your stop.”

They came to a halt, and Kanan sensed… something. Like a light at the end of a hallway, beckoning him forward. “And this is where I’m supposed to go?” he said warily. “It’s safe?”

“Trust me,” Jacen said. “She’s on the other side. Hera is. Your family is waiting for you.”

Kanan nodded slowly, his mind spinning. Despite the obvious strangeness of this whole thing, the way it had caught him off guard, there were a few things that he had a strange feeling about. Like he was two steps away from putting something together, something incredibly important. “Wait-- before I go through there. Will I be able to see?”

“I-- oh. No,” Depa said, her voice soft, almost shaken. “You never could after Lothal. That was the last time.”

“Then I at least want to see the faces of the pair that saved my life,” Kanan said. “If you’re alright with it.”

“I’m not sure--” Jacen began.

“Oh, shut up and let him,” Depa said, her voice exasperated. “What’s the worst that could happen? Besides, I-- I want him to.”

There was a short pause, then Jacen sighed. “I know. Me, too. Okay, go ahead.”

Kanan’s eyes flicked open. He was in what looked like outer space-- pure black, only broken up by strange white lines outlining paths. And, every now and then, circular doorways. “Huh,” Kanan murmured, his gaze sweeping across the place. And then it landed on the duo standing in front of him, and his eyes widened in surprise.

They were both a couple years younger than him. Jacen was a tall young man, tan-skinned except where it was green, especially along his pointed ears. His long hair, tied back in a ponytail, and scruffy goatee were a deep shade of green, and his eyes were almost an almost disturbingly familiar shade of turquoise.

Depa was a young Twi’lek woman with green skin, pink patches here and there. Her eyes were brown, and widened slightly with shock as they met his. “He really does have your eyes,” she said, her voice stunned.

“Wow,” Kanan breathed, any doubt in his mind swept away. “Are-- are you two-- Wow. Words fail me.”

Depa let out a snort. “Same here. But about that haircut. Mom was right, it really is awful. Worse than the one Jacen gave himself when he was eleven. It was really bad, be glad you didn’t see it.”

Kanan chuckled, then glanced at Jacen. “I-- and you two came here to save me?”

Jacen shrugged. “We wouldn’t exist if we didn’t. Well, I would, but Depa wouldn’t, and that’s a downside. Kinda.”

Depa punched him in the arm, and Jacen let out a yelp, darting away from her as she took another swing at him, and Kanan could only shake his head because of what he was watching. “This is unbelievable.”

“I mean. Not that unbelievable,” Jacen pointed out, a smile crossing his face that Kanan had seen a thousand times in the seat next to his own.

“Wow. You look… just like your mom. Both of you.”

Jacen’s eyes went wide. “R-really? Um. Everyone says I look like… you.”

“That is Hera Syndulla’s smile right there,” Kanan said, and he knew it to his core. “Looks just like hers. But yeah, I can see our resemblance. Well. For now.”

The smile faded off of Jacen’s face, and he said in a low voice, “We can’t stay.”

Nodding, Kanan said, “I know. I should probably get going, too. Just--” he paused, looking at his children for the last time. “I’m proud of you two already.”

“That is so typical of you,” Depa said, rolling her eyes in a completely Hera movement. “Do you have any idea how many kids you’re gonna adopt? Hint-- it’s a lot.”

“No spoilers,” Jacen ordered. “We should go. But before we do--” he turned to Kanan. “When the time comes, tell Ezra that he doesn’t have to be you. He has to be him, and no one else.”

“Oh, and don’t worry,” Depa said breezily. “You’ll find him eventually.”

“Wait, what? What does that mean?” Kanan demanded.

“You’re about to find out,” Depa said with a wink, and that, Kanan knew, she’d gotten from him.

Leaning forward, Jacen said, “She’s your most infuriating child. Yes, more so than the Mandalorian.”

Kanan shook his head, grinning. “I can’t wait for you two to come along. I really can’t.”

Shrugging, Depa said, “You might not have to wait that long. Now get out of here, we’ve all got places to be.”

“Right.” Kanan turned towards the doorway, which was a blank white, and glanced back at his kids one more time. “May the Force be with you,” he told them.

“You always say that,” Jacen said with a slight grin. “See you soon, Dad.”

Kanan nodded, then stepped through the doorway.

Everything was dark as he stumbled out into what was some kind of clearing, or something. But he felt the sunlight on his face, and knew why it was. His eyesight was gone again, and he was okay with that.

A shriek cut through his thoughts, and he jerked his head up as someone shouted his name. “Kanan!”

It was Hera, her voice holding shock and joy and love, and Kanan heard her run towards him. But this time, he was running, too, and felt her slam into him. “You’re here,” she choked out, a sob shaking her body. “Ezra was right. I didn’t think--”

Kanan cut her off with a kiss, pulling her closer as she kissed him back. Breaking away from the kiss, he whispered, “I love you, too.”

Hera let out a shaky laugh. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear those words, love.”

“I-- wait.” Kanan froze. “How long was I gone? How long since the fuel depot?” Panic raced through him.

“Only three months,” Hera assured him, clearly catching his fear. “You’ve missed a lot. There’s some things we should talk about.”

“I bet,” Kanan muttered. “Okay, let’s go talk.”

Hera stepped away from him, but caught hold of his hand so she could lead him. “Right this way, dear.”

Kanan relished the sound of her voice as he walked with her, willing to wait through whatever they had to talk about next.

Well. Almost willing. “There’s… one thing that I have to ask you,” he said. “There was this weird thing that happened while I was gone-- it’s a long story. But something that happened made me think-- it might be stupid, but I just need to ask--”

Cutting him off, Hera said, “Just ask, love.”

“Right.” Taking a quick breath, Kanan asked, “Are you… pregnant?”

He felt her stop in her tracks, shock radiating through her. “I--” Hera paused, then let out a sigh. “I was planning on telling you myself, you know. Not sure I should be thanking your Jedi instincts on this one. But… yes. I’m pregnant.”

Holy. Kriff. “I’m gonna be a dad,” Kanan whispered, the words surreal but beautiful. They were real. I actually saw my kids. Which means-- Jacen.

A smile slipping across his face, he bent down and kissed Hera again. He knew things had to have changed, and he had a lot to catch up on. But he was with the woman he loved, and he had a lifetime to look forward to. They could handle it together.

#kanan jarrus #swr #star wars rebels #hera syndulla #star wars #kanera #kanera is love kanera is life #jacen syndulla #depa jarrus #kanera oc child #swr fan fic #111 followers celebration #this is late but i had to publish it before kanera week. i had to!#but it's also the last celebration fic! go me!#sorry it took so long #kanan lives au #it was dope. the end

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ravenvsfox · 3 years

Text

Things Fall Apart; the Centre Cannot Hold

Summary: He keeps remembering the chafe of Ronan’s shoulder against his ribs as they got oriented in his little bed, the glisten of tears and nightwash wringing his lovely eyes, the lonely twist in his unguarded late-night voice over the phone, the one that Adam had almost liked, because it meant that he was indisputably missed. It was worse, that Ronan had been trying so hard for Adam, because it was easier to tell when he stopped.

(Adam's perspective throughout Mister Impossible, as his worry reaches a fever pitch, and the two versions of himself begin to converge)

Word Count: 9.5k

Warnings: mi spoilers, death/suicide mention

A/N: batshit middle books my beloveds. adam pov or bust 😌

Read on AO3

In high school, Gansey would very occasionally call Adam in the middle of the night.

He would speak low and fast, his panic pinched between thumb and forefinger and held at a respectable distance. Adam would smother the receiver with his palm and step outside of his family trailer, listening hard for movement at his back.

The news was always the same: Ronan Lynch was on his latest rampage or bender, exercising his dark talent for bullying his way into people’s lives and then breaking down all of their windows and doors trying to get out again.

Gansey would fret and apologize, guilty for luring Adam out of his wolf-den, guiltier for neglecting his duties as Ronan’s warden. Adam would wait tiredly on the line for Gansey’s anxiety to exhaust itself, and then dutifully join the search party.

He would step into his beaten tennis shoes and pry his bike from the fence, silencing the silvery shock of metal on metal, and avoiding the reedy whir of the spokes by holding the whole thing aloft until he reached the gravel road.

From there, he would venture out into the abandoned Henrietta streets, the crunch of his tires cutting clean through the woolly midnight silence. He often circled the perimeter of the park nearest Monmouth, stepped through the great dark portal into St. Agnes, and nipped under the old bridge, squinting into the darkness for the challenging shoulders, the oil-slick BMW gleam, the slump of a body or clatter of bottles.

This is a part of Gansey that I admire, he would think. And with equal fervour, this is a part of Gansey that I resent. This blood attachment to Ronan, who was not even attached to himself. The insomnia that seized two heads of the lopsided Cerberus that Adam, Ronan, and Gansey were all part of, a restlessness on either side of him that shook him awake over and over again.

He chased Ronan’s shadow, hating him. Hating his thoughtlessness, his privilege, his chokehold on Gansey’s interests, his purposefully and continuously ruined potential, and yet bristling with anxiety at the idea of finding him bleeding.

They hadn’t known then that he was a dreamer, but they’d felt the ear-popping pressure of his grief, glimpsed the hulking animal of his self-loathing, urged onwards by the twin spurs of Declan and Gansey, the past and the future, digging into his sides.

Adam had seen Ronan, teeth bared, hurling himself at rock bottom, and he had rubbed the sleep from his eyes and pulled him back by the collar.

Things are completely different now, but he still finds himself sleep-raw and petrified, reaching after Ronan in the dark.

He examines himself in the mirror of the communal bathroom in Thayer hall. The overhead lights are an unflattering yellow, the sink has a long dark hair stuck to its basin, and Adam’s face is gaunt and bruised with lack of sleep.

He’s losing it, a little bit.

He takes his own pulse, focusing on the faraway burble of the ley line. Everything, lately, seems far away.

As if through a stranger’s eyes, he slips from the seafoam tiling and bleach tang in Thayer’s North bathroom to the accordion door of the trailer toilet, the creaky cubicle shower, his gawky, hurt reflection in the burnt-out light. This version of Adam had to watch his best friend’s best friend escape suicide watch and get screaming drunk in public, treading mud and malicious dreams all over Monmouth manufacturing.

He can still smell the salt tang from teenaged Adam’s ocean of disdain.

Now that he loves Ronan, his irritation has only gotten sharper, more deadly. Ronan performs each perilous swan dive into the unknown, each foolhardy act of self-sacrifice, as if the people who care about him aren’t gasping spectators. It makes Adam furious.

Perhaps neither of them have changed as much as they wanted to believe. As Gillian keeps advising the crying club—with the confidence of a seasoned psychiatrist—progress isn’t linear.

He keeps remembering the chafe of Ronan’s shoulder against his ribs as they got oriented in his little bed, the glisten of tears and nightwash wringing his lovely eyes, the lonely twist in his unguarded late-night voice over the phone, the one that Adam had almost liked, because it meant that he was indisputably missed. It was worse, that Ronan had been trying so hard for Adam, because it was easier to tell when he stopped.

He slides fingers over his temples, smooths a knuckle over each eyebrow to ease the tension he always carries there. Sleep is a little knot of gristle lodged at the back of his throat; he can’t swallow it and he can’t spit it up. It never used to be this hard to put his problems to bed. He would worry the weight on his chest into small pieces, and go to sleep knowing that even the worst things about his life were organized correctly.

This time though, he’s out of sorts, divided, always busy but always spinning his wheels. He has a white-hot secret pressed to the roof of his mouth.

Every time he folds himself into bed, his subconscious helpfully reminds him that Ronan might be dead. And then a highlight reel plays in his head like an In Memoriam: Adam’s hand cupping Ronan’s nape, a barn silhouetted against a melancholy sky, a fistful of dreamt light, a dozen hard-won smiles and a hundred easy ones, a white handprint on a flushed thigh, a colourful joke to placate a brother, a kiss pressed to a dream’s forehead. All of that—gone. And Adam, at Harvard.

He highlights long patches of text in his sociology textbook, drinks a sensible amount of jack and coke at Eliot’s birthday party, declines Gansey’s calls by sending cheerful and conciliatory texts, and drifts through the library with his hand knotted in the strap of his satchel, looking for something that he can’t really articulate. He reads the same line of theory over and over and over and over, feeling like he’s scrying, like his focus isn’t his own.

He did all of this before Ronan went missing too, but now it’s a whole different class of performance. It used to be, I’m convincingly attentive, I’m sipping overpriced coffee on the way to class like a good Ivy leaguer, I’m making an impression on my professors, I’m forging friendships. Someday I will cash in these relationship tokens, and it all will have been worth it. It felt impossible that his life could be so simple and rewarding.

Now he thinks, I’m studying for finals and my boyfriend is being hunted by people whose job it is to kill him. I’m drinking a latte and the only people I’ve ever loved have left me, and I'm alone again. I’m putting my hand up in class and somewhere, Ronan’s life is changing, rapidly, dangerously, without me.

He lies to everyone, all the time, and tells himself that this life he’s building is more important than anything.

Once, as they cleared placemats and mugs full of stagnant coffee from the kitchen table, Ronan—still cobwebbed in his most recent dream—had detailed the sensation of hovering over himself afterwards. He was unable to manipulate his physical body or even really recognize it as his own, and his consciousness, detached, had its own limbs, its own intentions. He was like a parasite trying to wriggle back into its host.

Whenever Adam consults his double in a bit of glass, he imagines himself as a nimble dreamer, peering down, working to bring a fantasy to life. He can see his own outline, a slick college student with a flat, pleasant affect and a gaggle of soft-shelled friends. He plays his role impeccably well, but he can’t fit himself into it. If he passed himself in the hallway he would not stop.

Looking in the mirror now, he feels a red pang of fear, then a supercut of the ways he used to let himself love and be loved, then resentfulness hot on the heels of his worry.

His reflection withers, and he looks deliberately down at his hands. It’s a Tuesday, and he needs to sleep, or his tightly-scheduled Wednesday will be a misery. It’s a Tuesday, which means he hasn’t spoken to Ronan in—he stalls. Call me, he thinks, miserably. Just call me.

He can deal with a multitude of challenging and improbable situations if only he can see them clearly. Ronan is, for whatever reason, keeping him in the dark.

The not knowing is bad. It’s not how he functions. It’s not how they function. But instead of dwelling, he puts his back into the narrative that is now his reality: Impeccable student. Devoted friend-group. Tough break-up. Bright future.

Ronan isn’t here. Can’t ever be, physically, so far from the ley line. Adam has to be.

“Croissant, as ordered.” His gaze snaps up, connecting—not with his own image, but with clever, horn-rimmed Gillian. “They tried to foist it upon me without butter, if you can imagine that.” She deposits a crinkly brown and tan paper bag in front of him, and then two little plastic pots of butter. Adam regards the squashed shape of the bag’s contents with confusion.

It’s— “Is it Tuesday?”

“Wednesday,” Eliot corrects airily, licking jam from their thumb.

“My god, Adam. Whatever happened to your infallible circadian rhythm?” Fletcher asks. “You are the Swiss timepiece by which we measure our days.”

A terrible wave of vertigo strikes him, and he’s grateful to find himself sitting, at one of two conjoined wrought-iron tables in the courtyard near Thayer. He can feel the ley line breathing for the first time in a long time.

He must have gone to bed after his late-night breakdown in the bathroom. He must have. He hadn’t realized how exhausted he was. His hand strays to his hair. Wet. He’d woken, showered, and met his friends for breakfast, and he can barely remember it.

“Sorry,” he chokes. “Sleep deprivation is catching up to me, I think.”

“Aw, chicken,” Benjy says affectionately. “I’ve sung those end of term blues. The profs think we’re machines. Don’t even get me started on Dr. Fraundberg’s Lit Crit for assholes.”

“Whyever would we?” Eliot says. “We want to make it to class before noon.”

“Har-har. You wound me. Adam you’d better get a tissue ready, I’m about to tear up.”

“Also,” Gillian says, pointing her be-honeyed knife in Eliot’s direction. “Speak for yourself. I want to make it to class never.”

“Your presentation is going to be exceptional,” Fletcher tells her. “Your rough draft already drove me into paroxysms of jealousy. I don’t know why you’re so concerned.”

“I don’t just want to pass,” Gillian says. “I want to win.”

“Admirable,” Benjy sniffs.

“You’re being awfully quiet, Adam,” Eliot says, at length. He’s aware that they’re all trying very hard to act like they don’t notice how poorly composed he is.

“Can’t a man savour his pastry, Eli?” Fletcher rumbles.

“No, that’s fair,” Adam sighs. The four of them peer at him expectantly, eyebrows arranged into an array of benign and non-threatening shapes. “It’s possible I’m having a slight breakdown,” he says, adopting the grim hyperbole of a student for whom finals are the beginning and end of their emotional upset.

Everyone at the twin tables indulges in a bit of mild laughter.

“What a coincidence, so am I!”

“Well if it’s only slight, I’ll stow my concern.”

“Harvard or personal?”

He smiles faintly, and says, “kind of both. The personal is political, or something.”

He thinks he’s laying it on thick, but Gillian grins at him. “'Atta boy.”

Fletcher goes to take a sip of his tea, but chokes when his phone lights up with an incoming text message. “Criminy, is it eight already? Starting the day with a bang, as usual. I’ll meet you at Weld this evening, yes?” he asks, shaking out his tweed jacket and thrusting an arm through it, securing the remains of his bagel between his teeth with his other hand.

“Of course,” Adam says. Fletcher gives him a thumbs up, mouth charmingly stuffed, and sweeps away across the now bustling courtyard.

“Hey magic man,” Eliot says. “Will you do a reading for my sister tonight? The break-up with Margot is hitting her kind of hard. I’m pretty sure she just wants to be told she’ll find love again.”

Adam watches the juddering impact of Benjy kicking Eliot under the table.

He shrugs. “First come first serve, but I’ll give her the friends and family discount.”

“You’re a prince,” Eliot says, blowing him a kiss. Adam tries to imagine any of his friends from Henrietta doing such a thing, and can’t. “Come along Benjy. Bookstore or bust. They’re giving out discount computing textbook codes at sixty dollars a pop.”

A slip of paper for sixty American dollars. Adam’s head aches profoundly.

Gillian waggles her fingers at their friends as they depart, then she turns and fixes Adam with that familiar amateur therapist look.

“What?”

“Are you sleeping?” she asks bluntly.

“I’m a very good sleeper,” Adam says wryly. “Ask anyone.”

“But are you actually doing it?”

“Yes, Gillian.” Liar, liar. “Do you want me to keep a dream journal as evidence?”

“Oh, yes please.” That shark’s grin. “I’d pay to know what the fuck is going on up there.” She taps her own temple to indicate Adam's guarded mind.

He spreads his hands between them. “I’m an open book.”

She hums, only half-smiling now. “I dunno. That Southern charm. I’m never quite sure if I should trust a politeness that perfect.”

“On that note,” Adam says, standing. He’s relieved to find that he’s wearing matching socks, and his pant legs are rolled just so. There’s a tiny streak of yellow on one of his shoes, and with a jolt he realizes that it’s dream-crab guts. He presses on. “Thanks for the croissant. And the psychoanalysis. Send me the bill.”

She salutes him with her coffee cup. “You couldn’t afford me.”

He laughs, and turns, and then spends the whole walk to his 9 AM class trying to straighten all of the haywire compasses in his brain so they point due north.

His assignment is in his bag, pressed neatly into a navy blue folder. He has three classes today, a meeting with his supervisor at three, a study block set aside from four to six, then dinner, then tarot readings all evening—his phone rings. His treacherous heart leaps. Ronan.

He stops mid-stride, scrambling for his cell in the front pocket of his bag.

“Hello?”

“I—oh—Adam! I didn’t expect you to pick up. How on Earth are you?”

“Gansey.” He exhales through his nose. “I’m just on my way to class.”

“Fantastic to hear your voice. How’s—not that one, Jane, the I-90—exactly. How’s Harvard? Are you batting away job offers yet?”

“Constantly. How are your nature hikes and hippie communes? Contracted any backwoods diseases yet?”

“Charming. I’m actually in remarkably fine form, health-wise.”

“Is that a brag?”

A guffaw. “More of a curiosity. It’s actually part of the reason I’ve been trying to get in touch. Have you noticed any surges of power from the ley line lately? I mean, of course you have, but do you have any idea what’s causing them?”

He frowns, pinning his cellphone between his good ear and shoulder as he heaves open the ancient door to the physics building. “I could give you my best guess.”

A beat, and then, “I’m listening, Parrish.” Something about the way he says it makes homesickness pulse painfully in Adam’s chest.

He finds a semi-secluded stone slab bench behind an empty stairwell, and slings his belongings across it before he replies, “Dreamers.”

“Dreamers,” Gansey repeats, but it sounds like he’s saying of course! “Plural?”

“At least three.”

“Doing what?”

“I’m not one hundred percent sure yet.”

“Ronan hasn’t spoken to you,” Gansey guesses.

“Not—in a few days.”

“Is everything alright?”

He swallows, and is horrified to find tears burning at the back of his throat. There’s no pretending with Gansey. It’s why he never calls him.

“Adam,” he says quietly. “Is he in trouble?”

He struggles with his composure for several long seconds. “Possibly.”

A world-weary sigh. “I really wish you had called.”

“Yeah, well,” he says vaguely. He checks his watch. 8:23.

“So he’s playing with others. Why would Ronan want to do that?”

“I think—he’ll do anything not to feel powerless.” He understands as soon as he says it that it’s the pockmark in the windshield from which all of the damage is splintering outwards. “And people take advantage of that.”

Gansey makes a thoughtful noise, somewhere a thousand miles away, and it clicks in a lock and opens Adam’s shoulders up. Maybe he doesn’t have to be alone in this fight. How could he have forgotten careful, persistent Gansey?

“Well. He’s certainly not powerless. I almost feel back to my pre-Cabeswater self. Everything is pleasantly linear. And Blue is—lighting up.” In the background, he hears her say supercharged with relish. “I can only imagine what it’s like for full-blooded dream stuff, with all of that energy at their disposal.”

“I don’t know if I like it,” Adam says carefully. “It’s good for a while, helping all the Matthew’s of the world, and then what? Where does all of that diverted power end up? What makes dreamers qualified to harness it without their worst nightmares manifesting?”

“You’re worried about the Lace.”

The last time they spoke, Adam had told them briefly about his last scrying session, warning them to look out for the hateful, faceless thing that had pierced his cells and magnified all of his pain and fear until all he could possibly do was scream.

“I’m worried about Ronan. I know he’s in over his head, and I know he won’t believe it until it’s too late.”

“Sounds like someone I know. Don’t bite off more than you can chew with this, Adam. I know you’re enormously busy.”

It stings, a little. “I’m still going to—I’m obviously still going to make time for him. Especially when he’s—“

“Struggling. Yes. I understand perfectly.” It occurs to Adam that, unlike his well-meaning Harvard friends, he actually might. A needling murmur in the background, and then, “listen, Blue’s telling me that you should get in touch with the psychics, and Mr. Gray.”

He nods. The rhythm of problem-solving is soothing his frazzled nerves. “I’ve been considering it. I’m also pretty sure that Declan has been keeping his own tabs on things.”

“My money’s on yes,” Gansey says. Adam half-smiles. His money has been on a lot of things. “Poke around when you can. See what turns up. I’ll give Ronan a call, not that it’s ever done me much good before.”

“I’m pretty sure he ditched his phone.” He checks his watch. 8:24. It feels like it’s been much, much longer than a minute. There is so much day ahead of him.

Ordinarily, he would be compartmentalizing better than this. No feverish Gansey phone calls directly before class. No pleasure with his business. No finesse when logic will do the job just as well. But the subterranean, black-eyed Adam is still within him, tethered to the ley line and to his friends, and he wants very badly to fix this.

“Ah, Ronan,” Gansey sighs. “It’s always got to be him, doesn’t it?”

“I know,” Adam says narrowly. “If he’s not looking for trouble it’s looking for him.”

“You sound like Declan.”

Adam makes an offended noise in the back of his throat. Blue must be leaning across Gansey, because she says “that’s a new low,” almost directly into the receiver.

“I’m hanging up now,” he says flatly.

“Update me if anything changes? We’ll come home the moment things go south.”

He resists the urge to check his watch again. “Don’t cut things short on my account.”

“Well. Don’t disrupt your studies on Ronan’s. I’ve never known you to put your future on hold for anything.”

“I’m not—“ he stops. “Ronan is a part of my future.”

“Good,” Gansey says warmly. A test, then. And like most tests, there was never even a possibility that Adam wouldn’t pass.

______

It’s easy to tell when a dreamer is suffering.

As the energy from the ley line ebbs, dreamt creations judder and bolt like horses loosed suddenly from the service of a carriage, galloping towards safer pastures. If the dreamer is in more immediate peril, the dream simply folds its limbs into an agreeable shape and passes into sleep.

In the wee hours of Thursday morning, Adam lies awake in bed, dangling his hand between the wall and his bed frame, feeling along the subtle unfilled crack in the plaster. A flagpole casualty, from the day that everything stopped being enough for Ronan, and he slipped away on a dreamt current like a dark Ophelia.

He’s being dramatic.

He feels the drywall flaking, and digs his thumbnail into the split, wanting to rip the whole wall open with his fingers.

He keeps picturing Matthew’s half-lidded eyes, cloudless and blue as a wide prairie sky. The slouch of his posture, the tarnished golden head, the body briefly without a pilot.

Matthew had looked—Adam turns in bed, taking his chalky hand from the wall and fisting it in the sheets. He had looked like a faded old pillow, tucked unobtrusively into the chair by the window. He wouldn’t respond to Declan’s call, fluttering his drowsy lashes, and Adam had thought, ah. This is how I find out. His heart slumped over in his chest, dizzy with sudden grief. The tarot cards in his hands were dead leaves.

This is what happens when your life is tied to my brother’s, Declan had said, diverting his horror into scorn as he often did. The death of any one member of his family ensured the destruction of another. It had always been that way.

Matthew eventually roused, and Adam had closed his eyes and turned his face towards the ceiling until he could be normal again. He felt suddenly foolish for peddling lies to college students when magic was so obviously in the room with him.

Earlier, he had called Maura over lunch, and she vaulted right over small talk to ask him, with concern, about his loosening grip on his psychic inclinations. She’d said, “You do know that the ley line isn’t the source of your problems, right? Give yourself some credit. You can fuck things up in a completely non-mystical way.”

She pulled the Magician, reversed, and the eight of wands, and then, without further comment, passed the phone to Mr. Gray.

Unexplained weaponry, he’d reported. The Lynch brothers loosed on two separate worlds at the same time. Buttoned-up Declan for the first time unbuttoned, schmoozing with an array of dangerous and connected people, trading in secrets just as his father had. Purposeless Ronan for the first time with a purpose, wading out from the murky waters of his dreamspace and bringing the tides with him.

Bryde, the name in the corner of everyone’s mouth, joined all at once by Ronan’s and Hennessy’s.

Renegades, liberators of dreams, scorchers of earth. He could see, easily, why this would appeal to Ronan. A mission, finally. A father figure to guide his hand. A world that wanted his dreams, and wouldn’t crumple under the weight of his unusual ambition.

When they were teenagers, Aglionby was just another one of Adam’s jobs, but it was one of Ronan’s nightmares. He would go to school, a hooded bird of prey, seething with resentment and squandered ability. He longed for the Barns because of what they represented: the childlike belief that his family would never die; the possibility for creatures like him to roam free; a landscape powered by unconditional love.

Bryde, Adam knows, must be offering him the same relief. Exquisite flight, after the cage.

It’s not possible, is the thing. It’s a pipe dream. A Niall Lynch fairytale.

Foresight has never been Ronan’s strong suit. He gets it into his head that a solution is right up until the point that it falls apart in his hands. He throws himself entirely into belief. It makes him an extraordinarily loyal and trusting person. It also makes him stubborn, rash, and susceptible to manipulation.

He believes in one facet of something, and the rest follows. He can’t just take a sip—he downs the bottle.

Adam is a boy on a bicycle in November, needing to find Ronan alive so that he can hate him without feeling guilty about it. He never stops oscillating between resentment and love, reality and unreality, understanding and disappointment. He wants to be normal so that he can choose to be abnormal. Sometimes he wants the cards without the magic.

He closes his eyes and remembers a slumbering mouse against an angular cheek. He imagines Matthew like that, perpetually immobile, perpetually innocent, like a taxidermied puppy. The pieces of Ronan’s consciousness that will linger after his death, statues in a graveyard. Tamquam—tamquam—

What would Ronan be without his dreams? Here, Adam thinks. He’d be here.

He stays in bed for another wasted hour, and then stands up, disoriented, in the dimness of the room. Fletcher is snoring softly. Someone outside their cracked window is shuffling over the concrete stoop. His upstairs neighbour is playing tinkling soundtracks while he sleeps. Adam can’t be here anymore.

He plucks Fletcher’s laptop silently from its charging station, tucks his bare feet into stiff leather shoes, drags the cardigan from his desk chair, and lets himself out into the hallway. The glare from the overhead light pins him against the wall for a moment.

He shuffles half-blind down the hall and upstairs to the solarium, nearly losing one of his unlaced shoes in the stairwell in the process. The lights are blessedly shut off up in the attic, and he feels his way to the nearest of the tables hunched in the shadows. Aching with fatigue, he sits, unfolds his stolen laptop, and gets quietly to work.

He’s never had the time nor means to be truly proficient with technology, but he extracted a handful of leads from Mr. Gray, and he’s been in touch with a friend of Benjy’s—a computer science grad student and hacking hobbyist.

He chases key phrases down rabbit holes and assembles news articles, tracking Ronan’s movement by his “unexplainable” signature (code for mind-fuckery, joyful innovation, and dark humour). Adam is a practiced note-taker and serial obsesser, so it’s barely a strain to find Ronan—whom he knows better than anyone—cropping up all over the continental United States.

“What are you doing,” Adam murmurs. The sky lightens gradually to periwinkle. He has work today, but his shift doesn’t start until noon. His mouth is bone-dry, and his head feels cotton-stuffed the way it always does when he’s pushing his body to its limit.

When it’s late enough in the morning to be socially acceptable, he messages Benjy’s friend with the bare bones of what he’s looking for: a project under wraps, a lonely last name, a suppressed pattern. They correspond, remotely, until Adam is reading government files over watery coffee, wearing sweatpants, dress shoes, and a cardigan with cracked elbow patches.

He pores over it all, cross-referencing dates, and ignoring the widening sink-hole in his chest.

Industrial espionage isn’t at all Ronan’s usual brand of destruction. Highly controlled, not much up-front gratification. A little more political than Ronan usually leans. A lot more ambitious. Whatever their agenda, ley energy is flowing more easily now that it's unobstructed on such a large scale. Adam has been feeling its effects rippling all the way out to Boston, a persistent background pressure, unavoidable as a migraine.

It’s clear that the Moderators are desperate to eliminate Bryde’s party. Their reports are a comedy of close calls.

Slowly, Adam begins to understand the scope of things.

Billions of dollars in damages, manmade structures ripped from their foundations. Magical fugitives hunted by a team that specializes in murdering the targets they call Zeds. Visionary headlights pointed towards certain apocalypse. A world that is always awake, but always, always feels like it’s dreaming.

It’s pretty much exactly as he feared. Night terrors. The Lace. Beasts and legends. Adam holds his head in his hands. It’s more than what Ronan must be imagining. It’s more than Aurora waking happily in Cabeswater, powered by the swaying trees. It’s the indiscriminate waking of every incredible thing that’s ever been dreamed.

He’s struck by a wave of hopelessness that rushes all around him and tears at his hair. Ronan, dreamer of baubles that dispense music and light, cars that go very fast, and menageries of curious creatures, recruited to a cause that transmutes creation into chaos. Ronan, promising to wait, and then running full tilt at a future that can’t possibly keep Adam in it.

His dream half is going to destroy his human half, and he’ll take everybody else down with him.

If he could just see him, maybe—

His jaw creaks, teeth clenched tight against the emotional groundswell. The late morning sunshine strikes him, and he feel more like a vague, pale shape than a person. Like a dream, maybe.

Alter idem.

If Adam can’t reach Ronan, maybe the Moderators should.

He feels the weight of that awful thought burning a hole through his stomach lining. He can’t think about it. He needs to go to work.

_____

The next evening, he experiences a surge of power so acute that it nearly puts him in a coma.

It’s another Wednesday night, and another batch of his peers hitch polite smiles to his heels as he passes them by, winding his way up into the high, arched sunroom at Weld hall. They’re all wishing for magical solutions for their mundane problems, the opposite of Adam in nearly every way.

He bumps knuckles with Benjy and Eliot in turn, pulls up his chair, and knocks his last reading from Persephone’s deck, mostly out of habit. He consults his phone idly as his friends try to make pleasant conversation, holding up a finger when he finds a new batch of texts from Gansey.

John Amos power plant in WV shut down Monday

Intense. maura said she could’ve brought HER dreams to life afterwards

no word from Ronan yet? Leads from Declan? pls advise

I’ll assume no news is good news

He puts his phone in his satchel and fastens it closed. Every new scrap of information he gets feels like a stroll through Ronan’s security system at the Barns—hopelessness compounding and compounding until he staggers out the far end weeping.

He needs to focus on something productive. He nods at Benjy to start letting people inside, straightening the notebook where he usually scribbles his observations. Here, he is an adjudicator: powerful, organized, and reserved, tallying points and offering constructive critique.

His curious audience starts pouring in then, amateur wiccans and wannabe believers, aggrieved last-resorters and skeptics following friends’ recommendations. It’s a brighter collection of characters than Aglionby could ever have hoped to foster.

Gillian texts him to say that she just passed Weld and his line-up was out the door. He is a prim and unobtrusive con artist, a false prophet, and business is booming.

Eventually, a bespectacled girl who looks anywhere from five to ten years his senior sits across from him, tucking a bag armoured to the teeth with candy-coloured enamel pins between her feet.

“Hi,” she says nervously. “Anna.” She stretches her hands out in front of her, then thinks better of it and drops them into her lap. “I’m not sure how this usually goes, so you might have to hold my hand a little bit.”

“No problem,” he says smoothly, passing his deck across the tabletop. “Just go ahead and shuffle. Concentrate on what you want to ask the cards.”

She does as directed, struggling a little to keep the papery stack in check. Not a natural born card sharp, then. He studies her neat black shirt, tucked precisely into a plaid skirt. A Marilyn mole drawn on just above the corner of her mouth. A pride flag pin he doesn’t recognize next to a cat wearing a cowboy hat, and the word “rude” in cursive.

She holds the deck fleetingly to her chest, eyes squeezed shut like a child making a birthday wish, and then plops it in the centre of the table. A card slips near the top, slightly uneven, and Adam plucks it free.

He hums thoughtfully. “Eight of cups. Okay. So you’re having some trouble with letting go.” She frowns and nods once, quick.

He lays out the rest of a simple five card spread neatly between them. A couple of stray swords, the chariot, a wand.

“It seems like things are stagnating in your personal life. Maybe your friend group used to feel like your family, but you feel like they’ve lost interest in you. And you love them, but Anna, if you’re being honest with yourself, you’re pretty sure you were done with them before they even started pulling away. Right now you’re kind of just going through the motions. A couple of years overdue to convocate, right? Everyone else moved on to greener pastures.” He taps his thumb thoughtfully against the bones of his opposite wrist. “It’s not even the loneliness that gets you. It’s the not knowing. Are you supposed to chase after them? Is there another community out there for you? There is, you know.”

He notices another card spilling loose, and he grabs it without thinking. The Magician again. He thinks, huh, caught in the coils and dust of Persephone’s overturned cards.

And then the waking world disappears.

Adam is airborne, tumbling up into the atmosphere on a geyser of ley energy, whipped by branches and light. He throws his arms out to stop himself, but he’s only a projection, so his momentum doesn’t slow.

Something—Lindenmere? The cosmos?—shows him a series of images: an upturned nose made from oil and turpentine, a coiled old tree stump, a red-haired woman grinning toothily and then exploding, a rose the colour of warm dark skin, a pale scar-split hand cradling a silky head, the animal haunch of something black, a terrible voice booming turn back—

He skitters away, panicked, and bumps into his own body. Or not his own body. A double, blinking confusedly in the bathroom mirror.

His doppelgänger turns to leave, and Adam reaches after him, through the mirror, following himself into a version of Thayer which is not Thayer. Everything is alive, in this reality. Energy sings and saws its fingers together.

It’s a memory, but it’s also the present, and it’s also a nightmare. Wake up!

Obediently, the city wakes.

He gasps, although he doesn’t have a mouth. It’s the heaving first breath of a sleeping witch, like Gwenllian turning in her grave.

Adam struggles against the current of wild power, thick and pungent as gasoline. Everything feels more intense near magical artifacts, dream stuff, supernatural fault lines, and it is with great effort that he hunts for something familiar, something heavy enough to bind him. He was unprepared for this, and although everything around him is bitingly familiar, he's lost. He wheels around and around, reaching for his most trusted tethers—Gansey, Ronan, Blue, Persephone—

Persephone.

He follows the lingering perfume of her intuition, feeling blindly for those old handholds in her tarot deck, that familiar grip, like the hilt of a trusted weapon.

And then he finds himself looking again at the girl, Anna, her fate bunched around her narrow shoulders. And then at his own empty body, a glowing card clamped between his fingers. As soon as he’s aware of looking at himself, he’s looking out of himself, and he stands up quickly, overturning his chair.

“—Adam? Jesus Christ, are you okay?”

“What on God’s green Earth was that?”

A palm between his shoulder blades.

“Don’t touch me,” he chokes.

The hand retreats. A murmur: I’ve never seen him like this.

“Is it—is it bad? Am I going to be okay? Is it bad?” Anna keeps asking, horrified.

“You’re fine,” he manages to say. “I’m sorry.” The ‘o’ in sorry comes out a little wide and swerving.

“You went blank,” Benjy says, voice high with residual panic. “For like—ten minutes. Beyond hyper-focus.”

“I thought it was a gimmick,” Eliot says. “But a ten minute gimmick? What is this, Las Vegas?”

“I got carried away. I have to,” he swallows. “I need a minute. I promise everything’s fine.”

“Do whatever you need to do,” Eliot says quickly. “But, fair warning, I’m going to ask you a hundred questions when you get back.”

“And then I’m going to ask another hundred,” Benjy says. “Magic man.”

“A riddle, inside an enigma, wrapped in a sweater vest,” Eliot muses. He can tell they’re still shaken. He’ll have to deal with that, later.

“I'll be right back,” Adam says, touching them very lightly on the shoulder as he passes. The ley line is bursting, and he feels so flushed with its vitality that it almost makes him sick.

He stumbles past them, all the way out of the building and into the street. The winter air tears at his thin shirtsleeves, nips at his sock-less ankles. He shields his eyes against the sun, watching a bird swoop low overhead. A silvery, seagull-sized thing, but with knobby legs that taper into—he squints. Hooves?

He keeps moving, propelled by the mad urge to catch the bird, to pin the wild magic down so he can understand it.

Adam walks for what feels like a long time, trying to find the source of all of this haemorrhaging power. He spots a couple of fidgety-looking students, a few more curious creatures. Somewhere, faraway, there’s music crooning, and it sounds exactly the way a hot shower feels.

He stops in the middle of Oxford street, head cocked towards the natural history museum across the way, the orderly buildings, the sparse evening foot traffic. Business as usual. All of it screaming with energy.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a parade of scuttling creatures marching towards an invisible destination. Frowning, Adam crosses the street, chasing the peacock blue shimmer from an unfurled wing. He slows, stooping in the alley to pick one of the strange insects from the stream. He peers through a nail-sized hole in its head. Its spindly legs wave fearfully for a moment, and then it goes limp in his hand.

The ley energy punches out of him, and he sits back on his ankles, winded.

Adam gazes down at the jewelled beetle in his palm, its siblings scattered out like shell casings around his knees. Dreams, all of them. Briefly, impossibly roused in a dead city. He stands, letting the beetle drop from his hand and bounce across the concrete. He kicks them all hurriedly behind a nearby bench, mind racing. Bugs from an exhibit next door, no doubt. Dormant animals, transplanted from their habitats and pinned in place for decades.

What kind of ecoterror was wrought to bring about a flash flood of energy in a drought? How must Ronan be feeling, out there in the world, wracked with waking dreams? What unimaginable monsters were just stirring in the shadows because of him? Is Bryde one of them?

His lives are merging. The distant rumbling of thunder is overhead now, and the downpour is rolling in. There’s no way he’ll be able to keep dry.

Standing in that alleyway by himself, drained and ordinary again, he feels terribly alone.

He weighs his feelings against his logic for several agonizing minutes, standing still and watchful as a predator. He recalls the jarringly clinical accounts of Ronan's most intimate dreams, the sparsely encoded language in those government files outlining the world-ending dangers of something Adam had, for a long time, shared a bed with.

If something happens to Ronan now, it might kill Adam. If something happens because of Ronan, it might kill everybody.

Another minute, and he has his phone out and ringing.

“Hello?” Declan answers. Oddly, it’s not his usual prickly greeting. He sounds almost jovial.

Adam looks out into the darkening street, feeling like a death omen, a shadow across someone’s doorstep. “We really need to talk about Bryde.”

______

It’s the worst possible time for Declan to be withholding information from him.

Adam had graciously tipped his hand and Declan was, infuriatingly, holding back, as if this was a low grade in Ronan’s high school algebra class, and not the cataclysmic fuck-up of a powerful dreamer.

Declan, so uncannily like his brother in vulnerable moments like this, had thought of Matthew first. A world where dreams could stay awake, he’d marvelled. As if they could afford to think so small.

Once, Adam had awoken to find his arm glued to the bedspread. Ronan had dreamt a bee-less hive in the night, and it was oozing a steady stream of honey into the sheets between them.

“Score,” Ronan had said, when he’d rolled back into his body. “Sting-free. Fucking vegan.”

“What happens when we don’t want any more honey?” Adam had asked, critically. Ingesting dreams always felt like a slippery subject. “Does it shut off like a faucet?”

It didn’t. Ronan filled a dozen amber jars full, and then abandoned the hive in a dusty kiddy pool in one of the barns near the back of his family property.

A month later, Opal had crept in through a window looking for trouble, and emerged, shrieking, in a viscous flood of syrup.

Combing the mess out of Opal’s fur, her little legs slung across his lap, Ronan had complained about the magnitude of the clean-up job he would have to do, the special honey hoover he would have to create, what a waste of a dream it would be. Adam reminded him of his faucet idea.

“Too late for that, Parrish,” he’d griped.

It was their pattern. A marvel, too good to be true. Adam, the skeptic. Ronan, too in love with creation to care about consequences.

Eventually, it will all be too late.

Ronan will pursue this liberation fantasy, this golden daydream, even if it never stops oozing. Even if it makes the whole world uninhabitable.

______

That night, Adam tries to scry for the first time in months.

He gently pushes the crying club—only tenuously placated after the tarot incident—to have drinks without him, claiming stress-induced fatigue. He leaves his study notes open and blinking on the bed, lights a sad little tea light, and casts himself out into the ether.

Straining hard, he searches for the familiar contours of Ronan’s dreamspace, plucking the distant strings of the ley line and listening for the particular timbre of Ronan’s consciousness.

He doesn’t like walking this tightrope without a net, but Harvard isn’t exactly flush with psychic spotters. He keeps a delicate balance, far from his body, inching closer and closer to Ronan’s mind, the safe plateau at the end of this rope.

Eventually, he finds himself in a grey bedroom. It's full to the gills with water, there's a toy sailboat bobbing past at chest height, and storm clouds huddling nervously on the ceiling. Adam’s hair plasters instantly to his scalp.

“Ronan?” he calls, sloshing through the curiously luminous water. It starts raining harder. A familiar, curly-headed child stares at him through the darkness, eyes sharpened into silver points in the moonlight. “Ronan?” he asks again, gently this time.

A muffled sentence, a sad, crumpled expression, and then Adam is staring at a closed door.

“What—let me in! Ronan!” He pounds at the door. “Come on!” He can still feel rainwater, unnaturally warm on his neck.

A voice in his head, not Ronan, whispers, turn back.

“No,” he snaps, knocking harder. “Just let me—“ A sudden gust of wind in his sails, and he’s ejected from the dream altogether.

He pinwheels for a horrifying, weightless moment, struggling to tune back in to the feeble light from his stubby candle, and then dragging himself, hand over fist, back to his dorm room.

“Fuck, Lynch,” he says, when he has a voice. “Don’t be stupid.” He recrosses his legs, shaking off the pointless, clinging feeling of rejection.

When he tries to reach out again, searching, searching, Ronan’s expecting him. He never makes it past the threshold.

Back in his body, he knocks his candle over, relishing the controlled destruction, the spill of wax, the sizzle of the squashed wick. A fire he can actually put out.

______

The next time Adam scrys, Ronan looks like himself. Maybe a little scruffier, with what looks like a tunnel piercing on his right ear, and a rare openness to his posture. He’s lounging in a pasture up against a sleeping cow, boots up.

As Adam watches, he tips his shaved head back into its mottled hide, and the sun makes his eyelashes into lit matchsticks. He loves him very much. He’d almost forgotten.

“Don’t lock me out,” he says quickly. Ronan opens his eyes, and when he sees him he smiles instinctively.

“Adam,” he says, vaguely. And then he locks him out.

“No,” he cries. “Would you listen to me.” He feels for the fissure in space and time, the pocket where Ronan is dreaming, sweetly and inaccessibly, about the only home Adam has ever known.

Nothing gives. Nobody replies. He crawls back to Harvard, weak with misery.

In the next dream, Ronan is older, driving a boxy jeep over a foreign landscape. Rolling Irish hills, skies humming with artificial energy. A woman who can only be Jordan Hennessy, chattering in the passenger seat.

Then it’s Ronan with his head in his dead mother’s lap, stroking the downy wing of a black swan.

Then Ronan and Hennessy again, opposite one another in a sunny gallery. One of them examining an impressionist portrait no bigger than a postcard, the other examining the exit.

Then Ronan, discovering Matthew’s corpse in a dim hallway, blinking furiously at the stranger crouched over his prone body. “What did you do?” He sounds like a kid reprimanding his sibling for getting them both in trouble.

Every time Adam gets close, some defence mechanism stops him, like a firm hand against his chest, pushing him away again and again.

He doesn't know what to do except keep trying.

______

Blankly, he looks down at a sink full of tinfoil and uneasy water. In pieces, he becomes aware of his surroundings—green stalls and laminate countertops, a row of hundred-watt lightbulbs, and somebody rattling the locked doorknob.

“Adam, are you in there?” Fletcher. “We’re going to be late. It’s nearly ten. Adam?”

“Just a minute, sorry,” Adam slurs. He stares closely at his face in the mirror until he recognizes his own features. He has an exam at 10:30. He glances down at his watch. 9:52. He had been so sure that he could just drift for a few minutes, maybe catch Ronan before he woke up. That was almost an hour ago.

He drains the sink, hands shaking, cuffs getting damp. The lightbulb filaments float behind his eyelids when he blinks. He throws his satchel over his shoulder, smooths his hair up and out of his eyes, and rubs the bags under his eyes until they hurt.

When he lets himself out of the bathroom, Fletcher is directly outside, tapping a nervous rhythm on his hips. His hands fly from his body and into the air at the sight of him.

“Adam! Thank god. I’ll cancel the search party.”

“I got lost in my notes,” Adam says, as they both make for the stairs.

“Of course you did,” Fletcher says warmly. “A supremely Adam move. I just hope you’re taking care of yourself. Gillian thinks you might be—well—not spiralling, but—“

“I’m handling it.” He takes several mental paces backwards. “Uh—poorly, clearly. I’m sorry Fletcher, I didn’t mean to snap.”

Fletcher, to his credit, recovers quickly. “I can’t imagine going through my first semester of college and a break-up at the same time. You’re a stronger man than I.”

Adam rather doubts that Fletcher can imagine going through a break-up at all, but he nods conspiratorially. They hop down the last few steps and out into the chilly sunshine together.

“You’d be amazed what one can do out of necessity.”

“Too true. We all have our hidden depths, don’t we,” Fletcher says thoughtfully. For a moment, Adam considers telling him—something, looping him into this tangled web with him, but then he says, “now, chapter twenty-three wasn’t on the outline, was it? I beg you to say no. Lie, if you must.”

And Adam is a student again. He doesn’t have out of body episodes. He doesn’t carry wads of tinfoil in his trouser pockets. He doesn’t keep deadly secrets from people whom he is mostly pretending to like and understand.

They walk onwards, towards a test which Adam will rouse himself for long enough to ace. Then he will think of the next thing, and the next. Appease these school acquaintances of his. Tinker with finicky car engines. Make flash cards. Drift into the beyond using one of Fletcher’s three-wick candles from pottery barn. Text Declan, who activates Ronan’s accountability in a way that Adam does not. Call Gansey, if he can bring himself to face his disappointment.

And clear away his feelings, which keep pouring out of him like so much honey.

______

Ronan hangs up on him, and Adam holds himself in the biting wind outside the library for a very long time.

He’d thought, if he could only speak to him, that he could begin to undo Bryde’s poisonous influence. They know each other. They’ve known each other. Ronan would listen to Adam’s fears as he always does. Adam would appeal to Ronan’s heart, which tends to ache for helpless things. They would see how lost they had become without each other. Adam would be allowed back into Ronan’s dreams, and Ronan would be allowed back into Adam’s future.

Why didn’t you text back?

As if they’ve been suspended in time since Ronan’s last tamquam, and none of it—the running away, warding his dreams against Adam, abandoning his phone, trusting a complete stranger over his friends and family—had ever happened.

It’s absurd. He should have expected it. Ronan was searching for a reason to stay, and when he looked for his reflection, his second self, Adam wasn’t there. For a single moment, he wasn’t there, and now he’s paying for it.

Impatient, wrathful Ronan. Leaping from the moving vehicle because Adam was going the speed limit. Going rogue, and then calling Adam with all of these stinging accusations, like he was the one who’d been abandoned.

He thinks again of Bryde manipulating Ronan, preying on his loneliness, his love for his brothers, his fear of himself. This big bad rumour, older and crueler than the Lace itself.

And Ronan letting himself be manipulated, putting on blinders, using Adam’s brief silence as an endorsement for a glorified joyride with unthinkable global ramifications. Self-destructing because things got a little too quiet.

Adam feels hot rage taking ahold of him with its sticky fingers.

Then he thinks of Ronan saying I need to see you, his thin, frightened voice finding Adam from somewhere out there in the city, and his anger goes clammy.

There’s no way Ronan will call again. Negotiations were off as soon as Adam refused to house them both from the Moderators.

And now, without Hennessy, Ronan is the last arrow in Bryde’s quiver. He’s going to be the explosive that brings everything down. He’s going to be buried at ground zero.

If I'd replied an hour sooner, would he really have waited? If I’d gone to school closer, would I have noticed him disintegrating? If I explained that my dream isn’t what I thought it would be either, that he’s the only thing that feels real, would he have said it back to me?

After everything that’s happened, am I going to be the one who gives up on Ronan Lynch?

Everything is so fucked.

He calls Declan.

He picks up on the first ring. “Parrish—”

“He hung up on me,” they both say at the same time.

“Mother of God,” Declan moans. “Then there’s no hope. He thinks I sold him out to the Mods.”

“Did you?”

“No. I did exactly as we discussed. I negotiated for his safety. I thought—I mean, you said it yourself, Adam. Being anti-apocalypse is a pretty solid platform.”

He shakes his head. “Ronan won’t see it that way. He’s not like us. He doesn’t want to be moderated even a little bit.”

“Believe me, I know that. The way he was talking—about the world screwing them over, all of them, dreamers. That’s not the way my brother thinks. That’s all Bryde. And now he’s taken him—Christ—Christ knows where.”

“He wanted to see me,” Adam feels compelled to say. “He was trying to come here.”

“He said that? That's good,” Declan says, relieved. “Where—“

“I let him get away,” Adam says, through numb lips. “I let him go.”

______

He texts Gansey, things have gone south, and then he turns his phone on silent.

His puts his fingertips to the floorboards, a knobbly hand on either side of a scrying tableau: the leaping flame of a candle, a well-organized pile of cards, his overturned phone and discarded tie. He’s just finished crying, and he feels volatile and ill-prepared even as he ties himself to the flickering light.

His mind races through the night like a skipped stone. Vaguely, he pictures a vast body of water and a glittering mountain range, with no horizon line in-between. Darkness reflected in darkness.

“Ronan,” he calls. The dreamspace whirs and grinds its gears and won’t reply. “You know this is wrong. You know, or you wouldn't be hiding from me.”

It’s all water out here in this sublime mirror-space, but it’s also warm, like the steam rising from a hot spring. Something is moving, changing things on a chemical level.

For a moment he thinks he sees himself, a wan doppelgänger with its hands raised. But it’s not Adam. It’s Bryde. Cool, sturdy, a pale Atlas holding the dream together on his back. He recognizes him instinctively.

Adam deliberately throws his mind closer, into the terrible heart of this fire Ronan is creating. Smoke whispers and catches all around him, and it’s even harder to tell the difference between things now. No horizon, no seam, no reality, no death.

What have you done? What are you doing?

The heat is quickly becoming unbearable. Adam is stretched too thin, and the fire is fraying him, eating through each fibre of his connection to reality.

Ronan, please, I need you to stop. I’m losing my grip. Listen to me.

And then, without any warning at all, he collapses on his dorm room floor.

He hacks and retches, lungs full of phantom smoke. Everything feels very wrong. He thinks for a second that he’s blind, but it’s not his vision, it’s another, less tangible sense, it’s—

He scrambles backwards on his hands, heaving. He tries to pull himself up onto his bed, head first, then chest, but he has to stop with his face buried in the comforter.

Ronan is—he must be—he’s—

“God, no, oh my god, no, no.”

He needs to throw up. He needs to call somebody. There’s complete silence in his head.

He was slingshotted back to Cambridge, swatted back along the zipline to his body, because there was nowhere else for him to go.

He’s sure, in a very non-magical, intuitive way, that every dream in the world has just collectively collapsed. Adam staggers to his feet. There’s a smoke alarm going off, somewhere. A background hum of electricity groaning as it shuts off. A high, scared voice.

As if in a trance, he goes to the window.

There are five dead lightbulbs in the nearest row of street lamps, what looks like a sleeping child out in the middle of the square, and a woman clutching her chest and sitting slowly on a bench.

Panic is deadening his senses, crawling blackly into his mouth and nose and eyes. He thinks of Matthew sitting weakly by the window. Opal slumped over a stump in the woods. Chainsaw falling from the sky like a stone. Gansey’s Cabeswater heart decaying in his chest. Ronan, either dissolving into nightwash or felled by a Moderator’s bullet, dead, lost, or powerless.

Every morsel of magic, every innovation, every cherished friend, every sacred place, turned off like a faucet.

The world outside, drooping and disconnected, is now exactly as ordinary as Adam has been pretending it is.

The ley line is gone.

#mister impossible #the dreamer trilogy #mi spoilers #tdt #adam parrish #trc #trc fanfic #pynch #mine #my tfc besties...... soon #in the meantime. here's some adam pov please clap

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talkfastromance4 · 4 years

Text

stuck with u--calum hood (part ii)

Read part one here

word count: 4.7k

warnings: nsfw, boyfriend!cal, oral sex (female receiving), slight exhibitionism, slight cum talk, slight dirty talk, unprotected sex, 18+ please

Let me know if you’d like a part 3! I’ve got ideas but they revolve around baby Hood and I know I write that way too much but I can’t be tamed so if you don’t want that this will be the last part ok

Enjoy! :)

Masterlist

• • • •

She was finally able to visit her family for a few weeks with Calum and Duke accompanying her on the trip. Staying in her childhood bedroom had its drawbacks of not being intimate with each other. Not that Calum went without trying. He’d move in to give her a goodnight kiss, distracting her with his lips while his hand attempted to slip under her pajama bottoms.

“Hold your horses, handsy,” she’d giggle and pull his hand away. “Wait until we’re alone.”

“We are alone,” he’d pout against her neck.

“My parents are right across the hall. You know me, I can’t be quiet.” She’d play with his hair affectionately trying to appease him.

“I love that you can’t be quiet,” he’d smile back then sigh deeply, it tickled her skin. “Fine, but when we get back home…you’re mine.”

After rekindling their relationship, it was stronger than ever. They found a routine that included a workout regime while also spending some alone time apart. Sure, they still had their qualms, but the resolve was quicker than before.

She was so happy to help out with the Wildflower video when that happened and made sure to follow Andy’s instructions to a T as she helped him film it. She loved watching him do his own workout routine by the pool, his muscles rippling and glistening in the midday sun was a sight for sore eyes.

One day, he was holed up in his music room on a call with the guys. She assumed it was about tour and she could hear the frustration and sadness in his voice as she passed by to start dinner. While she cooked she suddenly felt a wave of guilt wash over her because spending this time with him when he should be on tour made her happy.

His door opened half an hour later with him running his fingers through his hair in distress.

“Smells good, baby,” he says moving behind her. His hands rest on her waist, he kisses her cheek then holds her for a moment. He sighs heavily.

“What’s going on with the guys?” she asks carefully, not wanting to add her own salt to the wound.

“We couldn’t reschedule all the tour dates,” he says sadly. “We were thinking of making the set longer since it was held off, hopefully have the fifth album out before then so we can double new songs. We’ll see.”

“I think that’d be great, the fans would love a longer set.”

He hums in agreement watching her sprinkle some parmesan cheese over the fish, his lips pulsing on her shoulder like little fish kisses. When she has to put the pan in the oven, she pats his hands which he removes so she can do her task then sets the timer for the appropriate time. She takes Calum’s hand then leads him to the couch so they can sit together.

“What else is on your mind?” she asks curling her fingers in his hair, he leans into her touch resting his hand on her thigh.

“Ash said he’s been creating his own solo album since all of this started and he’s nearly finished with it.”

“Really? Wow, that’s great for him!”

“Yeah…it is,” he starts to chew on the nail of his thumb lost in thought. “It got me thinking.”

“Of?” she continues to play with his hair, his own hand rubbing circles on her thigh.

“What if I…I might want to put an actual book of my own writings together.”

“Really?! I think that’s an awesome idea!” she exclaims kissing his cheek excitedly.

“You do?”

“Yeah! Your writing is incredible, honey. Poetry is becoming such a big thing again, it helps others not feel so alone, it brings out their emotions. What would you write about?”

“You,” he smiles leaning forward to press a delicate kiss to her lips. “Me, the guys, growing up as a kid, other thoughts I have.”

“It already sounds like a bestseller.”

“I don’t know where to start,” he huffs. He shifts on the couch so he’s lying on her chest, his curls tickle her chin, they hug each other close.

“Wherever you want to,” she kisses the top of his head. “They’re your words, your thoughts, your feelings.”

They sit in a comfortable silence while dinner cooks, she continues to play with his hair and rub his back with her other hand. She’s excited to see his process with this, something that’s his own creation. When the oven timer goes off, he helps her set everything else up for dinner, both of them are stuck in their own thoughts and musings.

Bedtime rolls around and Calum’s been flipping through his brown leather notebook he always writes in and the one he gave her for her birthday. He’s waiting for something to jump out at him for a good place to start. While she sleeps, he thinks. And thinks. And thinks. Until an idea blooms in his mind.

The next morning, she wakes to a Calum-less side of the bed. She looks to the bathroom but he’s not in there, then she checks her phone if he texted her that he went to the store or something. She finds the coffee maker is still on with her mug and favorite ingredients set aside for her along with a small handwritten note from Calum.

“Be back soon, love. Getting something for the both of us to enjoy xx Cal”

She smiles at the note, fixes her coffee then ponders what he could possibly be getting for the both of them to enjoy. Her mind immediately goes to something sexual, but they haven’t really discussed anything out of the ordinary as of late. She also found it very sweet that he left a note instead of a text, his romanticism never fails.

Upon waiting for his return, she rinses the dishes and puts them in the dish washer, then decides to take a quick shower. She pulls on some fabric shorts and one of his shirts then prattles about the house until Duke’s barking signifies his arrival.

“Y/N?”

She comes by the door where Calum quickly lifts her into his arms and spins her around, his rumbling laughter makers her join in even though she doesn’t know the joke.

“Where have you been?”

“Come outside but close your eyes.”

He takes her hand then covers her eyes with the other, leading her to the front of the house. Their feet knock together as he guides her to where he wants her.

“Okay, are you ready?”

“Did you get me a pony?” she teases.

“No, silly girl,” he chuckles then removes his hand, but she keeps her eyes closed. “Open.”

When she does, she’s staring at a mini retro camper that’s yellow and white with an outline of a dog painted on the front. She gasps at it; they’ve always talked about getting one so they could do a camping trip together.

“What do you think? Want to check the inside out? It’s pretty spacious inside,” he grins mischievously pulling open the door.

“Oh yeah? Give me the grand tour, sir.”

She takes his hand helping her step inside. Her mouth opens in shock at the updated version inside. White cabinets and furnished wood flooring make the space appear bigger. There’s a small nook with a table for eating, the kitchenette is small with a door leading to the toilet and across that is a small shower. Two small steps lead up to a large bed decorated with an orange bedspread and see through curtains over the back window. Up front is a small couch with pillows and a blanket.

“And, check this out,” he ducks in front of her then pushes a button, a medium flat screen appears behind two cabinets. “We can plug in our firestick as long as we’re in range of a Wifi spot so we can watch Netflix, Hulu, Disney+.”

She looks at all the small details, she loves the wicker basket ottoman in the center of the room and there’s already a small dog bed for Duke next to the table. She loves it.

“I was thinking we could go camping along the coast, I already found two great campsites, bought a grill and other camping supplies. I figured we could get away for a bit, out of the house and into the outdoors. I can work on my writing and it will be relaxing and romantic. What do you think?”

She turns around to stare at him, his head just barely touches the ceiling, but his eyes are bright with excitement. He’s glowing in this little camper that is now theirs. She closes the space between them and wraps her arms around his shoulders giving him a big kiss.

“I think that’s the best idea I’ve ever heard,” she whispers on his lips. “I love it. When can we go? We’ll need to go grocery shopping and get bug spray and travel sized shampoo and other things. Those are so cute, they’re so compact. We’ll have to pack for Duke. I’ll make a list and—”

He silences her rambling with a kiss then backs her further into the camper towards the bed. She crawls into the middle of it, their lips still locked. When he presses his hips against hers, she can feel his arousal and she moans.

“We can do all of that after I take you right here, baby,” he mumbles shifting his lips to her jaw. He lies her back against the orange and white pillows. “We need to christen this bed, hm?”

“Mhm,” she sighs enjoying the feel of his plush lips on her skin. She turns her head to the right so he can continue his kissing path then she notices the door. “Shut the door.”

“Everyone’s in their houses…”

“Cal,” she laughs pushing on his shoulder playfully. “If you go close the door, I’ll be naked and waiting for you.”

That grabs his attention. He pulls back giving her a questioning look. He bounds off the bed, the camper rocking with his motions as he shuts the door and locks it. By the time he’s back at the steps, she is indeed naked, trailing her fingers down and over her breasts to in between her legs. She lifts a finger, motioning him forward in a ‘come here’ fashion.

“Fuck,” he sighs and removes his own clothes, quickly joining her on the bed.

She giggles at his excitement dragging his mouth to hers, his hand grips at her thigh then curves in between her folds. Moans replace her giggles when his finger slips inside, curling and twiddling against her spongy wall.

“So wet already? Can’t have you ruin this new bedspread before we get on the road, can I?”

“What are you gonna do about it?” she smirks, then winces when he removes his finger.

“Lick you up.”

He looks up at her with lust filled eyes, brushing his lips in barely there kisses down her stomach then wiggles his tongue over her clit. He moans at the taste and laves her up more with his tongue.

“Mm, Cal…” she whines wriggling her upper body. He flattens his tongue, doing deep swipes up and down her folds before suctioning onto her clit. She rests her heel on his shoulder just when he inserts a finger. “Yes!”

He smiles against her, pumping his finger slowly paired with the roll of his tongue. He adds another and ups the ante until she’s panting in staccato breaths. Moans tickle past her tongue the faster he goes chasing her orgasm.

“Come for me, baby…let me feel you,” he whispers and at his words her stomach clenches and her heart jolts in her chest. He moans with her to heighten the arousal then when she teeters off he kisses the inside of her thigh. “Good girl.”

He moves his face back, but she pulls on his hair, jerking his head up so he looks at her.

“Need you now. Please,” she whimpers.

Very slowly, he licks his lips then pulls his fingers out of her. Very slowly, he licks those, too before clambering on top of her. She reaches for his hardened dick, guiding him inside. He sinks into her easily, moaning into her mouth while he fucks her. She rocks her hips with his, meeting his rhythm with a desirable frenzy.

Their motions are rocking the camper slightly, the bed squeaks quietly as they pursue their high together.

“Feel so good,” he pants on her mouth.

“Faster, faster,” she begs.

A few more quick snaps and she cries out in a loud moan, Calum’s body jerks against hers then he pulls out quickly as he releases on her stomach and then they’re both breathing heavily. She swallows thickly, letting out a gust of air and pets his curls that are now a perfect blend of blond and black. Calum lifts his head and tugs on her bottom lip with his teeth.

“I think we rocked this camper.”

She bursts into laughter then sighs, “Yeah we did. You rocked my world, for sure. Giving me a workout in my legs, babe.”

“Sore?” he kisses her nose then slowly rolls onto his back and moves into the small bathroom. He grabs toilet paper wipes himself off, pulls his boxers and pants back on then kneels on the bed to help clean between her legs and on her stomach.

“Thank you.”

“’Course,” he grins peppering kisses on her belly.

“Lay with me for a bit,” she tugs him down next to her, wincing as she lets her legs relax. She fells the strain in her thighs already and shifts into a comfortable position against him. “We’re really going to do this, right? Go camping and leave the world behind for a bit?”

“We’re going to do this,” he strokes her cheek in assurance, loving how flushed they are from the sex they just had. “You and me and Duke. We’ll make smores, nap in here whenever we want—and yes it has air conditioning,” he laughs.

“It sounds so nice,” she sighs closing her eyes then yawns. She usually falls asleep right after, he wears her out.

“Let’s not sleep out here yet, we gotta check on Duke and start a list.”

“I need to shower first,” she sits up stretching her arms above her head. “Toilet paper doesn’t really get the job done.”

“Can I join you?” he smirks springing into a sitting position and kisses her shoulder.

Setting up their campsite didn’t take too long when they arrived. The awning on the camper was easy to assemble and setting up their chairs in the front didn’t take that long as well. The camper was already stocked with the food they bought with their clothes in the drawers set about the whole perimeter. She even added a photo of her, Calum and Duke on one wall so it was officially theirs.

They walked along the beach with Duke collecting shells and sea glass they found. They snacked when they wanted, took a nap in their bed with the windows open. It wasn’t until the third day that Calum was struck with inspiration for his poetry book. He sat out in the sun for a while before she woke up, then when he heard commotion he walked in to see her in nothing but his tank top.

The hem just barely covered her ass, she looked sleepy and beautiful while she sang along to the song “Something” by The Beatles and started the coffee pot. He snatched his phone out quickly, took a sneaky picture of her then opened up his notebook, his pen flying across the page.

From then on the words continued to pour out of him. He thought of words and phrases all day, all of them were mainly about Y/N but he didn’t find anything wrong about that. While they sat around their small campfire, they would play their ukuleles together as the sparks became stars.

He’d ask her for help sometimes if he got stuck on the structure of a poem or if he should keep one line or a different one so it would flow better. She was more than happy to help when asked. Sometimes, right before bed, they’d shut all of the lights off and leave the windows and curtains open so the sound of the ocean waves would blow in. They’d be illuminated by the glow of the stars and moon; hands would wander in soft caresses while his lips kissed the shell of her ear.

After about a week and a half when they went into town to use the laundromat, he was on the phone with Michael then with Ashton. She’s reading the poems he’s finished so far, Calum is tracing his fingers over her back while he’s on the phone, but she’s not paying attention. She’s immersed in his words.

“Y/N….babe…hey love,” his voice pulls her from the words on the page.

“Huh, what? Is the wash done?”

“No,” he grins then crouches in front of her. “How would you feel about meeting up with Mike and Crystal at their little getaway in the hills then heading to the desert with Ash for his album release?”

“Sounds like fun,” she smiles. “When do we leave?”

The windows are down as they cruise along the highway towards Michael and Crystal’s campsite. They’re only staying for five days and Y/N is staring at Calum as he drives. His hair flicks in the wind, he has some scruff forming on his jaw and chin that she loves. It’s a soft scratch on her own cheek or in between her thighs that sends her heart haywire.

“Whaddaya starin’ at over there, little lady?” he smirks then goes right back into singing along with Voodoo by ASL.

“Just you,” she grins then notices a love bite is still red on his neck. She touches it with her finger. “I feel selfish for loving all this time with you.”

“Why do you feel selfish?”

“Because you’d be on tour right now. I feel bad for feeling happy.”

“I get it,” he nods then flashes her a smile, eyes sparkling. “Would it make you feel better if I said I’m happy I’m not on tour right now, too? It’s not ideal for a break but I think it’s a break we all need.”

“Yeah…you all seem more…relaxed. Do the guys know about your poetry project?”

“No, I’m gonna wait until I’m finished with it. I also don’t want to take away from Ash’s moment.”

Michael and Crystal’s camper was much larger than theirs, one side was completely made of glass with sliding doors that overlooked the hills and dunes. The four of them went on a hike with Duke in tow and took plenty of pictures with each other.

All too soon it was time to travel on to the desert where Ashton had a whole set up. He rented out some cabins that looked more like tents on a wooden deck. Calum and Y/N opted out so they could use their camper. While his album played in the calm desert night, Y/N and Calum were snuggled up together discussing the songs quietly with each other.

“I’m going to get ready for bed,” she tells him when the album’s played through.

“Already?” Calum asks kissing her cheek.

“Yeah, long day of driving. I’ll get our sleep things ready,” she grins at him.

“I’ll be in soon,” he wraps his arms around her for a hug. “If you wanna sleep naked tonight, I wouldn’t object to that.”

She giggles and smacks his chest playfully.

“And risk our friends sneaking a peek? I don’t think so, babe,” she snickers then bids everyone else goodnight.

Calum watches her leave, his eyes lowering to her sweatpants covered butt that still looks so adorable.

“Stop staring at me, Hood!” she shouts tossing him a flirty smile over her shoulder.

“Can’t help it, my girl’s hot!” he shouts back, and she shakes her head.

He stays with their group of friends for another twenty minutes until he heads inside, Duke trotting along with him. He circles his bed three times then lays down sighing heavily. Calum locks the door, Y/N’s leaning over their bed adjusting the pillows and curtains. All she has on is one of Calum’s t-shirts black cotton panties with pink lace along the edges.

She heard him come in but didn’t turn around, her focus is on the task at hand at assembling their bed. Calum’s hot hands are on her waist, his fingertips gracing the front of her thighs, his mouth by her ear makes her gasp in surprise.

“You’re not naked, but I love this view, too,” he whispers, his teeth grazing her ear lobe.

Shivers spike her neck as Calum presses himself against her, his hard on apparent against her ass. She bites her lip to suppress the moan when his tongue licks at her neck, his thumbs kneading her ass. His lips kiss her skin delicately before he sucks on it, the air from his nose tickles her skin.

“That tickles,” she sighs leaning against him to feel some form of stimulation on her covered core.

“Should I put my lips somewhere else?” he asks, his fingers already pulling down her panties. The fabric falls to her feet, she kicks it away and Calum palms her ass a little roughly. He gives her a light smack, she yelps in response.

“Where’d you…have in mind?” she swallows thickly attempting to turn around. His hands press on her waist to keep her leaning face forward against the bed.

“Stay right there.”

He kisses her lips quickly then drops to his knees; he pushes apart her legs.

“Can you bend over for me, baby? Let me see how wet you are…” he nips at her ass as she complies, his thumbs spreading her open. He hums at the sigh. “You’re throbbing for me, hm?”

“Caaaal,” she whines pushing her ass backwards.

He chuckles and bites her other cheek. He kisses down her thigh, pausing over her dripping core and kisses the other thigh. She groans in frustration and Calum chuckles darkly rubbing his stubble on her flesh.

“Please, please, please,” she whispers shifting her feet.

He loves to tease her, but he loves to please her more, so he closes his mouth around her pussy, his tongue pulsing against her clit. She lets out a small shriek from his wet tongue finally making contact where she’s been needing him. He laps at her furiously as if he’s in a race with himself to make her cum in record time.

His speed does the job because she’s grasping at the bedspread, breathing heavily, her body warming up as her orgasm takes over. She moans his name, her ears ringing as he keeps going, his tongue and lips slurping and suctioning away.

“You sound so hot,” he pants but continues working her over into another orgasm.

All too quickly, he removes his mouth while her orgasm ebbs away. She hears him shuck off his pants then feels his tip nudge between her folds. She lets out a loud moan from more teasing, her fingers clutching at the bedspread. He teases her entrance more and she can’t take it any longer.

“Fuck, Calum…please, no more teasing.”

“You want me that badly, baby?” he leans over her, pressing his weight against her ass with his tip inching in further.

“Yes,” she groans.

“Will you two be quiet?! For fuck’s sake.”

“Don’t listen, then!” Calum shouts back to Ashton and she looks up to see the window by their bed is still open. The curtains lifting lightly from the breeze.

“Cal!” she squeals and pushes the button for the light. They’re flooded in darkness, but she still desperately needs him.

“Kind of hard when Y/N’s so loud!”

“Plug your ears!” Calum calls and presses himself into her more then teases himself back out.

“Cal?” she lifts her head from the bed craning her neck to look at him.

“Yeah baby?”

“Screaming at Ashton is kind of killing the mood. I can be quiet.”

“I like you loud,” he sighs inserting himself once more, this time further than before. She gasps at the stretch.

“We can wait. I—ohh.”

Calum buries himself inside her, filling her completely and silencing whatever she was going to say. He thrusts gently then pulls out until he finds a good pace, the shirt of his that she’s wearing rides up her back. She closes her eyes from the glorious sensation of his pulls and pushes, biting her lip to try and stay quiet. When he hits a certain spot one spills out so she shoves her knuckles in her mouth.

“No, no, give me your hands,” he pants.

He pulls her hand from her mouth, twisting her arms behind her back and holds them in place on her back. He leans over, the angle causing him to push deeper inside her, he thrusts in tiny pulses.

“Want you to be as loud as you can for me, yeah? You like when I take you from behind?” he pulls back slowly and pauses waiting for an answer.

“Feels so good,” she whines into the bedspread. Having her wrists bound by his hand adds to the excitement and her pleasure, the restraint is enticing.

He grins, stands up straight then plunges inside her with force. It makes her cry out in pleasure and he picks up a quick pace, her body pushes against the bed. He squeezes her wrists then smacks her ass every once in a while. She clenches around him sporadically, small orgasms building to the big one that he knows she’s never silent for. Her breathing picks up and so does his.

“There, there, there, yes, yes, yes!” she cries out and he picks up the pace, tightening his hold on her wrists.

She squeezes his cock, a long-pleasured screech breaking through the surface of the bedspread. It’s animalistic and so sexy that he doesn’t even have time to pull out because he’s coming as well. His stomach tightens and untightens, her rapid clenching dragging his orgasm further.

He breathes evenly through his nose once he relaxes, her own body going lax beneath him and he loosens his hold on her wrists. They fall slack beside her as she tries to catch her own breath.

“Don’t move,” murmurs and pulls out of her slowly. She lets out a soft cry from the loss of him inside her, his arousal leaking out a little. He reaches for a washcloth hanging on the towel bar and wets it in the small bathroom sink. “I got you, baby, hold on.”

She gives a non-committal groan as he cleans her up, his teeth marks and a small red shape from his hand stare back at him. He kisses the marks softly, making sure to be careful at her sensitivity. He grabs a towel and dries her off then helps her back into her panties.

“C’mon, into bed,” he says lifting her gently onto the mattress. She falls into a heap, rolling over sluggishly and stares at him through blissful eyes. She reaches for him. “I’m going to brush my teeth quick, then I’m yours, love.”

He’s true to his word and brushes his teeth quickly. When he climbs into bed she latches herself onto him quickly, dragging his mouth to hers in a lazy kiss.

“I’d say I’m mad that all of our friends just heard us have sex, but I’m too fucked out to really mean it,” she murmurs. He laughs against her lips.

“It’s payback for all the times I’ve heard them. They really don’t care, baby,” he slips his hand under her shirt to tickle her back.

“You know what?”

“Hm?”

“Next time can we actually tie my hands together?”

He perks up at that suggestion. “Really?”

“Yeah, I liked it,” she giggles.

“I liked it, too,” he smiles brushing his lips over her hair. “You want to know something?”

“Hm?”

“I just thought of a dozen poems. Your body’s like poetry.”

The rest of the night is spent in lazy kisses until they eventually fall asleep, words and prose circulating in his dreams.

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#calum hood smut #boyfriend!cal #calum hood oneshot #calum oneshot #calum smut #calum hood writing #calum writing #calum hood fanfiction #calum 5sos #5sos writing #calum 5sos writing

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moonbeambucky · 4 years

Text

A Wealth of Love

Pairing: Hal Carter x Reader Word Count: 5618 Warnings: fluff, light angst

Summary: The only thing Hal Carter is wealthy in is love but will his forbidden romance last when his past comes back to haunt him?

A/N: This is my submission for @baezen The other guys writing challenge. My prompt was “Those things you said yesterday…Did you mean them?” Thank you to my love @all1e23 for beta reading 🍕❤️ pic source (x)

Bright sunlight streams in through the windows made brighter by the all white finishings of the large kitchen. This particular afternoon is a hot one, more humid than the last few days and Y/N knows that not everyone can enjoy the comforts of her family’s perfectly air conditioned home.

A quick search through the cabinets and she finds two large mason jars. Pulling open the fridge she takes out the pitcher of lemonade and in the oversized pantry she pulls out the container of muffins she made earlier that morning. She hums a tune mindlessly as she fills one jar with lemonade, nearly startled by a voice behind her.

“Is this really necessary Y/N?” her stepmother asked, with frustration laced in her tone.

Y/N is quiet as she sets the pitcher down, screwing on the lid and making sure it was tight. With a quiet roll of her eyes she resumed what she was doing.

“At least you aren’t using the good glassware.” Y/N ignored her snippy comment, having learned not to engage her in conversations like this.

She sets her items in a basket, filling the other mason jar with ice as the final step before she leaves through the backdoor, finally letting out her own frustrated huff when she was no longer in earshot of her stepmother.

Y/N walked down the freshly manicured grass of the expansive acreage to get to the large white barn where Hal Carter was hard at work. He was the stable hand and has been working for Y/N’s family for almost two years.

Hal was six feet tall, with strong arms made stronger every day by the work he does. The outline of his muscles could be seen through the plaid button downs he would wear and sometimes take off on the days when he was already overheating in thick jeans and boots. A gentle smile accompanied beautiful blue eyes and soft brown hair that would start to curl when sweat soaked his strands.

Y/N liked seeing Hal, not just because of how incredible he looks as sweat shines over his body- the image of him lifting his shirt to wipe at his brow, exposing a perfectly carved stomach will forever be seared in her mind- but because he’s kind to her and he doesn’t expect anything from her unlike the rest of the world.

Her father doesn’t understand Y/N’s silly little dream of being a teacher. She had just completed her first year of having her own class and honestly he had hoped the whole ordeal had turned her off. He doesn’t see the point of working anywhere that pays so little and she’s tired of having arguments with him about forgetting his own roots, busting his ass with two jobs and still barely making ends meet until he found success with a patent which launched his business. He would scoff at his past, ashamed of the fact that he wasn’t born into wealth like his wife.

Unlike her father who felt she should be at a job earning a lot, Y/N’s stepmother didn’t understand why she wanted to work at all. If it were up to her she would have her married off to William Archer III. He was an investment banker who also came from money like Y/N, having attended the same private school but that’s where their similarities ended.

Y/N was disgusted by his attitude and how little William cared for anyone other than himself. He was a spoiled rich kid that hasn’t worked a real day in his life and never would. His company was his father’s as it was his father’s before him, and the only thing William was actually good at was profiting off the backs of those who work ten times as hard at a fraction of what he makes.

William constantly pursued Y/N because she turned him down. He liked the challenge, thinking of her as nothing more than game to be hunted, another one of his hobbies that Y/N despises, but instead of mounting her head on the wall he’ll mount her on display around his arm as a picture perfect trophy wife.

Hal was surprised by Y/N’s refreshing demeanor from the start. He knows his role as staff but unlike the rest of her family Y/N has never made him feel less than. She was a kindhearted soul and quite frankly sometimes he doesn't believe she’s actually related to them.

The first time Hal met Y/N he was cleaning out one of the stalls in the stables. He took a moment to pause and wipe the sweat from his brow, nearly jumping out of his skin when he saw her standing there. She was beautiful, there was no doubt in his mind about that, and even more beautiful as she stood there flashing a radiant smile as she apologized for scaring him. She was coming in to check on one the horses, Percy, to see firsthand if his stomach issues had gotten better.

The smell alone in the stables was enough to keep her family away but Y/N didn’t mind at all, grabbing a manure fork of her own before Hal had the chance to protest so she could inspect the droppings herself.

“He’s doing much better now Miss Y/L/N,” Hal said. She took note of the slightest hint of a Midwest accent in his voice though it was mostly undetectable.

“I’m so happy to hear that,” she beamed, setting the fork aside and stepping forward to see the horses enjoying their day on the open lawn. She spotted Percy grazing on the grass and her heart lifted, glad to see that he was doing better. “Oh, and it’s just Y/N,” she said, looking over her shoulder back at Hal.

The formality her parents required from those they employ is not for her. Y/N knew they were privileged to have a group of people working for them, in the house and on the grounds; but Y/N always felt her parents would forget that these people were actual humans with lives that didn’t and shouldn’t revolve around their family and not robotic slaves meant to carry out all their wishes without complaint.

Hal gave a respectable nod to her, curbing his smile to a professional one as he excused himself back to work.

Their interactions increased over time, especially with Y/N spending a lot of time with her favorite horse Penelope. She liked to brush her down and bring her apples she picked from the trees on property, and whenever they went riding Hal couldn’t take his eyes off her.

When Y/N was saddled up on Penelope’s back it seemed like it was the only time she truly felt in control of her life. It was true. Riding allowed her the time to clear her mind and with the wind in her hair she let go of everything outside of that moment.

But there was one thing that she couldn’t shake from her thoughts, Hal Carter.

It didn’t take long before for their friendship to develop and quite soon after a forbidden romance. It was something they worked hard at, deleting texts right after sending them, hiding their pictures together. Y/N’s stepmother had a tendency to snoop so she did everything she could to protect their relationship.

Hal tasted the lemonade from her lips, his calloused hands wrapped around Y/N’s waist, backing her up towards the wall to steal more of the sweetness he couldn’t get enough of and he didn’t mean the drink.

Her lips were soft against his, a heavenly touch that set every part of him aflame. The idea of sneaking around made both their hearts race, every noise keeping them on edge with “what ifs” racing through their minds. If they were caught Hal would surely be fired and though they wouldn’t have to hide their relationship any more that’s not something Y/N wanted.

Hal rarely spoke to her about money; she understood and didn’t push the issue. She knew his financial situation wasn’t the best and that despite her parent’s attitude towards the staff they actually paid them surprisingly well. It wasn’t something he ever flaunted but it wasn’t something neither of them could deny.

Still, he couldn’t help but feel like all of this could slip away from him, that one day Y/N will wake up and realize what a big mistake she made. She could date anybody, someone her parents’ won’t turn their nose up to, someone who could afford to take her out. Not even to a fancy place because Hal knows she doesn’t care about that but he’s ashamed he can’t even take her anywhere.

“Darlin’, you deserve everything.” The corner of his lips sunk into a frown as he sighed, “And I can’t give you that.”

“Hal, I have everything and I don’t want it, I only want you.”

He was shocked by her admission, still finding it hard to believe. “I’m nothing Y/N. I have nothing. I’m lucky I even have this job.”

She brushed the hair away from his eyes, letting her hand move down cup the soft skin of his cheek, warm against her palm. “What do you want Hal? You don’t have to work for my family forever. Whatever’s holding you back I’ll help.”

He smiled, taking her hand off his cheek to kiss the delicate knuckles of her skin. She knows what he’s doing, changing the subject when he doesn’t want to answer. Again, she doesn’t push him.

“Follow me,” he said, letting go of her hands.

They walk along the fence of the pasture, down the slope of a small hill before they stop at a bright red maple tree. Hal adjusts Y/N to stand in the right spot, his solid frame behind her, leaning in as he points his finger up between the branches.

“Can you see?” he asked, and she tried to follow the line of sight for his finger.

She isn’t sure what she’s looking for until she sees it, the slightest movement of a robin moving its head, spying on them from her nest.

“She’s been sittin’ on those eggs for a week now,” Hal said, smiling because he knows Y/N’s love of animals is not just for horses. They’ll be hatching soon and he can’t wait to bring her to see them.

If this is what their dates are for now then Hal doesn’t mind it at all. Any time spent with her he’s grateful for but Y/N knows she’s been gone for too long and knowing her stepmother she probably set a timer the moment Y/N walked out of the door.

Back in the stables she packs up the empty mason jars and reluctantly says goodbye. Hal holds her close as they kiss, the slip of his tongue in her mouth makes her yearn for more. A soft hum bubbles in her throat before she grabs the back of his head, deepening the kiss as their tongues dance together.

They get carried away and Hal falls back into a pile of hay, protecting Y/N in his arms as she falls on top of him. With a final press to his lips she gets up, extending her hands out to Hal to pull him up. He helps wipe off any hay that may have gotten attached to her, watching her figure get smaller the further she walks away from him as she makes her way back to the main house.

With a heavy sigh Hal gets back to work, knowing for now their secret is kept by the horses, the only ones who seemed to be rooting for them.

“What took you so long?” Her stepmother scowled, throwing her a sharp accusatory glare.

Y/N rolled her eyes, opening the basket to take out the mason jars. Over her shoulder she responded, “You know how I like to spend time with Penelope.”

As she washes the glasses Y/N can’t see the disapproving shake of her stepmother’s head, especially as she sees a strand of hay stuck on the fabric of Y/N’s leg. She doesn’t say anything. The clack of her heels echo through the large home as she stomps her way out of the kitchen, not liking this one bit.

Y/N comes down the grand stairway when dinner is ready, her hand languidly gliding down the banister. It’s not that she didn’t want to eat with her parents, she didn’t mind their company as long as they didn’t pester her about the things that parents do, but she was tired of seeing them.

Going away for college had been a wonderful escape, to be Y/N Y/L/N, regular college student and not the girl with a rich family. Her father was right, teaching does not pay well but she isn’t doing it for the money. However she did need to save a bit so she could move out and finally be on her own. She had assets in a trust fund but she refused to use them, wanting to prove to her family that she didn’t need their money.

“There she is,” the somewhat familiar voice of a man called out.

Y/N lifted her head, frozen in shock to find William Archer III sitting at her dining table.

A cheshire cat smile stretched across her stepmother’s face. “Look who came by!” she feigned surprise. Y/N knew her stepmother had called him the moment she left to see Hal.

There was plenty of space at the table but most of the chairs had been removed, leaving only one open and unsurprisingly it was next to William. Y/N plastered a smile to her face and held the back of the chair, moving it as far away from him as she could before she was scolded by her stepmother. It was embarrassing, especially when her father chimed in to remind her that they don’t treat guests this way. If only they knew what he was really like. Reluctantly, she returned the chair to its spot next to him though she kept a greater distance than where it was originally.

Y/N wondered if she was the only one who noticed the way William would speak wildly with his hands, these big gestures that involved movement of his whole body giving him an excuse to adjust his chair again and somehow he had ended up right beside her. She ignored him as best as she could, moving her leg away each time his hand “just happened” to brush against her thigh.

She tries her best to be pleasant despite the very unpleasant circumstances, making small talk when William didn’t talk over her.

“Hal says the robin chicks will be born soon. I can’t wait to see them,” Y/N beamed, her smile fading as she caught the tail end of her stepmother’s eye roll.

“Oh, I didn’t know Hal was an avian expert now. Honey perhaps we should give him a raise, a man with such an extensive animal background,” her stepmother said sarcastically.

“That’s because he is one!” William chimed in, bursting out with a round of belly aching laughter, a duet with her stepmother’s own cackling.

Y/N expected that from her but she was even more disappointed to see her father snickering.

“That’s enough!” She slammed her hand against the table, the flame of the candlesticks wobbling back to a steady flicker. “I’m sick and tired of all you thinking you’re better than Hal or anyone else just because you have money. It’s disgusting.”

Her father clenched his jaw, “I know you like to forget this Y/N but you have money too. Stop acting like it’s something you’re so ashamed of. I worked hard to give us what we have.”

“Did you?” she asked accusingly. “Because it’s been so long since you had to bust your ass like Hal I think you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be a decent person!”

Her stepmother balked in disgust. “Young lady you do not speak to your father this way.”

Y/N ignored her as she got up from the table, stomping her way out of the house. The evening air was cool and she felt immediate relief on her skin that burned hot after her emotionally fueled eruption. Her stepmother has always been a snob but she hates the fact that her father has lost touch with reality.

“Hey.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose upon hearing William’s voice, the last person she wanted to ever see. Hal was in the distance, working late and she was hoping to say goodbye to him before he left. Now that William’s here she can’t.

Turning around she huffed, not hiding her contempt. William’s hands were up in a small attempt to convey that he wasn’t looking for trouble.

“Are you okay?” His tone seemed sincere but Y/N kept her guard up. “I know you don’t like me but I do care about you Y/N. I always have.”

She knows better than to trust him but something inside her breaks and she lets out a shuddering sob. Y/N didn’t want to feel the way she does about her parents but she can’t help it. She wished her parents were better people, she wished she could openly speak to them about how she feels, and not having to hide her relationship with Hal. She wishes things were different.

William hesitantly offers a hug and in desperation Y/N takes it, crying against him. “It’ll be okay,” he comforts, rubbing her back.

With her back turned she doesn’t see the smirk on William’s face as he spots Hal in the distance. He lets Y/N pull away, feeling comfortable enough to have gained his trust for a moment before he acts. Like a leech he grabs her face, forcing her lips to his, his tongue probing forcefully into her mouth.

Y/N is pushing him off with her hands as best as she could, scrunching her face and whipping her head around to get away from him. Her efforts don’t take her very far as his lips get closer again so instead she kicks him in between his legs.

William doubles over in pain. “You little bitch!” he sneered, grabbing her by the hair as she tried to run away.

His clenched hand raised to her but immediately felt his arm wrench back. He was turned around forcibly by Hal, whose own fist socked William right in the jaw. The hard punch took the coward down and while he was busy screaming expletives Hal went to Y/N.

“Darlin’, did he hurt you?” The softness of Hal’s voice brought tears to her eyes that fell down her cheeks as she shook her head. She found true comfort in Hal’s arms, apologizing for what had happened. “Shhh, you have nothin’ to apologize for,” he reassured her.

“You’ll pay for putting your hands on me y-you… dirty lowlife scum!” William threatened, walking away from them.

Hal’s jaw clenched with anger but Y/N’s gentle palm caressing his cheek made him release his tension.

“I’m sorry Hal,” she said, and once again he stopped her but this time with a soft kiss to her lips. Y/N had nothing to be sorry for but on nights like this Hal felt sorry for her, thinking she wouldn’t have to go through this if she gave her heart to a better man than him.

There’s a knocking at her door and before she can get up her stepmother has already let herself into Y/N’s room. “We need to talk about what happened...” she said, settling down on Y/N’s bed beside her. Y/N braced herself for a lecture before her stepmother finished. “...after you left.”

Relief washed over her believing the serious look on her stepmother’s face was not meant to scold her but about what happened with William.

“I hope you saw what I’ve been telling you, William is–”

“William? Y/N no, this is about Hal.”

Y/N’s brows furrowed with confusion. “Hal?”

“He assaulted William. Your father and I need to reconsider his employment.”

She stared at her stepmother in disbelief. Was she actually naive enough to believe what William told her? Y/N answered her own question as her stepmother continued to talk about “poor William” and how he had to drive home holding a bag of ice to his face.

“William is a liar. He forced himself on me! Hal was only trying to protect me. How do you not see this?”

Her stepmother took Y/N’s hand in her own, awkward and unsure if this felt right or not. She was unable to have children of her own and perhaps that’s why she treated Y/N so poorly from the start, resenting her and never truly accepting her as her daughter. Y/N was passed off to au pairs and maids to be cared for as her stepmother went shopping or to the spa. Y/N has always felt disconnected to her stepmother and even more so now.

“Sweetheart, I know men like Hal. They’re fine to look at but they can’t provide for you, not the way William can.”

“You don’t know the first thing abou–” Y/N’s cheek stung at the unexpected slap she received.

“Don’t tell me what I know because I know exactly what you’ve been up to with Hal. Stay away from him. Hal is not the one for you.”

Y/N rose from her bed, stomping as she paced in front of her stepmother, waving her finger in her face as she told her off.

“I’m leaving. I’m going to get Hal and we’re leaving and there’s nothing you can do about that!”

“He isn’t here.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed at her stepmother, her nostrils flaring, teeth clenching together as she hissed, “What did you do?”

“Nothing! He asked for the day off, though his days are numbered. As soon as we find someone to take his position…” her stepmother said without hiding the joy in her voice. She sauntered out of Y/N’s room feeling proud, not giving a single care she broke down crying.

Her vision was clouded by tears as she texted Hal, wondering why he didn’t tell her he wouldn’t be there today. It took a few hours for him to respond, every waiting minute adding to her anxiety but when he finally did she was able to take a deep breath. Hal reassured her that he was fine and wondered if she could meet him later.

Y/N told her family she was going shopping as she headed out, instead she drove to Hal’s. They were only twenty minutes apart and yet they lived in such different worlds. The homes in Hal’s area were older, small ranch style houses on lots smaller than her home’s driveway. She had so much more than this community and yet they had everything she wanted.

She sees a dog being walked by a couple, hand in hand as they stroll down the sidewalk not worried about hiding their love. Y/N comes to a stop in the street to let the children playing move to the side. She gives a friendly smile as she slowly rolls past them, seeing their happy faces in the rear view mirror. She wonders if anyone can see how she aches behind her smile, desperate to be as happy as them one day. She parks behind his truck on the street and texts that she’s there.

When Hal came to New York he was sleeping in his truck, desperate for a place to stay. His friend Peter offered him a room which Hal helped close off and renovate into an unofficial one bedroom apartment in the back of the house. Peter needed the cash to pay his mortgage so it worked out for both of them.

Y/N had been over a dozen times but Hal was embarrassed every time she did. His place was small but he kept it as nice as he could. He didn’t have much furniture, a bed, a pretty beat up looking couch, a small table that barely fit in his small kitchen. She told him over and over how she didn’t care about material things and deep down Hal knows that but he can’t help those feelings anyway.

She runs into his arms, enveloped by his warmth as he squeezes her tight. “I missed you darlin’,” he cooed as he tips her chin with his fingers, pressing his lips to hers.

“What happened today?” Y/N can’t help the worry woven through her words.

He takes her by the hand and they sit on his bed; he never liked Y/N sitting on that dirty couch of his.

“I had something to take care of today… for our future.” She looks at him with hopeful eyes. “I had some trouble in my past, surprised it didn’t catch up to me yet to be honest. Once this is over I can work anywhere, we can live that life we want darlin’.”

Tears roll down her cheek, their path altered by the curve of her smile. Hal’s thumb brushes them away gently, bringing his lips to her forehead and after the softness of her lips. Clothes are slowly discarded and Hal takes his time making love to her, joining her passionate cries with moans of his own as they peak together to the heights of bliss.

He cradles her in his arms, his fingertips grazing soft circles over her back as they lay together for as long as they could, knowing Y/N would have to leave soon. The time comes sooner than they wanted and with reluctance they get dressed.

A knock at the door startled them both, the sound of a voice even more shocking.

“Y/N! I know you’re in there!” her stepmother taunted, banging roughly against the glass pane of the screen door.

Her jaw dropped open in shock as she could only think about what a psycho her stepmother was. “Did she follow me?” Y/N whispered to Hal, panic washing over her.

There was no point in hiding anymore, not if her parents really were firing Hal, and if that was a bluff they most certainly would now.

Hand in hand they proudly step out from his door onto the small pathway on the side of the house. It’s there when Y/N’s jaw drops in shock to see William standing beside her stepmother, the two of them standing shoulder to shoulder with two police officers.

“That’s him,” William points at Hal, a smug look plastered on his face.

A man as tall as Hal took a step towards him, roughly separating his hand from Y/N’s as he began to cuff his hands behind his back, reading him his rights as he walked Hal towards the police car parked crookedly in the driveway.

“What are you doing?” Y/N pleaded for an answer.

William answered her question, informing Y/N that Hal had a warrant out for his arrest for auto theft in Kansas. She realized that’s what Hal must have been talking about.

“I have friends everywhere Y/N and I will make this harder for him unless…” William tried to lace his fingers with hers but Y/N quickly snapped her arm away.

She watched helplessly as Hal was stuffed into the back of the car, wiping away the tears that began to fall. Her stepmother sauntered up beside her, making some comment about how appalled she was that she had a fugitive working for her, that’s when Y/N snapped.

“Enough! I don’t give a shit what you say. Fugitive or not Hal’s a better person than you’ll ever be. I love him, I love him with every piece of my heart and I’m going to do everything in my power to stop this.”

The car drove away with Hal craning his neck around, not knowing if he would ever be able to see Y/N again.

“Hal! Are you okay?” Y/N said, hugging him with all her might.

The breeze on his skin felt nice but it was nothing compared to having her in his arms again. “Much better now darlin’,” he replied, squeezing his arms around her.

Hal spent the night in jail, calling Y/N to ask for her help. He explained everything, that back in Kansas he had borrowed his friend Alan’s car to take a girl named Madge out on a date. Alan’s jealousy got the best of him and he reported the car as stolen. They haven’t spoken since.

Once Y/N got Hal’s call she contacted her attorney, sought out every Alan Seymour she could find before she narrowed it down to the one he went to college with. She spent all morning working with the attorney to have him stop the extradition proceedings and arrange for bail instead. She couldn’t think of a better thing to use the money from her trust fund on.

“I’m so sorry about all of this darlin’, I never meant for it to come out like this. Alan coulda taken it back then but he was still mad ‘nd probably worried about lyin’ to the police.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for Hal,” she assured him, cupping his cheeks with her hand. He pressed against her palm, his lips pulling into a small smile as he looked at her. “I can’t believe my stepmother had you arrested. I hate her. I hate my father. I hate what they’ve become. Let’s go away together.”

As the words fell from her lips every part of Hal’s body stiffened with worry. He was about to ask a question before Y/N interrupted him.

“I’m done with them Hal. I don’t care how hard I have to work to put this behind us. We’ll get through this together because that’s how I want to spend the rest of our lives.”

It was hard to hide the way Hal’s lips were pressed into a thin smile. He didn’t tell Y/N the full story, that Madge came with him when he left Kansas, to get away from her family too. By the time they got into Missouri she turned around, realizing she couldn’t leave them.

This was different though. Hal didn’t care if Madge came or not, he didn’t feel the same way about her as he does with Y/N, which is why this is so hard for him.

“Those things you said yesterday…Did you mean them?” Hal asked, holding her hands in his. Y/N nodded and Hal let out a sigh. “I love you too Y/N but I can’t ask you to choose between me and your family.”

Her heart skipped a beat but not in the way Hal had made it done in the past. This pain was sharp in her chest and she would have fallen down if Hal hadn’t been holding her. Those were the last words she expected.

“But you’re not asking Hal, this is my choice.”

“I know darlin’ but trust me on this, if we ran away we’d be happy but in the back of your mind I know how you’d feel, wonderin’ if your parents were okay because I know deep down you love ‘em and it would break my heart to see you tryin’ to cover that up. I can’t put that on you.”

“Hal, please…” she cried. “Don’t say this.”

This is the last thing Hal wants, Y/N is everything he’s ever wanted in life but things were always too good to be true for him. He was doing this for her even though it hurts, because Y/N deserves the best.

“I love you Y/N, more than anything in this world. I know I can’t ever repay you for gettin’ me out, and I know your parents think I’ll never be good enough for ya but–”

“You’re wrong son.”

A familiar voice has their heads turning around to find Y/N’s father standing there.

“Dad? What are you doing here?” Y/N was confused, unaware of the way she took a protective step in front of Hal.

“I came to bail out Mr. Carter but it seems you’ve already done that. I wanted to tell him that Mr. Seymour has been contacted and he will be revoking his initial claim.”

“Sir, I appreciate that but I can’t ask anything of you,” Hal began.

“You didn’t have to. I owe you an apology for my wife’s behavior. She was wrong and after I heard the truth about what happened with William I owe you a thanks as well for protecting my daughter.”

The corner of Hal’s mouth turned upwards as he replied, “You don’t have to thank me for that sir, I would take a bullet for Y/N if it meant she’d be safe.”

“I can see that. You’re a good man Mr. Carter, a hard working man that reminds me of the person I was a long time ago.” Her father shares a look with Y/N, nodding his head ever so slightly. “And I see the way you love my daughter, that makes you good enough in my eyes.”

Her father extends his hand towards Hal who is hesitant at first to shake it, waiting for the other shoe to drop but the sincerity in the eyes of the man before him sets his mind at ease. The two men shake and soon enough Y/N is back in Hal’s arms.

The weight is lifted from their shoulders knowing they have her father’s support, not only in Hal’s defense but in their relationship. Hiding is in the past and Hal couldn’t be happier. The truth is no matter what he told Y/N before Hal knew he wouldn’t have been strong enough to let her go.

As Hal held Y/N in his arms he vowed to never again feel ashamed about material things he didn’t have because Hal was rich where it counted, in his heart.

#togwc #hal carter x reader #hal carter fanfiction #hal carter fic #hal carter one shot

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thatslikely · 4 years

Text

Frosting On Your Nose - R.W.

Frosting On Your Nose- Ron Weasley x fem!reader

Warnings: marriage (to Ron), mentions of having a kid, food.

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: this has been an idea of mine forver, here it is. writing for ron is actually kinda fun! i’ve been feeling really bad about my writing lately, so I’m glad at least to churn something out. also I renamed Ron’s son because Hugo is not it

Taglist: @amourtentiaa @probably-peeves @anchoeritic @theweasleytwinsgirl

if you want to be added, send me an ask or dm!

“I can’t believe our Benny’s already turning one year old! Feels like he was born just yesterday, doesn’t it, love?” Ron asked you from across the messy, crumb-coated kitchen, his chiseled hands steadily whisking a muckle of creamy, vanilla frosting in a bowl.

“Time really does fly when you’re having fun, I suppose,” you replied while carefully selecting a fistful of small food dye vials of various shades of the rainbow. The blank, white frosting will soon brilliantly decorate the rich chocolate cake cooling on the windowsill, basking in the sun’s lazy, late-afternoon rays.

Silence soon rose into the bright, cozy room like the soothing morning tide of the sea, calm and comfortable. Ron continued to rhythmically stir the batch of uncolored frosting while you had moved on to preparing various crystalline piping bags, selectively choosing each fine metal tip.

Inexorably, Ron soon removed the metal whisk from the bowl, long, red tongue out and ready to kitten-lick some of the deliciously sweet frosting off the whisk’s wired loops. “Ronnie, you better not be eating any of that frosting! It’s for Benny’s cake, remember,” you smoothly reminded the sweet-toothed redhead opposite you, not even needing to gaze at him to know what he had planned.

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” Ron denied innocently, placing the whisk back into the bowl inconspicuously. You ambled over to the tall ginger for a quick progress check, pleased to see that the frosting was now mixed to perfection, its texture silky smooth and ready for piping. You swiped your finger on the rim of the bowl, accumulating a dollop of the fluffy cream, before nonchalantly sticking it into your mouth with a pop. “Hey! You can have frosting, but I can’t, huh? That’s not fair.”

“Life’s not fair, Ronnie-kins. But I’ll let you have all the leftovers after the cake is done, deal?”

“Fine,” - he grumbled - “deal. Now what colours are we gonna frost this mouth-watering cake?”

Countless rough sketches and outlines of adorable cakes filled the smudged papers of your notebook, the same one you doodled in since your Hogwarts days. You gingerly handed Ron the dog-eared bundle of bound papers, pointing at your favorite sketches and concepts, most of which included bright colours and childish smiley faces galore. The final design of the soon-to-be Benny’s first birthday cake was circular and slathered in white frosting, dotted with yellow and orange suns wearing wide-mouthed grins, which popped against frosted sky-blue ribbons. Little spherical sprinkles added miniature bursts of colour to the central letters of the cake which read, “Happy First Birthday Benny!” in flawless, fluid cursive writing.

“Wow, I didn’t know you had such a knack for drawing, sweetheart. Benny’s cake’ll look amazing, as long as you’re the one doing all those tiny details.”

“You’re not that bad at sketching yourself. We’ll pipe it together, but I’ll be sure to do the lettering. Don’t think I didn’t see your awful handwriting back on all your old Divination homework.”

“It was only that bad because I hated the class! It always smelled like old-lady perfume and Trelawney was a nutter!”

“She was better than Snape, at least.”

Ron gave you a concurring nod, his unkempt mop of ginger hair fluffing up and down with the movement. You suppressed a giggle at his charming, goofy grin you’d come to love before squeezing droplets of brilliantly-coloured food dye into the small basins of peaked, milky-white frosting.

Ron gently clamped his large, vermillion-freckled hand over yours’, guiding your wrist in circular stirring motions to tint the heaps of icing. Ron’s chin rested on the crown of your head, his warm breath blowing strands of your hair to obscure your gorgeous, light-catching eyes. You paid no attention to the falling tresses of hair, instead you absorbed the familiar sensation of being held in Ron’s delicate arms; the knits and stitches of his homemade maroon sweater caressed your skin.

Once the pigmented frosting was tightly wrapped in the metal-tipped piping bags, you daubed a thin crumb-coat onto the layered cake. When the coat had settled, cementing the loose specks of brown to the sponge, you smoothed on another layer of frosting, this time making it a silky, uncreased layer.

Soon enough, Ron was concentratedly piping an (uneven) border of blue around the base of the cake. Even though his strokes of frosting were messy, you admired his effort. His effort that was made quite prominent by the tip of his tongue poking out from his soft lips in focus, his minimally-blinking blue eyes glued to the slowly revolving cake.

“Honey, you did a splendid job. I’m so proud of you.” You pulled in a triumphant Ron for a tight, loving hug, twirling your fingers through his messy ginger hair. You were quick to notice little ivory specks of frosting was strewn through his fluffy locks. “How’d you manage to get frosting in your hair, silly?”

“It’s just part of the process of being a great baker, I guess.”

You both let out airy chuckles, your faces inching closer and closer. He finally pulled you by the hem of your apron into a sloppy, languid kiss, each succumbing to the familiar sensations of each other’s lips. The sensation you felt all those years ago after he confessed his love for you on a chilly night at Hogwarts, the sensation you felt dressed in a stunning sea of white on the day of your wedding, the sensation of his lips after looking at your son for the first time.

In quite a few minutes, after lingering kisses and tear-jerking memories came and went, you were back in the present, the clocks still ticking forward, finishing up the piping. You trimmed the sponge with varicoloured stripes and ribbons, meticulously spacing them out to perfection.

After the last pinch of beads of sprinkles fell atop the cake like bittersweet summer rain, the cake was finally complete. It looked adorable, exactly like the baked goods that would be proudly displayed in the window of a bakery. Ron gave you a goofy high five (which was commonplace) in celebration; after your hands smacked together, he wrapped his fingers around your palm, your hand dwarfed by his’.

“You did a wonderful job, love. Everyone at his party’ll be dying to try a slice!” he praised, pulling you to his chest for a hug.

You pulled back to glance up at his handsome face with doe eyes, his features illuminated by the golden, waning sunlight. Before you could give him a sweet reply and subsequent peck on his lips, he stated with a laugh, “Y/N, you have frosting on your nose.”

You retracted your hand from his sweater-clad chest, dipping your pointer finger into the leftover stash of glistening frosting before briskly smudging a streak of white across Ron’s sun-freckled nose, teasing, “now you do, too.”

“Oh, you’re in for it now!” Ron exclaimed mischievously, coating his hands into the bowl of sugary fluff, desperately attempting to slather your nose in white further. As the sunlight gradually faded away, and the moon elusively bathed your quaint house in pale beams, the evening was pin-drop silent and peaceful, except for the light, scampering footsteps and fearful giggling of you and your doting husband.

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angelwiththeblue-box · 3 years

Text

together through it all

im writing this story for an nyu portfolio, hope yall like it

I slid the headphones over my ears and flicked on the radio.

It’s been seven months since the world stopped. I’m not particularly sure what caused it. Me and Maya, my girlfriend, were out to eat. It was our date night, the one night where neither of us are working. I’m a physicist and she works late shifts, so our schedules are always a bit weird, but we make it work. We went to Maya’s favorite restaurant, a cute little 80s style diner. They even had a jukebox in the corner.

We were just finishing ordering when glass shattered and everything went dark. Invisible forces smashed through windows and I grabbed Maya’s arm and the two of us ran out of the diner. I turned back, like a fool, to watch as something shimmered, like a glare of a mirror reflecting in the sun.

Seven months, Maya and I had been moving from abandoned house to abandoned house. No one knows what the creatures look like. All we know is they came one day, taking out all electrical based power with them, and they haven’t stopped. Maya’s had been trying to figure out what they are. She’s a biologist and a damn good one too, but since she has no samples to study, and no lab to study them in, we’ve resorted to doing our best to survive.

The sound crackled and popped and I threw the headphones off.

“Ow!” I whined.

Footsteps creaked and I looked up to see Maya standing above me. Her dark brown hair was tied into a loose bun above her head and her clothes were tattered from wear. Both of ours were.

“Still not working?” She said. I sighed and shook my head. In one house, some war vet or weird collector had this old radio. It didn’t run on electricity, which meant it worked. Or, it should. It’s old as hell, and I still haven’t been able to get it working. In my defense, I’m a physicist not an engineer.

“Damn. I really thought that would work.” Maya said, leaning against the desk. “Though, even if we did get it working, what would we do with it? It’s not like everyone is carrying around this old piece of junk.”

“Oh.” I said. “I didn’t think about that.” Maya laughed and poked my shoulder.

“See, you’d be lost without me.”

***

My screams echo in my ears as I shoot up, breathing hard. Sweat trickles down my face and I look around, the dark of the house feeling like it’s closing in on me.

Maya was right. I am lost without her. I still can hear her screams as the creatures ripped her away from me. I couldn’t even see where they took her, but I have to find her. Maya has to be alive. She has to be.

Three weeks. I’ve walked so far, trying to find anyone who might know where the creatures are or even what they look like.

I still carry around the radio. It’s a useless weight on my back, but it’s a reminder of what I lost. Of what I’m trying to find.

I’ll fiddle with the radio every so often, in hopes that maybe I’ll hit a frequency that people are listening to, but no luck. My legs feel like they’re going to give out and every time I think of Maya, tears fill my eyes. I miss her so much it hurts. I how we would watch movies late into the night when neither of us had work the next day. I miss Maya’s pancakes and how we would always end up curled into each other whenever we fell asleep, even if we were angry.

My legs give out and I fall to my knees, tears streaming down my cheeks.

I’m alone. The one person I thought would always be there next to me is gone. There’s no way to find anyone else.

“Hey, it’ll be alright.” I look up, but there’s no one there. “You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

“Maya?” I ask, my voice cracking.

“I’m here. I’m here.” But she’s not. She’s not here and she never will be. It’s time to give up. Maya’s gone.

With shaking hands, I pull out my knife.

“I love you, Maya.” I say, plunging the knife into my stomach. Blood pours out and I fall over. My eyes are blurring and I can just barely see the outline of Maya.

“What took you so long?” I reach up and take Maya’s hand and hug her, Maya’s familiar scent envelopes me.

Maya leads me into a golden mist, holding my hand in hers.

Behind me, my body lies, surrounded by crimson blood, but it’s not important, because Maya is here and we’re together, even in death.

#i will gladly take edits #this is just the first draft #val writes #original story #original characters #queer #lgbtq #wlw relationship #apocolypse

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cassava-49 · 4 years

Text

Death 2

Part 1/ Part 3/ Part 4/ Part 5/Part 6/ Part 7

"Seriously? You did that to him?" Marinette asked trying to control her laughter. "Adrien's very easy to fool. He lets his guard down every time he feels like he could trust the person," Felix answered as he grinned at the girl in front of him.

It has been five days since Marinette got into a coma. The doctors said that she'll recover and would be able to wake up in soon. However, Felix's condition was slowly deteriorating. There were times when his heart would stop beating for a second or two. This caused a massive pain to those who knew and love him. Given that he's already a month in.

Although, the two ghosts seem to not mind it at all. Given that they're both just chilling at the roof. For the past three days, the two of them had been entertaining each other with their life stories, given that they know both of them were not going to live anyway.

"Hey, I saw your classmates trying to visit you again," Felix said as he stands up and goes to the ledge. "Who stopped them this time?" Marinette asked as she continues to finish the flower crown. "Security," he replied casually as he watched his mother entering his room to visit him again. "Your parents talked with the head and asked to have your classmates stopped if they're just here to visit you," he added as he faintly feels his mother's hand in his. Distracted by his mother, Felix didn't notice that Marinette had placed a flower crown on his head. "There, now you look a lot less like a creepy ghost," Marinette smiled as she looked at him with the flowers on his head. He smiled at her and adjusts her flower crown. This made him slightly jealous of his cousin for scoring a sweet, innocent girl in his life.

"Getting cozy up there you two?" a voice called from the other side. "Claude, what kept you guys?" Marinette asked as she approached the new comers, leaving Felix behind. Claude, a supposedly 17-year-old boy, who had been in a comatose state for a year already because of a car accident right after an akuma attack. "Hey, why does Felix get a flower crown?" Claude pouted. Marinette giggled and went to her pile of floor crowns. Giving each one of them a crown.

"Oh darling, it's beautiful," Allegra gawked with pride as she lined the outline of each one of the petals. Allegra is a 15-year-old who just got in a coma yesterday because of diabetes. Practically she's the one who's most likely to go first, given that was close to death's door when she arrived. "How are you feeling Allegra?" Felix inquired trying to see if she's recovering smoothly. "I feel better. I'm starting to feel the nurses whenever they touch me," she replied to him with a smile.

"Does it look good on me?" Kenya asked as she adjusted it on her brown locks. "Yup, you're totally rocking them," Allan replied with a wink. Kenya is an eight-year-old who got into an accident a week ago. Allan, on the other hand, is a soul who is trapped inside the hospital. He had been there for two years now, and he could have been 17 by now if it weren't for a rogue bullet.

"Marinette, do you like how I did my flower crown?" Lindalee asked as she showcased her new flower crown which was now in her two hair ties that held her blonde hair. Lindalee is also an eight-year-old who fell off the staircase about a month ago. "It's beautiful Lindalee. I love it," Marinette praised as she stared at it with pleasure. "You're looking great in that crown," Allan teased Felix. "For your information, I look majestic. It is, after all, made by our future fashion designer Marinette," he replied, which causes everyone to laugh.

"I really hope that you'll wake up soon, Marinette," Kenya exclaimed. "I hope that all of you would wake up," Marinette replied as she crouched down to meet the girl's eyes. "And don't forget to go to my grave when you guys all make it out," Allan reminded to them all, who nod in agreement.

"Hey guys, another one is in the emergency room," Claude called as he looked at the nurses who were rushing a young boy who seemed to have broken his leg. "Ooh, this one's interesting," Lindalee exclaimed as she examines the damage. "Is he going to be okay?" Kenya wondered in worry. "Don't worry honey, he'll be alright. It seems to be fracture, nothing as serious as death," Allegra said as she takes the little girl's hand. "It's funny how our only entertainment here is the emergency room," Felix commentt as he stood beside Marinette, who giggled in agreement. "Well, it's not like we could get out of the hospital, can we now?" Marinette replied with a smirk.

"Why can't we leave?" Allegra complained, still wondering the reason for it. "You guys are bounded to your bodies, so leaving it may become a welcoming invitation for the lost souls like me," Allan explains. "Why don't you leave?" she asked. "Why should I? My friends are all here," Allan replied with a smile. "My family moved away so I knew that I should just let them move on. From what I heard my sister's wedding was a blast and her husband is a nice, rich guy, who was her classmate in high school, and my little brother will be taking medicine for college and has a lot of achievements so far. So basically I'm not needed there, too much. They still come here on my death day so that's enough for me," he answered.

"That's so sweet of you," Lindalee cooed as she hugged him. "I'm definitely visiting your grave, first thing I'll do once I'm out," she adds. "Guys, the old man in room 404 is dying. I can see Grim waving at me," Felix said and pointed as room. "Let's go. I want to talk with Grim," Allan said as he begins to jump from the roof to the room. "Alright! Let's go!" Claude responded as he took Allegra's hand, who was still unaware of the perks of being separated from your body. They took a running start and jumped as well, aiming for the room. "Let's go Kenya!" Lindalee said as she took the girl's hand. "Yeah!" the two girls exclaim as they jumped. Marinette laughed at their reactions, since it became a game for them to jump into the room of the person who's about to die and surprise them.

"Come on Marinette, maybe today's the day," Felix said after chuckling as he sticks out his hand for her to take. She smiled and laughed as she takes it. "Let's go!" she exclaimed as the two began running towards the edge jumping through the window and landing in front of the group.

"About time, I thought that the two of you would be staying up there and make out," Grim said as he rolled his sunken eyes at the two. "What gave you an idea that we'd be doing that?" Marinette asked oblivious to the fact that they were still holding hands. The reaper, with his bony phalanges, casually pointed at their hands leaving the two teens flustered at their cluelessness. He chuckled at the two as he looked back at the old man, who was having a heart attack.

The Grim Reaper is as old as time. He wore a vanta black cloak that's tattered at the hem. His whole body is but of bones, a symbol of man's future after death. He carries a scythe to help end a person's suffering when it's too much, however he cannot use it unless the Fates allow him. But, it can also be used to transport the person's soul into the other side. Some may say that he's merciless, cruel, unforgiving and a thief. However, if they get to know him more, he's actually very nice and entertaining. He enjoys the company of ghosts, however is very sad for not being able to transport them to the other side.

"Grim, how's the number of deaths doing?" Claude inquired to pass the time. "It's the same. One person per second, we're just getting stretched too thin. Welp, better than the black plague is what I'd say," he replied. "What about the 1909 Provence quake?" Lindalee asks. "Wow, even for a kid you're really well informed with this," Grim commentt. "But yeah we had to pull out a lot of us just to accommodate all those souls before dinner or some of them decide to go haunting. And believe me the paperwork on it is not fun," he complained. "Grim Reapers have paper work?" Felix queried. "Nah, I think the right question is, Grim Reapers eat?" Claude asked. "Yeah, I guess. More or less, we kind of do," Grim replied as he gestured.

"Hey, look," Kenya pointed as the man's soul was slowly slipping away, as the heart monitor went crazy. The doctors and nurses kept on trying to revive him, but to no avail his soul finally separated. His old wife's tears continue to fall as she reached out to him. The doctor and the nurses give their sullen condolences to the woman.

For the old man, he slowly caught up on what was happening. He tried to go to his wife to comfort her, only to have his body phase through. He then turned around to find the group looking at him.

"W-who are you?" he asked pointing at Grim. This made him smirk and strike a sinister pose. "Who do you think?" he asked in a terrifyingly low voice. This made his eyes widen in horror as he made his way to the children and slowly push Grim away from them. "Stay away from them. You can't just take away children's souls!" he shouted, horrified at the thought of the young children dying. "Why not?" Grim snorted and taunted in a threatening tone. This causesy chills to go down the old man's spine as he tried to protect them. "Don't worry kids, I'm not letting this monster take any of us," he declared.

However, he turns to them when he heard a laugh coming from behind. He scowled at Allan and said, "This is not funny boy, can't you see he's going to drag us all to hell!" This caused the rest of them to look at each other and start laughing as well, confusing the man. "Well, now I know why you guys enjoy doing this," Allegra exclaimed in between laughs. "By the way Grim, I think you made that scary pose a bit too horrifying. I thought I was going to die as well," Allan added. "Who-who, what are you kids?" the old man asks with a shaky voice.

"It's alright sir, we're not demons, and Grim is just here to help you cross over," Marinette calmly told the old man. "You don't have to afraid. He's here to help," Felix reassured. The old man's features slowly relax as he looked at them all. "So, what are you?" he asked in concern, mostly looking at the two kids with worry. "Just souls of comatose victims," Claude replied casually. "Except for Allan, he's dead," he added. "Speaking of which, so do I get to crossover today?" Allan asked with hope. Grim looked him with a pitying look and shook his head no. This made the young soul frown in disappointment as his friends have him a hug for comfort.

Grim looked at them with a desolate look as he takes the old man's hand with reassurance. "Don't worry, I talked with the Fates and they said your time is near, so no need to worry about it," he says to Allan. "Easy for you to say, your dead. Time of different in your realm," Allan replied. Grim gives him a smile as he says, "Lighten up kid, at least you get to enjoy your friends company more."

He turned to the old man and offered his hand saying, "Grab on, the Fates have been expecting you, as well as your son." The man's eyes widen as tears began to fall at the mention of his deceased son. He hesitantly lookef at the hand, not trusting Grim one bit. However, he turned to his right to find Kenya holding his hand with a smile on her face. "There's no need to fear anything sir. He'll guide in your journey to the afterlife as your angel guided you in your life. Your son is waiting on the other side for you, I'm such he'd want to see you," Kenya guaranteed.

The old man's features slowly relaxed as he turned to Grim and slowly made his way to him and took his hand. "Come along sir, we're taking you home," Grim said as he placed his scythe back on the ground, which in turn encased them into a sphere of water, from the river Lethe, to help them easily crossover, forgetting of all the hurt and pain. It was always enchanting to watch souls crossover from life to the demimonde. After the event, Marinette turned her attention back to her despaired friend. She scrunched her eyebrows and looked around.

"Where's Allan?" she asked, concerned for her friend's wellbeing. This caught their attention as they began noticing his absence. "Wasn't he with you?" Lindalee pointed at Claude. "He was. He was right next to me," he replied a boy confused as well. "Let's split up and find him," Kenya suggested. They nodded at each other as they separately began their search.

"Why are we supposed to look for him?" Allegra asked. "He's a lost soul left to wander the earth and had been denied entrance to the afterlife, it's usually heartbreaking, mostly on his part," Felix replied, clearing the air. "Lost souls are more powerful than you think. They have the ability to disrupt the living world. Unlike us who just go through things, they can haunt anything and anyone. On bad days, they're the worst to deal with, and Allan hates being denied entrance to the afterlife after the 100th time," Claude answered with a hint of fear. "How many times had he been denied, including now? curiously queried. "157," Felix responded with a sigh.

With that in mind they all went forth, searching every corner of the hospital. Though they hope that he's still in the hospital.

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waatermelon-sugaar · 4 years

Text

Choose Me

Pairing = Richard x GN reader

Words = 1.4k

Summary = You meet Richard at a fancy-dress competition

Warnings = some mistakes, I wrote this quite quickly

A/N = Prompt no. 18 requested by @phoenixhalliwell as part of my 300 follower celebration, thanks so much for the request, hope you like it! Prompt was “Choose me” w/ Richard and bolded in text. First time writing him, hope it’s ok!

Posted to AO3

Masterlist

***

Fancy dress competitions were the worst.

And your sister, Hannah, had decided to throw a fancy dress competition in her garden, all to raise money for charity. Which meant you couldn’t complain and you had to make an effort.

It was all part of an annual summer party she threw, starting in mid-afternoon, finishing late, with children running around, a barbeque for the food, and a couple of games. And this year she’d also chosen to do fancy dress. Conveniently she was exempt, because she was going to judge.

When you’d asked why you couldn’t judge, she told you “Too many cooks spoil the broth.” And also that “it would be embarrassing if the host’s family didn’t dress up!” But apparently not that embarrassing, because neither she nor Hayden, your brother-in-law, had dressed up.

It wasn’t the dressing up that bothered you so much, more it was deciding what to wear. What if everyone else had much better ideas, or went along with a theme, or…?

In the end you’d chosen a simple costume, finding a ghostbusters jumpsuit in town and deeming it to be good enough. You were regretting all your life choices at the moment, however, the sun beating onto your shoulders in the late afternoon heat, and you were sure that your tank top and shorts underneath were soaked in sweat.

The garden had been decorated nicely, bunting around the boundaries, fairy lights pinned up for later in the evening when it turned dark. But for the meantime, you were left standing next to a stranger who was more interested in talking to the person on their other side, leaving you feeling like a lemon, standing there, not knowing anyone.

You glanced back to the darkness of the kitchen, where it was no doubt much cooler, and aimed a glare at where you were sure Hannah was standing. What was taking so long you had no idea, but you could see her talking to someone else.

Your nieces, nephews, and their friends milled around in front of you, a couple chattering about the merits of each costume in amusing seriousness while they ate the treats available. Hayden was playing a game of football with a couple of kids in the shade at the other end of the garden and you huffed in impatience.

Hannah had claimed she’d choose a fair, impartial judge (and you ‘didn’t fit that criteria’, when you’d opened your mouth to argue), someone she knew from work, she’d said, but you weren’t prepared for who stepped out of the kitchen with her. The first thing you noticed was his moustache, big, but neat. His hair was curly, and greying slightly, a stray curl flopping onto his forehead.

He looks nervous as the two of them step out of the house, and although you don’t care, you never did, about this competition, suddenly you really, really want to win.

They took their time going down the line, accepting donations from each of the entrants and marking something on their clipboards.

Finally, finally, they reached you.

“This is Richard,” was all you got by way of introductions as you handed over your donation. You gave him your hand to shake, smiling and telling him your name.

“Nice to meet you Richard.”

Hannah had already seen your costume, so she soon returned back to the cool darkness of the kitchen, so you walked up to Richard, where he was watching the football game, clipboard hanging at his side.

“Dare I ask who you picked as the best?” You ask, standing next to him.

“That would be telling.” He has nice eyes, you notice, dappled brown in the sunlight and with laughter lines at the side which crease as he talks.

“Choose me.” You say. “Choose me and…” You flounder for a second, flirting a strangely unfamiliar territory after so long without practice. “... and I’ll give you a kiss.”

Your eyes meet his before he ducks his head, a faint blush rising up his cheeks. “I … ok.” The words are quiet enough that you nearly miss them, but, regardless, you lean forwards and give him a quick peck on the lips.

You don’t give him a chance to do anything about it, drawing away, opening your eyes, and watching as he leans forwards slightly, trying to follow your mouth. You grin and Richard’s suddenly fascinated by the football game, shifting his feet, while you can’t help but grin wider. His lips were soft, and his moustache tickled you, but he moves closer so the backs of your hands were touching.

The rest of the afternoon is spent flirting, and you learn that both of you are rusty when it comes to flirting. The winner of the fancy dress competition is announced just before dusk after some passionate arguing between Richard and Hannah, before you are given second place, and the winner is a friend of Hannah’s, wearing an elaborately patterned Belle gown.

You can’t be bitter, she does look good.

“Sorry you can’t take back your kiss.” Richard has approached you this time.

You bite back a smile. “Maybe you could walk me home and kiss me properly as compensation? Away from all these children?”

Richard leans forward into your personal space as his eyes flick down to your lips, again. “I’d like that.”

So the two of you say your goodbyes, a short process considering you both know a combined total of 5 people at the party, leaving the glittering fairy lights and light music behind for the yellow of the streetlights and sounds of distant cars.

Hannah had given you an annoyingly knowing look as you’d said goodbye, hardly able to contain herself with excitement. “Coffee tomorrow?” may have sounded like a perfectly innocent request, but seeing as Hannah was just short of winking, you knew exactly what she wanted, rolling your eyes but nodding in agreement.

“I’ll text you,” you promise, already walking away, turning to go through the house, where you can already see the outline of Richard through the glass in the front door, waiting for you.

It’s cooler this side of the house, less people, and a lack of fire, but you prefer it this way. You didn’t dare take off your costume all afternoon, not even to wrap it around your waist, and the cool air feels light on your face.

The sky is clear and beautiful, stars peeking out between the glow of the streetlamps as you and Richard walk home. There’s still a faint glow of orange sun peeking over the horizon, casting deep purple above the two of you. You stay quiet for the most part, and you know that you’re too busy thrumming with anticipation to think of something to say, although you can’t speak for Richard.

“Well this is me.” You’ve made it to your house, and you suddenly think that you don’t want the night to end. Standing at the edge of your front yard, you glance back at the house. “Do you want to come in? For a … for a drink?”

When you look back at Richard, he’s stepped closer. “Better not,” he says, and you can’t help but feel disappointed. “Maybe I could take you out tomorrow night though?”

His voice is soft, and you bite your lip so you don’t grin like a fool, nodding your head. His eyes are starting to close a little, darting around your face, centering on your lips.

You close the space between you, pulling your arms around his neck and kissing him.

It’s ten times better than the one earlier.

His lips are still soft, but he takes more agency this time, biting your bottom lip, and when you open your mouth, eagerly dipping his tongue in. His arms are on your body, hands feeling like they’re running everywhere, like he can’t get enough of you, can’t believe he’s actually touching you.

It’s messy, and a little desperate, and you feel a bit like a teenager again, having to kiss out of sight of your parents. Your bodies are pressed against each other, and it takes all your self control not to wrap a leg around his waist. Richard’s pressing into you, and you can feel the weight of his stomach against yours, the way he purposefully keeps his hips away from yours.

Your hands thread into his hair, tugging a little when the two of you separate, gasping for air. “Meet me here at 7?” You ask. It takes a minute for him to remember what you were talking about before he nods, eyes sparkling in the growing darkness.

You steal another quick kiss before you leave him, and when you invite him in the next night, he doesn’t say no.

***

Thanks for reading! Reblogs and comments mean the world to me 🥰🥰🥰

#richard alonso muñoz x reader #Richard Alonso Muñoz #the letter room #richard alonso munoz #the letter room fanfic

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cant-think-of-anything · 3 years

Text

Pirate AU (Part Six)

Lucie was very impressed by the sheer amount of weapons the Carstairs owned. There was an entire room lined with them that Cordelia led her down to in an attempt to find her a weapon.

“Well I would offer you a dagger,” Cordelia mused glancing at the wall full of them, “but Alastair is unhealthily fond of those. Bow and arrow?”

“I don’t think my aim is quite that good,” Lucie replied, running her hand over a gold spear.

“I wouldn’t take that either,” Cordelia cut in, coming to stand next to her. “Another one of Alastair’s, I swear he treats them like his children. He has multiple on him all the time.”

“But how would one even-”

“I’ve given up asking. Oh!”

Cordelia popped the lid off a barrel and pulled out a small axe, flipping it once in her hand before waving it to Lucie. She accepted, wrapping her fingers around the dainty handle and looked up.

“Perfect,” Cordelia murmured.

~~~

Thomas stared out the carriage window rather helplessly, because looking anywhere else would mean staring at either Alastair or Eugenia. Who were miraculously chatting amicably instead of sniping at each other. They were set to go to the Blackthorn’s ship at sundown, meaning they had very little time left.

“Thomas!” Eugenia half-yelled, kicking his leg.

Thomas looked up suddenly, not missing Alastair’s unsuccessful attempt to cover his laugh. His mind clung to the sound of the short-lived laugh, trying to focus on what Eugenia was saying

“Open the door, Cordelia’s here.”

He pushed the entry open to reveal Cordelia and Lucie. Lucie had changed into what he could only assume were Cordelia’s clothes. They were looser on her but Lucie seemed thrilled.

“Well,” Eugenia huffed, glancing at her own gown distastefully as they started moving again.

When they arrived near the ocean night had come, the darkness would cloak their presence as they approached. Alastair began to explain what they needed to do. Thomas noted the way everyone readily listened to him.

“Lucie, Cordelia, Eugenia, you three locate Tatiana’s room, take out as little people as possible. Do not go in unless you feel the need to. Come back to where we burn through the ship and wait for us to come back. We’ll try to find anyone in need of rescuing.”

Thomas’s head jerked up at that. Alastair turned his intense dark eyes to him, his eyebrow flickering up slightly.

“Thomas you’re with me.”

~~~

Eugenia watched Cordelia stab her sword into the side of her ship and pour the vial Christopher had given them on the wood. The smell of smoke drifted into the air as a patch of the ship withered and melted away, leaving a large enough hole for them to get through.

Alastair cocked his head to the side and studied the vial. Eugenia heard him mutter the word “smart” before he pocketed the glass and swung himself gracefully into the ship. She felt a thrum of nervousness and anticipation as she watched Cordelia and Alastair pull her friends up. She wasn’t going to be alone, she reminded herself as she gripped the siblings’ hands.

The crawlspace was dark and tight, she was fairly certain someone had stepped on her foot, but it served for a well hidden meeting spot.

“An hour,” Cordelia reminded them, exchanging one of those looks with her brother. “Anymore and we assume the worst.”

And then they split, Thomas and Alastair disappearing down to the depths of the ship.

“Captain’s cabin is always in the same spot,” Cordelia said softly, squinting into the distance.

“Is Tatiana their captain? We never really found out.” Lucie followed Cordelia down the dark hallway leaving Eugenia no choice but to follow.

“I suppose not but it is rare for any one of higher position to be sleeping below with the common crew.”

Cordelia stopped suddenly, her head tipping back. They were above deck now, obscured, pressed into an open passageway leading to the back of the ship. It started to rain, cold pelting droplets combining with the ocean spray.

“There,” Cordelia breathed, pointing up to a row of connected rooms.

The only problem was that there was a clear outline of a man in one of the shaded windows. If they went in from the front he was sure to hear them or see them. Eugenia considered running up the stairs and stabbing him regardless but Cordelia seemed to have other ideas.

She looped her hand around the rope connected to the main mast, the muscles in her arm flexing as she tightened her grip and turned back to them.

“I can only take one with me.”

Eugenia pushed Lucie forward. It wasn’t as if she didn’t want to go, but she wasn’t a fool. Cordelia and Lucie made moon eyes at each other nearly every time they spoke and while all of her friends may be oblivious idiots to their own feelings she refused to be the same. Cordelia swallowed, pulling her hood up to cover her red hair before wrapping her arm around Lucie, who’s breathing seemed to have completely stopped.

Feeling as if she was intruding, Eugenia looked away, promising to keep watch and alert them if anyone came. She heard them depart but a different noise caught her attention. She whipped her head around, her hand tightening on her sword - and nearly dropped it.

~~~

Kamala wasn’t sure what to make of the situation. She heard soft footfalls from above her when she was retiring for bed and reluctantly pulled herself above deck. She had expected to see a stray crewmate breaking curfew but she certainly didn’t expect to see Eugenia Lightwood standing on the deck, her day dress and brown hair coated in water droplets. When she had met her in the market she’d recognized the name, the Lightwoods were Tatiana’s family after all.

But Eugenia seemed to be just that; a relative of her leader who fell into a situation at a market. Not a longsword wielding criminal who snuck onto pirate ships.

“What are you doing here?” Kamala half shouted over the rain which was growing louder.

“This is your ship?” Eugenia called back. Her eyes were halfway between green and brown, shining with either anger or something else.

“Not my ship. I just work on it.”

Eugenia pulled back, her breathing looked shaky. “Why?”

“Money. Why else?”

Catching her hand, Kamala felt herself being pulled under the wood cover of the hallway. The storm was picking up speed now, tearing violently at their masts. Kamala told herself that she shouldn’t care about the look of betrayal in Eugenia’s eyes but she still felt a piercing pain in heart whenever she looked at the woman’s face.

“Are you going to say anything to them?” Eugenia asked finally, her face close enough to Kamala’s that she could whisper.

Kamala’s loyalties did not lie with Tatiana. She worked for her certainly but she couldn’t bring herself to turn Eugenia in.

“No. I won’t ask questions. But if you’d come with others keep in mind that you are the only one I’m sparing.

~~~

It seemed, Alastair thought bitterly, picking the lock that led below deck, that there was no part of London that wasn’t absolutely filthy. It smelled overwhelmingly of alcohol and fish, a scent that Alastair had grown to block out overtime of being held under enemy pirate ships. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to press down the memories. The Carstairs had always tried to spare innocents and other pirates, but most pirates favored cruelty.

He tried his best to keep that from Cordelia, that if there was ever a price to be paid that he would be the one in debt. The scars on his skin, reminders of how brutal their life could be were always carefully hidden.

“Alastair? Are you alright?”

Biting back a curse he nodded, avoiding Thomas’s eye as he pushed the door open with a soft creak. Turning he pressed one of his daggers into Thomas’s hand, ignoring the way the brush of his hands sent sparks directly to Alastair’s brain.

“We won’t take any of the crewmates, we’re just looking for prisoners, people who were taken.”

“They take people for prisoner?” Thomas asked, his voice a horrified murmur.

The memory of ropes cutting into his arms burned far too brightly behind his eyes. “Yes.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Thomas gently placed a hand on his arm, his hazel eyes searching Alastair’s face.

“I-”

The sound of a wave slamming into the side of the ship cut him off and Alastair was grateful for it. Turning down the hallway they searched the rooms as quietly as they could. Hurried moments passed and they came up with nothing.

“What if Tatiana doesn’t have any?”

“Unlikely. I assume they’re dead. We should meet the girls upstairs.”

~~~

I was going to post this yesterday but Shadow and Bone. Also I’m posting the next part now as well, it got too long.

Tagging: @adoravel-fenomeno and @barbra-lightwood

#alastair carstairs #cordelia carstairs #thomas lightwood #eugenia lightwood #kamala joshi #lucie herondale #thomastair #joshwood #lucelia #tlh #the last hours #tsc #my writing

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yslkook · 4 years

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#risk averse (6)

#corporate masterlist

summary: the last day of being in tokyo consists of: workshops, breakfast, dinner, and an airplane ride back. oh, and you finally have some ice cream with jungkook. properly. word count: 5570 warnings: cursing, parental death, discussion of mental health, im not a psychologist so if what i write doesnt make sense dont @ me a/n: this is part 3/3 of being in tokyo!

TUESDAY

Tokyo is probably one of your favorite cities in the world, and yet you’re itching to get out as soon as you can. It’s the last day of the workshop kick-off meeting, and while you’ve enjoyed being back in this city and getting to know new people… You’re exhausted. Your mind has been running on overdrive since Friday afternoon and now it was Tuesday. You’ve never been on for this long, but you suppose it comes with the territory.

Truthfully, you don’t mind the work. You mind Jungkook and how things are still in a strange state of limbo with him. The memory of Saturday night still plagues you and the fact that you still haven’t talked to him pokes at you like a barbed wire.

You scratch your chin, masking your invisible spiral. Jungkook and Sana have set up breakfast for the team in the conference room, complete with steamed rice, fried egg, fruit miso soup, coffee and pastries. You eye the pastries with a gratuitous lick of your lips, your sudden sweet tooth making an appearance. That chocolate cornet in the small basket next to the sweet rolls is calling your name.

You focus on the decadent taste of chocolate rolling over your tongue paired with coffee rather than the anxiety you feel over leaving things between you and Jungkook in limbo.

A shadow casts over your plate next to you and when you turn your head, you’re surprised to see Mark take a seat next to you.

“Morning,” He chirps, “Your guys did a good job with breakfast, huh?”

“They did a good job with everything, Mark. As they always do,” You say fiercely, with a quirk of your eyebrow, “And good morning to you, too.”

“This week went by fast, huh?” Mark says, taking a sip of his own coffee. Yeah, not fast enough.

Today’s workshop was mainly to finalize the project plan, assign subteams, and deliverables. And to determine when the next workshop would be- Namjoon had suggested that the Tokyo team come to Seoul next time. Which you had wholeheartedly supported. Mark had let his eyes slide over to you, catching your eye and smiling at you. Maybe he’d be able to see you outside of work in Seoul.

You had smiled back, a little obliviously.

And now, you stand up next to the whiteboard to write down your smaller sub teams and your deliverables as Namjoon reads from his notes. For everyone to be able to visualize. You were a firm believer in visual aids.

And so was Jungkook- after all, the way your plaid pencil skirt sits on your ass and hugs your hips is quite the visual. He lazily allows his eyes to roam your backside, enjoying the way your skirt moves with every small movement. Your sleeveless blouse is tucked into your skirt, leaving a hint of your tattoo poking out from the thin exposure of your shoulder. Your beige blazer neatly hangs off of the headrest of your chair. Jungkook counts his blessings, watching every inch of your tanned, inked skin as you continue to write on the board.

Namjoon and Mark spend the rest of the morning outlining expectations and brainstorming for the first deliverable. You challenge them sharply, not afraid to voice your thoughts when you don’t agree with them.

Irene and Lisa look on with awestruck eyes, chiming in when they feel necessary. You have this way about you, Jungkook thinks. That when you speak, people just listen and people want to be heard by you. Your voice is magnetic, your eyes dark and fierce and he wants to know them. He wants to peel you back layer by layer, if you’d let him.

Not for the first time, he wonders if you have any other tattoos hiding under your meticulously crafted layers.

You catch Jungkook’s lazy gaze, shooting him a small smile. Jungkook swallows and reciprocates. He leans back in his chair, still not taking his eyes off of you. You maintain his gaze, feeling your cheeks heating up at the intensity of his stare. He unwraps you with his eyes, as if you’re a present wrapped up all pretty just for him. Dark brown eyes dart from your face to your neck to your hands back up to your lips. A smirk ghosts his face, but it passes as quickly as it comes.

You can play fire with fire, too. Something bold blazes in your own eyes, your tongue poking out to lick your bottom lip as you check him out in the same unabashed way that he had been checking you out only moments before.

This time, Jungkook is the one feeling a little heated under his collar. Mark’s voice pierces through the air, pulling you both out of your rose-tinted bubble and you both plaster your obedient gazes to Mark.

The moment dissolves with the sound of Mark’s voice- has it always been that annoying? Or was it only that annoying because Jungkook can see the barely hidden heart eyes he throws you when he makes eye contact with you?

Why does it matter? Because he likes you, and the epiphany doesn’t hit Jungkook like an unseen collision. It washes over him in soft, gentle waves. Comforting him and wrapping around him warmly, only lending him the courage to slide his eyes over to you once again.

His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek in annoyance. Annoyance that you’ve wiggled your way into the crevices in between his veins and he is powerless to stop it.

The rest of the afternoon goes by just about the same, with lunch from the cafeteria and finishing up your plan of deliverables. You’re thankful that the day is coming to a close- these workshops are taking a toll out of you, needless to say.

You stretch your arms, opting to stand rather than sit. You hate how your ass goes numb after hours of sitting.

Jungkook doesn’t mind. It gives him a wonderful view of the slope of your chest that he has no qualms appreciating. You catch him a few times, obliviously giving him a small smile or a nod of appreciation.

It makes Jungkook wonder if you even know how pretty you are. If anyone’s ever told you that you were beautiful, with all of the conviction that you deserve.

You scribble in your notebook while leaning against the windowsill as a surface, your brows furrowed together in concentration as Namjoon and Mark speak. You resist the urge to yawn. What time is your flight again?

Namjoon had requested that your flights be at 4 AM on Wednesday morning, so that you could go straight into work. That was the tradeoff for giving the team the extra day in Tokyo. At the time, it sounded like a nice idea. Now, the thought of a 4 AM flight makes you want to keel over.

You start to drown out their voices, instead making a mental checklist of what you needed to do before leaving for the airport tomorrow morning. Call Grandma, pack your suitcase, arrange your makeup, leave your sweats for the morning out, text your therapist for an appointment when you returned to Seoul…

You’re lost in your thoughts, chewing intently on your bottom lip and absently picking at your cuticles every so often. Mark’s voice cuts through the air again, finally dismissing you.

“It was great seeing all of you,” Mark says, his eyes lingering on you for a second too long.

“Yeah, we’ll be in Seoul soon. You’ll have to show us all the best places to eat,” Irene winks at you.

“Yeah,” You chuckle, rubbing the back of your neck, “See you soon.”

You exchange handshakes with them, with promises from Minhyuk and Lisa that they’ll set up biweekly calls for the Seoul team to have touchpoints with the Tokyo team. Namjoon nods in appreciation.

Jungkook doesn’t miss the way Mark squeezes your hand and pulls you a little closer by the grip of his handshake either.

Mark promises you, for your ears only, that he’ll text you when he gets to Seoul for the workshop. He asks if he can see you, maybe, if he can take you to that restaurant you had told him about. With the best seafood you’d ever had in your life.

You say yes, because you think nothing of it.

The minute you got back to your hotel room, you took your makeup off, moisturized, sprawled out on the bed and stared at the ceiling for a good fifteen minutes. Then you changed into leggings and an oversized hoodie, one of Jin’s that you had stolen years ago.

You’re aware of your phone going off, likely the work group chat as well as Jin texting you. But you ignore it for now, instead closing your eyes and letting silence lull you to sleep.

You must have fallen asleep for a few hours- when you wake up, the moon is out and the sky is dark. You had likely slept through dinner. Moonlight filters into your hotel room and you sigh, rubbing your eyes.

What had woken you up? You hear the noise again, the sound of knuckles knocking gently against your hotel room door. With a soft groan, you rub your face and drag your feet to the door, not bothering to check the little peephole.

And you’re face to face with a nervous looking Jeon Jungkook, holding a bag in his hand. It smells great, mouthwatering, even.

“Hi,” You croak, clearing your throat of your post-sleep voice.

“Hey,” Jungkook says weakly, “We were texting you earlier for dinner but figured you’d fallen asleep or something. Looks like I was right.”

“Yeah, I accidentally fell asleep,” You murmur with a laugh, “You brought dinner for me?” You ask the question in wonder, as if it’s hard to believe.

“Uh huh,” Jungkook says, scratching the back of his neck, “Well, uh, here you go-”

You take the bag of food in your hands, enjoying the warmth that it radiates. You bite your lips in nervousness, suddenly deciding that you don’t want to have dinner alone. You hate having dinner alone.

“Jungkook,” You say softly, “Will you have dinner with me?”

Jungkook’s heart skips about five beats and he’s nodding at you with big, sparkling eyes. You’re floating, somewhere in the clouds when he looks at you like that. Jungkook thinks you’re pretty, with your messy hair and sleepy eyes. Whether you’re in a sharp pencil skirt and a blazer or in pajamas, he thinks you’re so pretty.

You welcome him inside, gesturing for him to get comfortable in your hotel room. You know you have so much still to talk about with him, to explain your actions from Saturday night. But neither of you can deny the company that comes with a meal. So you set some food aside for him, thanking him for thinking of you.

And you eat, knees knocking into each other as you talk softly with only the moon as witness of a blossoming friendship.

WEDNESDAY MORNING

Jungkook doesn’t leave your mind all morning, from when you had woken yourself up at 1:30 AM and even now as you’re in line to board the airplane. Having dinner with him felt so nice and left you feel warm all over.

And now, a seed of relief settles in your belly, knowing that you’re seated far away from Jungkook. So that you can think about him in peace, and think about what you’ll say to him when you finally get the chance to. You could have apologized to him last night, but it just didn’t feel right.

You can’t even see his fluffy head of hair from here. Maybe you’ll even be able to sleep a little, considering how on edge you’ve felt for the last four days. You’re exhausted.

Just as you’re about to close your eyes and rest your head on the window, someone taps your shoulder politely.

“Sorry to disturb,” The flight attendant says, sounding genuinely apologetic, “But I believe there was a seat mix up. We have a couple here requesting to be seated together. Would it be alright if we swap?”

You peer behind her to see an elderly couple. You sigh. “Of course, no problem.” You think nothing of it, heading to the seat that the attendant had requested you switch with, until you see a familiar fluffy haired man within your range of vision.

Of course. Because why wouldn’t the universe seat you next to Jeon Jungkook on this crowded plane? Of all the seats, of course you would be told to sit next to him.

“Um,” You say, waving at him a little nervously, “Hi. Is this seat taken?” You try to keep your voice light. He can probably pick up on the awkwardness.

“Oh! No,” Jungkook says quickly, standing up and hitting his head on the roof of the cramped plane. He winces and you suppress a laugh. “Let me put your suitcase up-”

“I got it, Jungkook,” You murmur, easily lifting the suitcase into the overhead compartment. Jungkook’s eyes immediately fall to the small sliver of your belly as you lift your arms above your head.

Taking a seat next to him, you try your best not to bounce your leg incessantly. Your bottom lip is lodged in between your teeth, as if you’re afraid to say the wrong thing.

“Ready to go back home?” Jungkook asks, desperate to alleviate the awkwardness in the air.

“Yeah, I always need an extra day off after traveling,” You reply, letting out an airy chuckle, “How about you?”

“Yeah, me too. And it’s only Wednesday, too. Can’t believe we still have to work.”

“That’s what’s shitty about leaving so early in the morning,” You yawn, “Still have plenty of time to work later in the day.”

Jungkook nods in agreement and yawns. The silence that falls between you both isn’t uncomfortable. It’s too early in the morning to contemplate it any further.

At some point, your eyes begin to close and you can’t stop the sudden wave of fatigue that washes over you. Fatigue from being anxious for the last four days. Somehow, around Jungkook, it dissipates slightly. Slightly enough for you to succumb to sleep. Jungkook doesn’t have the heart to shift when your head falls onto his shoulder. He wants to brush the hair out of your eyes but keeps his hands in his lap. His face is burning.

A small smile graces his lips when you shift further, sink into his shoulder and wrap an arm around his upper arm. Jungkook pretends like his heart isn’t about to beat right out of his chest, especially when your nose is pressed against his shoulder and he can feel your soft, even breaths as you fall even further into sleep.

Pillowy warmth surrounds you, gently tugging you back down to sleep. But the sound of the pilot over the intercoms forces you to open your eyes. A low groan leaves your lips, you want to bask in your newfound warmth for a little longer.

Wait. Where is this warmth coming from? You look up, seeing a head of dark hair brushing over your forehead.

Your heart immediately accelerates, slamming straight out of your ribcage.

Jungkook feels you shifting before he opens his eyes. You feel so warm, tucked into his side. Even if it’s uncomfortable for both of you, he likes the way your cheek presses into his arm and how he could feel your soft breaths against his neck. The soft groan that escapes your lips sounds like honey in his ears, his cheeks warming.

You have to resist the urge to push his hair back. At least he’s still asleep, you think. What a precarious position to be in. With your coworker who you have unfinished business with. What a cliche, you nearly scoff out loud.

But then you see his warm, doe eyes blinking up at you curiously and you panic. You yank your arm away from him, lifting your head up so quickly that he’s surprised you don’t get whiplash.

“Sorry,” You mumble, “How incredibly inappropriate. ‘M sorry-”

Before he can reply, the pilot and flight attendant give the all clear that people can begin exiting the aircraft. You’re out of your seat in record speed, ignoring the heat and embarrassment in your cheeks as you nearly run over the elderly couple behind you to get your suitcase.

It’s the second time you’ve made a fool out of yourself in front of Jungkook. The memory is seared into your brain as you struggle to hold back tears. You sprint out of the airport in record time, and into Jin’s waiting arms.

You’re breaking Jungkook’s heart and you don’t even know it.

The minute you got home and settled in, you made an appointment with your therapist. You finally feel the edge of anxiety beginning to quell. But you’re exhausted, so exhausted. You contemplate taking a day off, but you don’t have a busy day at work today.

You opt to work from home once you let your boss know. Jin also decided to work from his apartment after picking you up. Maybe you can sneak a nap in during lunch.

At your therapy appointment, you finally cry. You can barely speak through your tears, telling Dr. Lee how being in Tokyo felt so cathartic and so heartbreaking at the same time. You tell her about Jungkook, about the friends that you had reconnected with after years. And then you tell her about how confused you are, how you had all but run out on Jungkook on the airplane.

“This is so stupid,” You sneer at yourself, wiping your cheeks angrily, “When did I become so pathetic-”

“Stop,” Dr. Lee says sternly, “There’s nothing pathetic-”

“I’m almost thirty and I’m acting like a selfish teenager! Who does this?” You snort derisively.

“What does age have to do with how you’re feeling? Don’t beat yourself up for feeling things that you’ve never felt before,” Dr. Lee says, “You’ve been closed off for this long. It’s okay to be a little selfish. You’re only human. Don’t punish yourself for feeling. I’m proud of you. For allowing yourself to feel.”

“It’s like… I know what I should do. But I keep doing the opposite. Or I just do nothing at all. What’s wrong with me?” You groan, holding your head in your hands, “I’m a terrible person, all I do is hurt everyone around me-”

“Bad people don’t wonder if they’re bad people or not,” Dr. Lee says kindly, “Making mistakes does not make you a bad person.”

“Am I a bad person, Dr. Lee? I feel like I’m faking it in my own skin sometimes…”

“Bad people don’t want to fix the things that they’ve wronged. Admitting when you can be better is the first step to fixing it. Let yourself fix it. Let yourself lean on other people.”

FRIDAY

Today, you’re on a mission. You have to get that sad look out of Jungkook’s eyes, the one that you see whenever you happen to glance at him in passing and he catches a glimpse of you. You’ve hurt him repeatedly over the last few days and you need to make it right. Before you lose your nerve, you down an entire cup of coffee and march over to his cubicle.

You don’t even know if he’s in a meeting or not. But it doesn’t matter, you’ll wait. You’ll wait for his undivided attention.

Your courage begins to wear off the closer to get to his cubicle. But nevertheless, you persist.

“Jungkook,” You say clearly, “Hi. Good morning.”

Jungkook swivels in his chair, eyes nearly bulging out of his head when he realizes that it was you. Voluntarily at his cubicle, looking like a vision in your jeans and your plaid blazer.

It was a Friday, after all.

“Uh,” Jungkook says nervously, “Hi.”

“I have to talk to you. But not here,” You rush out, “Willyougeticecreamwithmelatertodayafterwork?”

A sigh of relief. But he’s looking at you like you have ten heads.

“Sorry, what was that? Didn’t catch what you said,” Jungkook says with an arch of his eyebrow.

“Uh. I want to talk to you. But not here at work. Will you get ice cream with me later today after work?” You mumble, looking at the floor before chastising yourself and meeting his piercing gaze.

Jungkook thinks he must be dreaming. There’s no way that you are asking him to get ice cream. He thought that you were done with him, that you disliked him even. Maybe he doesn’t know you at all.

“With me?” Jungkook sputters.

“Yeah. With you,” You nod with a small smile, “I know a place.”

“You know all the good ice cream spots on this side of the world, huh?” Jungkook says airily.

“I don’t think you had the opportunity to enjoy it in Tokyo,” You say softly, “So I want to make it up to you.”

“Oh. Okay,” Jungkook nods as his heart sings, “Text me the place and time, and I’ll meet you there?”

“Y-yeah. Okay,” You reply, pulling your clammy hands out of your pockets.

“See you soon, then,” Jungkook says, flashing a bunny smile at you. You haven’t seen that smile from him in a while and it surprises you how much you missed it. How it makes you want to smile back at him.

Your jitters are parallel, if not worse, to first date jitters, except it’s been a long time since you’ve been on a first date. These jitters are so much worse, considering that you think you have a lot to apologize for and explain to Jungkook. Your stomach is twisted in knots, your leg bouncing as you mindlessly scroll through your phone.

You’d arrived at the ice cream shop about twenty minutes early. Another nervous habit. You hate being late to things.

Jungkook walks in and you knock your knee into the table as you get up from your seat. “Hi,” You wave weakly, “Thanks. Uh. For coming.”

You feel a little dizzy, lightheaded as you take him in. Long sleeved black shirt tucked into black jeans- he looks handsome. But more than that, you’re nervous to face him and bare your heart to him.

“What’s your favorite flavor?” Jungkook asks, peering at the buckets of ice cream behind you.

“Huh?”

“Ice cream? What’s your favorite?” Jungkook asks.

“I like chocolate. I’m easy to please,” You shrug, “Maybe chocolate raspberry. Mint chocolate, too. Oh, and orange chocolate-”

“Mint chocolate,” Jungkook exclaims, scrunching his nose, “Ugh. That’s gross.”

“Oh, whatever,” You roll your eyes playfully. Jungkook gestures for you to order your ice cream first, and then you both sit at a table towards the back near the windows. The sun has long set, blanketing the city in the night sky.

“Do you like it?” You ask, pointing at his selection of cookies and cream. He looks like a deer caught in headlights when he looks up at you, eyes gleaming and lips parted. He nods enthusiastically.

A few more seconds of comfortable silence go by.

“Jungkook,” You say softly, “I think… I should explain myself. For Tokyo.”

He nearly chokes on his ice cream. “No, it’s-”

“Jungkook,” You say firmly, reminding Jungkook of why he is intimidated by you even still, “I asked you to meet me for ice cream because… I’m sorry for blowing up at you that night. You didn’t know, and it wasn’t fair to take it out on you. It’s not fair for me to keep one foot in the past and have this chokehold on a time that doesn’t exist anymore. So I’m sorry. And I’m sorry for just… running out of the airport without saying a word to you. I understand if you don’t want to have anything more than a workplace relationship with me- not that we’re in a relationship, oh my god,- I just meant, I get if you don’t want to be more than acquaintances.”

You cut off your own rambling, wanting to pull your eyes away so he can’t see your heart on your sleeve, but you find yourself unable to. Jungkook has never seen you this nervous before. It’s different. He’s only ever seen you be swift and confident, always sure in yourself. There are more layers to you than he knows, and he wants to peel them back.

“I’m sorry, too,” Jungkook says, “I didn’t… I didn’t know, but I can’t help but feel like maybe I should have. And I’m sorry. That you haven’t been happy, and that I remind you of-”

“No,” You shake your head, “What I said was wrong. I’m happy now, too. Happiness is dependent on the circumstances. It’s not the same, but it’s there. And I never… meant to make you feel like anything I was projecting onto you was because of you. I mean, we just found each other again after what? Five years? Isn’t that funny?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook nods, as if he doesn’t have the memory of the last time he saw you before you had disappeared all those years ago stamped into his brain, “And I mean… We don’t have to just be acquaintances. If you don’t want to be. We don’t have to just have a workplace relationship, as you called it.”

He shoots you a teasing smile and you shrink in your seat, with a nervous laugh of your own. “O-Okay. I’d like that. To be friends, I mean. To be friends like we were when we were younger.”

“It wasn’t that long ago,” Jungkook says, his tongue poking out to swipe at his bottom lip, “Makin’ it sound like we’re old as hell. And we don’t have to be friends like that-”

Your heart drops, and you can’t hide it-

“We can be better. Than what we were like when we were younger.”

Your face feels warm, the sincerity dripping in his eyes makes you shift in your seat. You smile at him, bright and bold, and he smiles right back. When you both leave the ice cream shop, you can’t deny the flutter in your belly at the thought of a new (but old) friend back in your life after so long.

And it feels nice.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook #bts x reader #jungkook fluff

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