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pennylanewrites · 4 years ago

Text

＊Smile＊

minors dni!

description: Armin Arlert loves sweet, innocent things, especially when he can ruin them with his very own sickening sweetness.

pairings: Armin Arlert x gn! reader

word count: 2.4k

contains: smut duh, modern au, private college richboy armin, mild obsession with reader, oral (male receiving), use of the word ‘whore’, like one slap, unprotected sex (nothing spills inside dw), lowkey manipulation (what else y’all expected from armin?)

!!reader is afab(assigned female at birth), gender neutral and of legal age (around their 2nd year of college)!!

)^o^(

Whatever Armin Arlert wanted, Armin Arlert got. Cars, VIP seats, answers to exams, anything you can imagine. Being one of the most well-respected alumni of Paradis Institute's only son definitely had its advantages.

Girls and boys begged for a chance to be noticed by Armin Arlert, who wore his Prefect pin proudly and monitored the halls with his head high, but to no avail. Armin had long forgotten about sex, he found it appalling and unnecessary, unless it was with you.

You, who walked with your head high just like him. You, who would talk with classmates and wonder why they sprinted away as soon as the Prefect turned a corner. You, who could swear you heard a few camera clicks every time you used the communal showers. You, who despite being beautiful and charming, could not get a significant other for the life of you. Yes, your classmate, Armin had made sure the only person available to you would be himself; the handsome, smart and rich Prefect.

"Can I help you, Arlert?" Were the only words you spoke to him when he entered the science lab you were trying to work in.

"Am I bothering you, ___ ? I can leave." You took one look at his big, ocean blue eyes and sighed, taking your glasses off.

"No, sorry."

"Rough day? I'm sure it's nothing a massage can't solve." He offered, walking around the table you were working on and immediately placing his hands on your stiff shoulders. You shrugged them off quickly and faced the other way.

"Are you sure you don't want a massage from the person paying for your scholarship?" He whispered in a low voice, which would be very attractive if you weren't intimidated by him. You gulped and nodded, allowing him to happily massage your shoulders and upper back.

"I heard you're having a hard time with the new lecture."

"I-I do." You tried withholding a pleased sigh. The massage was definitely working.

"Be at my dorm around seven. I'll help you with it, ___." Armin left with a polite smile and bow of his head, leaving you to wonder how he looked so sweet yet acted so bitter.

At seven sharp, you stood outside of Armin Arlert's dormitory, patting your hair down, fixing your shirt underneath your uniform pants and looking around nervously. With a deep breath, you finally knocked on the wooden door, which was opened almost immediately.

"Come in, ___!" Armin's face lit up the moment he saw you and he stepped away for you to enter his room. A kitchenette, a double bed, a desk and a bookcase filled all the space, just like every other dorm on campus. And as you set your books on the desk, you could have sworn you caught a glimpse of tiles, running water and a nude person as the lock screen on his laptop, which he was quick to close before you took another look.

"Would you like a coffee, ___?"

"Yes, please."

It was getting past ten and your head could barely stand up on its own. You leaned back on the chair and stretched your arms out, yawning into one of them. Armin noticed and closed your book, his hand lingering on it.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" ,he exclaimed and opened a drawer, "I have some flash cards for you!"

"Oh, it's not necessa–"

"I insist." He said firmly and looked through some neatly filed papers. Once again, your eye caught a few pictures of someone's back profile and you could swear they had the same lower back tattoo as you. You, however, dismissed it once again. Boys tend to have pictures of pornstars, right?

Flipping through the flash cards, a picture fell out and Armin rushed to pick it up before you could. This time, however, it was loud and clear that the person in those photos was you taking a shower. At the time, you didn't know that all those pictures were set up on purpose. For you to see and become vulnerable in front of Armin Arlert.

"Armin, what's that?" Your voice came out in a hoarse whisper instead of the clear and stern tone you were planning on.

"Just something I'm planning on posting on the college's site tonight." He grinned.

"Wh-what? Why would you–"

"I don't know, ___. You tell me." He leaned closer to you, holding his weight on the arms of your chair. His blond hair fell over his eyes, making it the perfect shade of dark blue under the shadows.

"I have to go." You said sheepishly and started picking your books up, but an arm around your waist stopped you.

"Why do you keep on resisting me, ___?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I want you. And you want me too, right?"

You were confused. Heartbroken. You always thought of Armin as nothing else than your classmate. So, what was this sudden urge to lock your lips with his?

Looking up, you were met with a dark look in his eyes and a grin that seemed almost evil. You knew deep down he had dark intentions, but at the same time, you needed to know what those intentions were.

“I’ve never seen you wearing a skirt or a dress...you always act so modest, but the way you touch yourself so desperately in the shower...” his hand ghosted over your clothed thigh and stopped at your hip, “you just want to get fucked like a whore, right?”

“A-Armin...”

“Why don’t you put a little show for me? Undress yourself.” He sat on his chair and opened his legs, shamelessly showing off the tent in his uniform pants.

With a blush decorating your cheeks and a trembling bottom lip at the embarrassment suddenly hitting you, you slowly unbuttoned your white dress shirt and let it drop on the floor. Kicking the Oxford shoes your school required off, your hands made way to the side zipper on your pants. This time, your eyes locked with Armin’s as your pants dropped on the floor next to your shirt.

“Those too, doll.” He ordered, referring to your underwear. His demanding tone went straight between your legs, which you rubbed together in an attempt for some friction. You quickly unclasped your bra and removed your underwear, but before you could do anything else, Armin extended his arm and pulled you closer to him. With his arms around your waist, his forehead came in contact with your lower stomach, taking in the sight before his eyes with a deep breath.

“On your knees.”

You did as he said and watched his hands, decorated with a few gold rings and a bracelet, unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. Pushing his boxers down slightly, his member spurted out and hit his lower abdominals. Chuckling at your wide eyes, he led your hand to his cock.

“Consider this a thanks for your scholarship.” He leaned back on the chair, one hand behind his head and the other gripping your hair. You nodded and brought your mouth closer, licking on the tip that dripped with precum. As one of your hands massaged his balls and your mouth started taking more of his length in, a few groans escaped Armin’s lips and the grip on your hair tightened. But he had had enough. Both of his hands found your hair and pushed your head down, earning a gag at the sudden contact of his tip with your throat. You swore you could hear the smirk in his groans as your tongue worked around his length while he pushed your head up and down rapidly.

“Just like that...good...take it all.” You would be lying if you said his words didn’t make you rub your thighs together, desperate for something, anything to fulfill your need.

Before you could lead one of your hands between your legs, warm ropes of cum hit the back of your throat. Armin thrusted in your mouth a couple more times, milking his orgasm and overstimulating himself enough that a few more drops of the hot liquid joined your saliva. Removing himself with a squelch, he grazed his thumb over your bottom lip.

“Good. Swallow like the whore you are.” You did as he said, your eyesight blurry and your head dizzy from the facefucking you just went through. Without wasting another minute, Armin got up, pulling you with him and leaving a rough, needy kiss on your swollen lips. With a knee spreading your legs and rubbing right at your core, he kissed down your neck and collarbones, allowing you to let out the most quiet moans.

“Look at you. At this rate, you’re gonna get off using my leg.” You could only respond with a hum as he tackled you on his bed, not wasting any time in taking his clothes off before getting on top of you. His hands roamed your curves and yours stayed around his neck, fidgeting with the gold chain around it. A sudden moan escaped your lips when two of Armin’s fingers scissored your slit open and entered with ease. His eyes fixated on your face; the way your lips trembled and your eyes rolled back with every pump of his slender fingers, oh how he wished he could spend every second of the day looking at you like this; so sweet, so vulnerable, almost too innocent, yet so perfect for him to ruin.

“Please, Armin...’m gonna-”

“Aww, too bad.” He removed his fingers and laughed at your disappointed face, which soon turned into a surprised one when he grabbed both your legs and placed them over his shoulders. You both let out a gasp when his pink tip entered your hole. Armin was not like anyone you’ve been with. He didn’t care about letting you adjust to his girth, thinking it was much more pleasurable to see you struggling not to make a sound.

“Armin...”

“Yeah, say my name, love.” He thrusted harder into your walls, hands gripping your hips to ground you in your spot. Another thrust from Armin and another moan from you, each time the thrusts getting quicker and your soft voice louder, not even beginning to think that there were people on the other side of the thin walls.

“Why so quiet, love? Do you not...like...the way I’m fucking you?” He said between quick thrusts, not giving you the time to make out a single word. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as the knot tied low in your stomach was ready to come untied.

“Answer me.” He ordered, the grip on your hips now almost painful. You opened your eyes to see him leaning down, your legs now almost next to your head on the pillow. Armin hovered over you, now fucking your hole with more ease. You noticed he let out soft, needy whines every time your walls clenched around his cock, to which you grinned slightly. Bad choice.

“Do you think it’s funny? The way you let me fuck you so easily?” A hand now met your hair, pulling your head back into the pillow a bit.

“A-Armin!”

“That’s right. Say my name, whore.” He closed his eyes, taking in the sound of his name coming from your mouth. Your walls clenched around him as the knot finally came undone, and you were sure your juices were spilling on the sheets.

“Please...too sensitive...I can’t-” Your words came out in stutters, your legs closing involuntarily only for Armin to push them open again every time.

“Say my name.” He moaned out, thrusting inside your cunt now almost inhumanly fast.

“Armin!” Your second orgasm was on the way and your legs were starting to shake from the overstimulation. Armin didn’t fail to notice it and he wouldn’t lie if he said he wasn’t close as well, but he had learned to control himself. He couldn’t let it be over so soon. Not when he finally had you where he wanted you all along.

In the heat of the moment, it took you a few seconds to notice a stinging on your cheek, but when you did, you looked up at the blond, who was smirking down at you, hand still on your red cheek.

“Who’s fucking you? Huh?”

“You! You’re fucking me, Armin!”

“Louder.” He grunted, finally giving some attention to your nipples by slapping them teasingly.

“Armin! Armin! Fuck, I’m gonna–”

“Cum on my cock...fuck, ___.” Armin couldn’t take it anymore when your walls clenched around him once again as you orgasmed for the second time that night. Between moans and gasps and whispers of his name, you felt a wave of air hit your core and you realized Armin had pulled out.

He was now rubbing his swollen cock over your stomach, the other hand desperately massaging your breast. To help him, you led his hand to your other breast and took his cock in your own, thumb grazing over his red tip to make the beads of cum coat the rest of his length. Armin tilted his head back, not shy to moan loudly at the way your hand rubbed his length so...perfectly.

“Fuck, just like that. Just like that, love.” His legs shook slightly as his warm cum drew on your stomach and breasts, shooting almost up to your neck due to the overstimulation he went through. Exhausted and out of breath, Armin fell on the pillow next to you and planted a rough kiss on your lips.

“Let me take a picture of you. Don’t move.” Shocked, you couldn’t even blurt out a word at what he suggested, but something deep inside you made you nod in agreement. Maybe that tiny crush you had on Armin for one month on your first year finally decided to come out and play.

“Look at the camera, love. Now, smile. ” He ordered, getting on top of you with an old-fashioned polaroid in hand. He took one of your breasts in his big, soft hand and snapped a picture that he’d later pin over his bed, a reminder for himself and everyone that Armin Arlert always got what he wanted.

~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~

Lmao I hope y’all liked this otherwise it’d be embarrassing. Anyway, requests are always open, leave some for me to do while I procrastinate! <3

#armin arlert #armin arlert smut #armin arlert x reader #aot x reader #aot smut #aot lemons #attack on titan x reader #lemons #attack on titan #snk x reader #armin aot

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theonlygamergost · 4 years ago

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Nature’s effect - Fd!Au

This fanfiction is based on the Family Dynamic au made by @antarctic-bay ctic-bay if you would like to know more, go check them out!!!

Also please bear in mind that the things written in this might not be canon!

This fic was corrected by the lovely @im-default

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Techno started working at the local vivarium and finds out that nature can change and calm even the most hyperactive people, just like Tommy

I did a poll on the Fd!au server about who my next fic should be focused on and Techno/Tommy won, so here you have it!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Warning! Swearing

Enjoy~

“I’m sure they’ll love the flowers! Thank you and have a nice day!” Camille waved the last customers off and started cleaning the counter of the rotten leaves and flowers that she had cut off the last order, Techno was kneeling in front of a shelf busy applying tags on products.

“Techno are you almost done with those?”

After saving some flowers from Wilbur’s room, Techno had taken a liking to tend plants and gardening in general, the local vivarium owner Camille had taught him many tips and tricks that made him a perfect employee for the job.

He was pretty hyped for his first day at work, well... it was more of a trial per se, it was a test to see how he would react to the human interactions and how fast he could get the hang of the profession, which went great in his opinion:

Camille was great at explaining how to take care of the plants and wrapping the pots for gifts, she was so elegant while she passed the ribbon around the wrapping paper Techno almost tripped by getting distracted while looking at her.

His job in the magic home of plants was pretty simple: water the plants that weren’t irrigated automatically, check for parasites, diseases, or rotten leaves, restock the expositive plants and help costumers for whatever they needed, and of course, if he didn’t know what to do, just call Camille or any other employee for help.

“You did great today Techno! The old couple you helped earlier seemed very satisfied!” Techno blushed at the compliment since he couldn’t handle them and ended up stuttering, “T-thank you…”

“There are still thirty minutes before we need to close… Are you free to stay a bit later? I can show you how the irrigators system works and where the shelves outside go when closing the shop” He froze as he took his phone out of his pocket.

There where multiple messages coming from none other than the gremlin, and the last three (out of probably twenty all saying “I am bored” and “Answer pig” ) where what caused the strong reaction:

Gremlin

YOu are working at the plant place, right?

Gremlin

Big P and Big W won’t be home till late

Gremlin

Im bored so im coming over

Oh no…

Oh no no no-

“Um... Camille? My brother is at home alone, can he wait for me here until I finish?” The kind girl did not hesitate for a moment, “Absolutely! Not many customers arrive this late so there will be no problem!” Techno released the breath he didn’t notice he was holding, texting angrily back at Tommy, cursing at him to wait until he answered before taking initiations.

Just after he learned how the irrigation system worked, a familiar red and white t-shirt popped into view, “If you want Techno, you can ask your brother to help you take care of the greenhouses, it’s an easy job and you said he was bored at home yes?” Techno nodded and thanked the owner of the vivarium, he walked up to Tommy, who as soon as he saw him, burst into a laugh.

“BWAHAHA!!! WHAT ARE YOU WEARING TECHNO?!” The pink-haired boy looked down at his outfit, which consisted of his school uniform, a pair of green rubber boots, and a cute green apron with a daisy onto it. “What are you laughing at Tommy?” his younger brother was holding his stomach, wiping a tear off of his eyes, “The apron! It’s so- Pffffff-!” Techno sighed, shaking his head, “You are an absolute child… Phil wears an apron when he cooks too and so does Tubbo when he is in art class! How is it funny to you?! It’s a simple piece of clothing!!!” He turned around hoping Tommy would follow, there was no way he was giving him a pair of scissors so a watering can should busy him enough to avoid boredness.

“Hey! I’m not a child! I’m a big man Technoblade you should know” he puffed his chest to look high and mighty, “And how do you not find aprons funny big T?! They are like a little skirt… ok fine ignore me then” noticing how Techno wasn’t turning around nor paying him attention, he followed him to the greenhouses in silence looking at the number of plants and flowers that were littered everywhere.

As soon as Techno stopped he handed Tommy a watering can full of water that he almost dropped, “WHOA- what the hell man?! This is heavy!” Ignoring his brother's complaints, he adjusted his glasses and grabbed a pair of scissors, “Water the third and fifth row, don’t get the leaves wet, pour it directly on the soil and-” Techno turned to face him, “Don’t make a lake in the pot, stop watering as soon as you made a slow circle around the plant” As soon as he finished talking, he kneeled in front of the first plant of the first row, leaving Tommy with a heavy watering can and overcomplicated instructions.

“Don’t make a lake and don’t do this a-and don’t do that gne gne gne… Ugh what a pain in the ass” Tommy started to do as Techno instructed, but as time went on, something in him changed, going from a grunting face and not caring if he poured too much water, to a more relaxed expression, softly moving the leaves aside so water wouldn’t get on them.

Techno didn’t notice this change at first since he was too focused on removing dead flowers and leaves, but when he looked up to check if the gremlin was doing ok, he stopped himself from talking when he noticed that Tommy was crouched down, holding a ladybug in his hands.

Techno smiled at the sight of his brother becoming calmer when in contact with nature, he was so cute…

Quickly snapping a picture and sliding his phone back in his pocket he walked up to him, kneeling as well. “What’cha looking at?”

Tommy didn’t bother looking at his brother, his eyes were fixated on the small bug, “A Ladybug… it has five spots… Does that mean it’s five years old?” Techno softly chuckled, “No, that’s a common misconception Tommy, the spots are to warn predators that they don’t taste good, a self-defense mechanism” Tommy looked up at Techno and back to the ladybug, “But why five?” the older brother spotted another one of the small creatures, he waited for it to walk on his finger and held it close to Tommy’s one, “It represents which species it is, look- they both have five spots, meaning they come from the same category” Tommy added nothing, too absorbed into admiring the small bug pacing around the palm of his hand, instead, Techno placed his one back on the plant, snipping away a molded leaf, “Farmers believe that if they find a ladybug with less than seven spots means that they’ll have a good harvest, the contrary if it has more than seven, it’s only a folk legend though” Tommy decided to follow suit and moved his hand closer to the plan, allowing the small red and black insect to go back on the plant it came from.

“C’mon, your watering can’s empty, let’s go fill it up” The blonde boy smiled and nodded, grabbing the empty plastic container and following his older brother, looking at the variety of flowers and plants the greenhouse sheltered.

The rest of the time spent tending to the plants was calm and relaxing, nature really changed Tommy since he didn’t say once that he was bored or he never tried to start an argument, he looked at peace watering the small plants, kneeling to smell the flowers and making sure they weren’t diseased.

“Do you want to cut off the brown leaves? You look like you want to look at the plants a bit closer, I can water the rest” Tommy was surprised when Techno held in front of him the pair of scissors, he hesitated for a second, making sure that his brother was confident in his decision, but all he got from Techno was a soft smile.

Tommy remained in this unusual state all the way back home, let’s say that this moment of… “peace” was ruined when Wilbur came home and showed Tommy the picture Techno took of him behind his back.

#technoblade #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #ph1lza #fd!au #fd au #fanfiction #my fanfiction #writing #my writing #mcyt #sleepyboisinc

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barnesbabee · 4 years ago

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Jolly sailor bold || K.H

Summary: What if the unbelievable beauty of a man caught an ettention of a mythical species?

Pairing: Kim Hongjoong x Siren

Words: I’ll let you know ( 2958 )

Genre: Miscellaneous, Fluff

⚠ mythical creature!au ⚠

A/N: This is something different, I hope you enjoy 💖

ᴄʀ: ʙᴀʀɴᴇꜱʙᴀʙᴇᴇ

'my jolly sailor bold’

Hongjoong’s heard perked up as he looked around for the exquisite song. He stopped for a second and became more attentive to all the sounds surrounding him, trying to listen once more to the beautiful voice, but all he could discern was the sound of the leaves hitting against each other.

“Hongjoong what are you doing?”

The aforementioned male snapped back to reality and his gaze locked on his friend, who stared at him with a confused expression.

“You didn’t hear that?”

Seonghwa cocked his head to the side, as if asking ‘hear what?’. Hongjoong sighed and looked down at the ground, as he resumed his walk.

“Nevermind, let’s just head back…”

Seonghwa gave him a judging look but walked alongside him anyway.

The younger male couldn’t take the melody off of his head as they headed back to camp. It was so… perfect. It was a lullaby-like song that anyone would be enticed and hypnotized by. There was no reason for the man to feel like this, he had heard beautiful voices countless times during his career, so why did he want to hear that particular one, over, and over and over again?

As the night went on and the sky became painted with stars, he slowly became more addicted to the song.

“Hongjoong what the fuck are you singing? You’ve been singing that one line for hours now.” Yeosang asked as he threw more fire in the wood.

The short male was brought back to reality, and he pouted as he realized his marshmallow was way past burnt. He sighed and threw the soft snack into the fire.

“I don’t know, I heard someone sing it…” He explained, as he placed another marshmallow on his stick and approached it to the firepit.

The rest of the members didn’t quite appreciate the ominosity of Hongjoong’s statement.

“You heard someone sing it? Like, here? In the middle of the woods? Should we be scared?” Wooyoung asked, moving his hands in circles, gesturing to all of the area surrounding them.

Yunho reassuringly placed his palm on Wooyoung’s thigh, and squeezed it.

“Don’t worry, we’re fine. This lake is famous for being big, a lot of people come by.”

Wooyoung looked at the older male and pursed his lips together, as he nodded slowly. His eyes focused back on the fire.

“I guess you’re right.”

There were a couple of seconds of silence, before Seonghwa spoke up, remembering the scene from before.

“Was it that what you heard when we were coming back here from the van?”

“Yeah, it’s weird but it sounded like it came from the lake…” Hongjoong replied, recollecting all of the details from the afternoon.

Jongho furrowed his eyebrows.

“The lake? It’s October, who would go for a dip in the middle of Autumn?”

“You know as much as me, but it was a girl’s voice and-”

“Oh, that’s what this is about, a girl.” San joked, poking his older friend’s side.

Surely enough, San earned a slap to the back of the head for mocking him like that. Hongjoong, on the other hand, sighed and stood up.

“I think I’m going to sleep, I’m tired of having this song in my head playing on repeat, good night.” He said, finally, as he popped one last marshmallow in his mouth, then licking all of the remainings off of his fingers.

He went into the tent he shared with Seonghwa and Mingi (he had lost rock, paper, scissors and to his dismay, that would mean they would have to sleep alongside the messy, fidgety giant) and laid on the not-so-comfortable thin mattress they had brought for the sake of Mingi’s back.

Hongjoong groaned as he laid on his side and pulled the sleeping bag over his body.

“Ok now, sleep.” The male mumbled to himself.

And after a long day of cooking, setting up camp, and carrying things back and forward from the van, the tiredness got the best of him and he fell asleep in no time. The deep slumber lasted no longer than three hours, however.

He woke up suddenly and sat up straight in the mattress. It was completely dark. The light from the fire outside was no more and he was met with two sleeping bodies beside him. Hongjoong was wide awake, and the voice that had relentlessly haunted his thoughts now called for him with the continuation of the beautiful song he yearned to hear again. There was no explaining what got over him, but Hongjoong just… followed the voice. And, as if it was controlling him, the male quietly exited the tent and walked through the thick wooded area.

All that could be heard were the gusts of wind whistling in the air, some night-birds chirping, and the sound of Hongjoong’s heavy footsteps stepping on dry leaves and sticks. He unknowingly headed to the shore of the lake, and just then, the song got louder and louder, as if it was approaching him.

Hongjoong stared at the sparkling moonlit water, and he could swear he saw an enormous fish dive into it, the moonlight reflecting off of its tail. He closed his eyes and breathed in the cold air that hit his face.

“My heart is pierced by Cupid, I disdain all glittering gold there is nothing can console me, but my jolly sailor bold…”

This… sound. It wasn’t a song anymore, it was and addicting sound that pulled Hongjoong closer and closer. He stepped forward slowly until he fell.

His foot slipped on the muddy edge of the land and he fell into the icy water, and just then, it was as if he had woken up from a trance. Hongjoong’s previous calm demeanor was long gone and he was now choking on the sweet water, flailing his arms around in stress and despair. He had difficulty to breathe and it was as if he had forgotten how to swim. Soon enough, he lost all strength in his body, and his vision became blurry. His body started sinking, and he saw less and less. Before everything went dark, however, he felt himself being pulled farther down, but there was nothing he could do.

“There he is!”

Hongjoong woke up, shivering and in pain, covered in dirt and leaves. He rolled his body so he’d be facing up, but he couldn’t move. Three boys circled around him, and Hongjoong weakly opened his eyes, just to close them again after the extreme sunlight hit his puffy, red eyes.

“Hongjoong are you okay!? What happened!?” Seonghwa asked, carefully observing his body, afraid that if he touched him, he’d be hurting his leader.

The older male only got a couple of coughs in response, as Hongjoong couldn’t bring himself to reply. Seonghwa and Jongho exchanged worried glances, before the latter delicately picked up the older, bridal style, and walked back to camp slowly. Once they arrived all eyes turned to them, relieved that they had found Hongjoong, but concerned about his state.

Yeosang looked at Yunho, who had also gone with the duo, with a questioning look. The taller shrugged, as none of them knew what had happened.

Jongho laid his leader back onto his mattress, and he immediately clung onto the warm sleeping bag.

They were all worried sick for Hongjoong, but they didn’t want to bother him then. They left the boy and went to sit around the extinguished fire pit. All seven of them were silent. No one could guess what happened. Why did he leave in the middle of the night, why was he by the river, why were his clothes damp, and why couldn’t he move?

A couple of hours passed until Hongjoong gave another sign of life.

The boys were chatting when they were cut off by a loud groan, and some shuffling inside the tent. Seonghwa immediately stood up and walked towards Hongjoong, but when he got near the tent the younger male walked out, limping slightly.

“Hey, hey, calm down, I’ll help you out…”

Seonghwa put Hongjoong’s arm around his own shoulders and his arm around the smaller’s waist, as he helped him walk to the nearest chair.

“Hongjoong what happened!?” Mingi questioned as soon as Hongjoong was comfortable.

The latter threw his head back and sighed.

“I… I don’t know. I remember waking up in the middle of the night and walking towards the lake for some reason, I slipped and fell… After that, it’s all blank.” Hongjoong told them, as he recalled the previous night’s events.

“Why would you go to the lake at night?” Wooyoung asked.

“I said I don’t fucking know!” He replied bluntly, becoming frustrated at himself, for not knowing what had happened after desperately trying to remeber the details of his near death experience.

It was silent for a while. None of them felt like talking and the small camping trip had kind of been ruined.

Hongjoong moved his legs and immediately winced in pain, as his ankles started aching. He found this weird… He could have sprained an ankle, but both?

He bent over and pulled his joggers up until his calves. His eyes widened, as he noticed a continuous purple mark on his legs, almost as if something had been tightly wrapped around them. The male instantly became afraid, what the fuck had happened!?

Hongjoong hid it as quickly as he unraveled it. He really didn’t feel like getting bombarded with questions he didn’t know the answer to.

His leg wouldn’t stay still. Even though it hurt, he kept bouncing it up and down, biting his lip and staring at the floor, desperately searching for an explanation.

A fish.

It could have been a fish.

No, it couldn’t… Whatever fish was big enough to do that to his legs, certainly wouldn’t leave him alive. And how would a fish drag him to the shore?

A person?

A person around the sea would explain the singing he had heard!

But how would they see him? He remembers going down in the lake, how could someone spot him, in the dead of the night, with no light but the moon’s to help them drag Hongjoong out of the lake?

The situation was slowly driving Hongjoong insane…

He stood up and started limping towards the infamouslake, however, he was stopped by Yeosang who wouldn’t let him walk another step.

“Woah woah, where are you going?”

Hongjoong sighed and hung his head low.

“I need to be alone…”

The boy noticed how Yeosang looked towards the rest of the members, as if asking for permission to let him pass.

“Come on I’m not a kid… What happened was an accident, I can take care of myself!”

Much against their will, the boys let him go for his walk.

Hongjoong walked for a couple of minutes until he reached his destination. He looked at the shiny water, that had a mix of green and blue colours.

He clenched his fists beside his body.

“Who are you!? What did you do to me!? What the fuck is happening!? Why can no one hear you, why did I come out here, what even are you!?” He yelled out, in pure despair.

He was left there, with tears in his eyes and breathing heavily..

As if on cue, a fishtail popped out of the water. A beautiful, pearly white tail with hues of blue. Hongjoong’s eyes widened.

It was huge.

The water started moving, and there was a trail rapidly heading towards him. Hongjoong stepped back quickly. He tripped on his feet, as he wasn’t in the best of conditions, and winced as he fell on his butt, but it didn’t stop him from backing up against a nearby tree.

From the water, a woman-like creature shyly emerged.

Hongjoong’s eyes were fixated on her.

She was of an unbelievable beauty. Big, shiny eyes, completely white, sandy blonde, wavy hair that fell down to her elbows, small lips that always seemed to be puckering, and a sharp chin and jawline. There were small pearls and algae in her entangled hair, and Hongjoong noticed shiny scales coming up her neck.

She tilted her head slightly, as if waiting for Hongjoong to do something, but he didn’t budge.

“My jolly sailor boat…”

Although she didn’t sing it, she simply said those words, he perfectly recognized them, as they had been playing over and over on his head.

“Is it… It is! It’s you! B-but what are you!?”

There was no correct way to react. He was panicking, he was nervous, yet he was mesmerized and fascinated.

She smiled, flaunting her sharp teeth, and showed her enormous tail.

“A mermaid…” Hongjoong concluded.

The woman laughed, and somehow even her laugh sounded melodic.

“A Siren.” She corrected.

Hongjoong wondered what the difference was, but he didn’t dare ask. He really didn’t want to see what the sharp teeth were for.

He pulled up his pants once more.

“D-did you do this?” He asked.

She nodded, although she looked apologetic.

“I don’t get it. Were you… going to eat me? Were you going to kill me? Why did you do this?”

The Siren was silent. She obviously wasn’t of many words… Hongjoong didn’t push it, but he also didn’t say anything else.

“I was going to…” The gills on her neck flexed as she swallowed.

“Well, why didn’t you?”

The questioned amused her. The woman figured that he would run the second he found out about her past intentions, but he remained where he was…

“Your face.”

Hongjoong cocked an eyebrow, not quite understand what she meant. He brought his fingers up to his own face, caressing it confusedly.

“You’re… beautiful. Out of all the men I’ve lured, out of all the men I’ve tricked, I’ve never seen one quite like you. Your features resemble ones of a siren, if I’m being honest. Puckered lips, perfectly shaped nope, sharp jawline… I fell in love with your face, I couldn’t kill you as I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to see you ever again.”

He was clearly taken aback by the whole situation, but very, very flattered.

The two exchanged fiery glances, not sure of what to do next.

“My heart is pierced by Cupid…” She began, making Hongjoong close his eyes and lean in, as if that would make him hear better “... I disdain all glittering gold, there is nothing can console me but my jolly sailor bold.”

Yes, that was it, that was definitely it. That was the hypnotizing melody he yearned to listen to once more. When he opened his eyes, the Siren was holding herself up, with her torso fully out of the water. Hongjoong could see the membranes between her fingers, the long, threatening fingernails, and the white and blue-ish fins perking out of her arms, moving up and down.

“Does my body interest you?” She asked.

Hongjoong smirked and carefully approached the Siren.

“It amazes me…”

He was a little hesitant as he came closer, but the Siren reassured him.

“I won’t hurt you, if I wanted to I would have done so.”

She was right. Hongjoong crawled in her direction, until they were close enough so he could smell the sea in her hair. He knelt in front of the creature, admiring her delicate features up close. Her body and features were all lengthy and scary, but her face, the important element to lure in her prey, that was unbearably alluring.

“What’s your name, sailor?” The Siren asked as she inched closer.

Hongjoong mimicked her actions, and he could soon feel her breathing hitting against his skin.

“I’m Hongjoong.”

The Siren ran her fingers up Hongjoong’s half-exposed arm. He expected for it to feel… wet and fishy. But it felt just like another human.

“I have never kissed a human before…”

“Well, I’ve never kissed a Siren before…”

The woman smiled slightly at the joke. When their lips brushed past each other, they pulled away slightly. It was as if there was a spark as they touched… They approached once more, this time fully connecting their lips in what could only be described as the ghastliest, most beautiful kiss.

It was as if they belonged like that, astray from their own species, in each other’s embrace. But they knew it wasn’t true.

Somehow Hongjoong wasn’t scared when he pulled away and stared into those white eyes. He actually found an odd beauty in them.

The romantic escapade was cut off by a yelling voice in the distance.

“Hongjoong!”

The male looked behind him. His friend couldn’t be seen, but the sound of leaves and sticks cracking and breaking became louder by the second.

“Don’t go!” Hongjoong begged.

“I mustn’t be seen… Please don’t speak of me!”

Hongjoong didn’t want to let her go… He had just found her!

“Will… Will we see each other again?”

The woman smiled fondly and she backed away in the water.

“Come visit me, and call for Aglaope once you reach the lake.”

Hongjoong only nodded as he watched her sink in the clear blue water.

“I’ll be thinking of you, my sailor…”

She completely disappeared, just as Yunho got to his friend.

“We started getting worried Joong… Let’s head back, this place doesn’t bring great memories.”

Yunho helped Hongjoong up, who just let himself be maneuvered by the older man, as he was too fixated in the lake.

They both started walking away, with a casual chatter.

Before they left, however, Hongjoong glanced over his shoulder, and he saw the beautiful coloured tail, illuminated by the rays of the sun, wave in the distance. Not a goodbye, but a ‘until some day’.

And Hongjoong smiled, restlessly awaiting the day when he could come back.

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @succulentpk

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peaches-writes · 4 years ago

Text

syncopated

description: the 6 instances you and chan almost dated and the 1 drinking party when you asked him about them member: bang chan genre: angst (?), fluff, college au, almost lovers au word count: 5.5.k warnings: explicit language, drinking

italicized text - present day

Y/B - your birthday

prologue

Minho clears the messy table in one swift motion—by that meaning he haphazardly pushes the half-empty bottles of soju and snack wrappers with one arm to pile on one side in order to make way for the mysterious object he hides behind his back. “Okay, let’s see if this is any good.” He mutters under his breath, thinking about how much he spent on the lie detector toy he places at the very center of the table. “Rock, paper, scissors on who starts the game?”

Though most on the table are already floating between being dead drunk and half-asleep, everyone eventually manages to put out a hand for the game, even Changbin whom you swear has been asleep for the past rounds of the mafia game. “Oh, also, penalty shot if the toy buzzes you!” Jisung slurs with a giggle as if it’s been the brightest thing he’s said throughout their entire party. “Rock, paper, scissors!”

In some five or six rounds (you lose count because of the amount of unrelated small talk in between), it then comes down to you and Chan.

“Do we move to the left or to the right of the first player?” Seungmin asks but no one answers.

Instead, Minho shrugs. “It’s whatever, we’ll decide later.”

Looking to your left across the table, Chan is surprisingly looking more sober than your seven other drinking buddies for tonight. He nurses a shot glass in one hand and his phone in the other, camera open in case Changbin does something stupid again since he’s suddenly woken up. "We could just do a coin toss.”

“Nah, let’s just do a round of rock, paper, scissors. I don’t have coins with me, anyway.” You hold out your hand and he mimics your actions. “Rock, paper, scissors!”

You pull paper and he pulls rock.

“Ah, yes. perfect!” Hyunjin clasps his hands together and suddenly everyone seated on the table is awake, eyes directed to Chan whose right hand immediately gets strapped to the lie detector toy by an equally excited Minho. “Minho, should you ask him or should I?”

Before Minho could open his mouth to speak, however, a now very-much-awake Jisung beats him to it. “I’ll do it!” Seated next to you, he stands up and reaches to the lie detector, finger hovering above the button. “Bang Chan, did you or did you not have a serious crush on Y/N at one point?”

“Jisung, what the fuck?” You pull him back to his seat by the back of his shirt but he’s significantly faster, pressing the button on the lie detector toy before you could say more, a smug smile on his face. “Chan, you don’t have to answer, it’s cool.”

But everyone ignores you (even the man in question), looking on curiously and more awake now than ever. Briefly catching Chan’s eye, you see him contemplating with pursed lips and eyes trained down to the flashing lights of the toy, making it feel as if its ominous music is dragging on longer than usual.

“Well?” Seungmin urges on when the song seems to be coming to an end, uncharacteristically impatient when drunk.

“No?” And as if on cue, a buzz sound cuts the music as Chan’s hand is briefly electrified, his first instinct being to bring his hand closer to his chest with a wince. “Ow, shit!”

A beat of silence. No one says a word—you can barely read the expressions everyone else wears on their faces as Chan proceeds to take his hand off of the lie detector toy.

“Oh shit, indeed.” Felix pours a shot glass of soju for Chan, sliding it to him from the other end of the table, before pouring one for himself. “I’m drinking to that.”

“Called it.” Jisung loudly whispers to Changbin who doesn’t even seemed fazed about what had just transpired—unlike you as you suddenly feel lightheaded with this new information. “Ya, Yang Jeongin, pay up!”

“What? I’m not paying up!”

Amidst the chaos that follows and the awkward energy that seems to bounce off between you and Chan, across from you, Minho suddenly thinks of what he considers his best drunken idea yet. “Hey, since Y/N’s here, how about a chance—trade the penalty shot for a question.” He suggests to Chan, effectively silencing the table once again. “If you answer the question, the penalty shot passes on to the next person.”

Looking at Chan, he squints his eyes, deep in thought. “I mean...”

“What can you say about Chan’s answer, Y/N?” Hyunjin dramatically holds a soju bottle to your direction like a gossip reporter. Everyone immediately turns from Chan to you.

“I—Well—“ You stutter out, finally catching Chan’s gaze again. “Is it true?”

“I only had happy crushes on you before, we already talked about that.” He awkwardly laughs, a hand to the nape of his neck in embarrassment as he turns to Minho. “Okay, I answered their question, can we move on to the next person?”

A chorus of ‘what?’s and ‘no!’s erupt around the table in reply, you can even see Minho shaking his head in disapproval and tsking at Chan.

“Well, he did answer my question.” You try to come to Chan’s defense and he sends you a grateful smile you almost missed. “And we’ve talked about this before.”

Well, sort of, if being dead drunk and admitting to having a happy crush on each other at another party a long time ago counts.

But Hyunjin is quick to complain. “Come on, Y/N, that can’t be your question!” Hyunjin exclaims dramatically.

Even Jeongin nods in agreement and you’re quick to glare at him at the feeling of betrayal. “Yeah, especially not after a juicy question!” He quips as well, adding salt to the wound. “We want an explanation!”

“Jeongin! I protected you during the mafia game!” “Y/N, my money’s also on the line here!”

"Y/N, you should ask when exactly Chan had a crush on you.” Jisung suggests before raising his voice to your pitch in a bad imitation of you, “’Chan, when exactly did you have a crush on me?’”

“Hey!” You call him out. “I don’t sound like that!”

“Oh, look, Y/N just asked a great question!” Changbin follows after, ignoring your complaints that follow. “Care to answer, Chan?”

You wanted to say more, maybe even slap Changbin on the back for making Chan uncomfortable, but Chan waves his electrified hand dismissively to you and Changbin. “No, it’s okay, I can answer—if it’s okay with you, of course.”

“N—” You shake your head no but Jisung is quick again to cover your mouth and interjecting (still in a bad imitation of you), “‘Sure, Chan!’”

You swat Jisung’s hand away after, sending said boy in a fit of drunken giggles. “Chan —”

Without missing a beat, Chan begins with “Firstly during the freshman orientation.” that immediately silences you and the entire table.

Though being an even worse drunk at the other party, that definitely wasn’t what you talked about last time.

“Firstly? So there’s a second? Ooh, I wanna know!” Hyunjin exclaims.

Unbeknownst to you, Chan is feeling braver tonight than the last party. He initiates eye contact this time, silently asking if he can continue. Finally giving in out of intrigue, you nod in agreement.

one - freshman orientation (4 yrs ago)

You sat next to Chan to his left on this day, wearing a striped black and white shirt and cuffed jeans that he didn’t know was a go-to until much later, after the MC, Jae, mixed the arrangement of the people in your circle. The game instruction was simple: to provide information on the person either to your left or right when the microphone is pointed at you. As the game progresses, the questions become more random and specific and people get eliminated if their guesses aren’t witty or close enough.

“Guys, are we ready?” Jae asks through his microphone, to which everyone replies with a chorus of ‘yeah’s and ‘yes’s as energetically as possible. “Alright, I’ll give you 2 minutes to talk to your seatmates! Go!”

You turned to the person on your left and so Chan turns to his right. You didn’t really have to, he finds out after the game, since you were already familiar with Mina whom you met on the much earlier university open house, and so you spent the remaining 1 minute and 40 seconds trying to memorize basic information about Chan after.

“So, Bang Chan or Chan, music prod major, birthday October 3, and you make music on Soundcloud with your friends.” Chan nods along happily to you summarizing what he just told you. “3racha, right?”

He nods one last time before pointing at you, “And for you, Y/N Y/L/N, broadcast major, birthday on Y/B, and we have Minho as a mutual friend.

“I think we’re ready.” You raise your hand for a high-five and he immediately receives it enthusiastically. “Later, when the questions get funnier, just nod along, okay?”

At that, Chan laughs amusedly. “Sure, okay.”

And then, the game starts.

“You really liked me then?” You ask in bewilderment, half your face distorted behind a glass of mule Seungmin poured for you as Minho, Hyunjin, and Jisung pressure Chan for more specific details.

“Of course, I did! Why are you judging me?”

“I thought you were trying to be cheeky then!”

After a few rounds, the questions are now completely random without any time to ask your seatmates. Chan gets picked first by the MC.

“Left, right, left, right, left, right, Chan, what are the last 2 digits of Y/N’s phone number?” The microphone is pointed then pointed to a startled Chan.

You better give a witty answer, you think as if sending a telepathic message to him. Cruelly, Jae’s also twisted the game so that if he didn’t accept the answers, the person whom the question is about would also get eliminated.

And as if reading your mind, he doesn’t miss a beat in answering, “I’ll think about letting you know when I do get them—and the rest—later.”

Your entire circle erupts in cheers and whistles, even you laugh at his wit. When Chan glances over to you, you make sure to slap his arm. “Yah!”

“That was witty, though, wasn’t it?”

“You’re so confident about getting my number, huh?”

“Ah, well, can I?”

At the center of your circle, Jae asks (and thus interrupting you), “Will we accept that guys?” To which he’s immediately met with agreement. “Okay, fine, fine, we’ll take it!”

Turning to Chan when the game proceeds again, you conclude, “I’ll think about that later too.”

The two of you forgot to exchange phone numbers that day but you did get each other’s Facebook through Minho afterward. Chan only got your number during your first semester break.

“Ey, we already know this one! What’s the second one?” Changbin waves Chan’s story dismissively.

By now, the truth or shot game that instigated this mess is almost forgotten despite being at the center of the table. Everyone listens intently to Chan as he recalls what he still considers to this day his best line.

“You act as if you’re the one being questioned.” You frown in disapproval.

“Yeah ‘cause unlike Jae we’re not taking this pick-up line!” Minho counters, if you consider such drunken slur as a comeback. “What about The Gig thing?”

You shrug, “What gig thing?” while Chan only looks at Minho to continue.

two - ‘the gig thing’ (10 months ago)

This was a time when everybody was undeniably stressed and burned out from academics, which should have been a given to you by then in your last stretch of 3rd year. Despite your teachers’ (poor) attempts at scheduling major projects, a handful of your most important deadlines were still due after the weekend which would mark 2 weeks before your finals. For this reason, you and Chan were on videocall the entire Friday night and Saturday early morning of said weekend, responsibly making sure to start what you can on your projects to feel less guilty about booking your entire weekend for leisurely activities.

Plus, Chan barely saw you outside of his classes for the whole semester since, after classes, he’s forced to work on his practical projects in his shared dorm with 3racha. The study buddy through videocall was also (secretly) an excuse to see you on his part.

He missed you terribly then.

The call was mostly quiet of conversation in the beginning, the only significant noise being the sound of the two of you typing on your respective laptops, the faint music of Chan’s practical project, and your mouse occasionally clicking on random Twitter posts whenever you start feeling drowsy. It was some time after midnight, when Chan was speeding through an idea for the chorus of his song, that you came across an interesting Twitter post.

“I sent you something on Messenger.” You hold your earphones’ mic closer to your lips, gaining Chan’s attention after a 2-second delay on his part. “It’s right across the new bookstore.”

The boy in question pauses his music, opening his laptop’s Messenger to see what you’ve sent. It was a poster for a prom-themed gig at a bar and grill right outside campus on Sunday night. Like you, what immediately caught his attention was the option to actually wear prom attire.

“Oh, this is cute.” He comments, more to himself than to you, after a while before looking up at you, a relatively large icon on the corner of his laptop despite the amount of files open on his home screen. “Do you want to go?”

You nod with a hum. “It sounds really fun!”

“You mean the optional dress code sounds really fun?” Chan snickers, knowing how much you feel the least stressed when you dress up.

“Well, it’s not just that! The line-up looks promising too! And think about it, we could’ve met on your high school prom if Minho and I weren’t feeling too lazy to go. This could be like fulfilling a parallel universe possibility!”

Chan simply chuckles, ringing your ears with his tired laughter. You can’t help but laugh as well, finding your words a bit silly—but a 2 AM-appropriate type of silly. He never judges your humor.

“Okay, we should go. Day6 and N.Flying are performing.” He concludes, making you squeal in satisfaction that momentarily startles him. Any excuse to see them before finals, he thinks to himself. “I don’t have a proper suit, though.”

“Not like I have flashy attire in my dorm, either.” You roll your eyes with a laugh. “Just pick out something nice—for buying books and dancing! If people do show up dressing too well, we can just say our prom’s theme was vintage.”

The two of you laugh even harder.

“Hey, how come, I didn’t know any of this?” Seungmin complains at the mention of his favorite alumni band.

“Did you want to 3rd wheel on dumb and dumber over here?” Minho points to you and Chan. “Anyway, point is, Jisung and I caught these 2 red-handed!”

“Red-handed of what? Listening to music?”

On one end of the table, Felix giggles. “If Minho and Jisung caught dumb and dumber, then doesn’t that make 3rd wheel and 4th wheel? Like a car?”

“Slow dancing!” Hyunjin dramatically gasps at this new information from an equally dramatic exclaim coming from Minho.

You had no idea why Minho and Jisung came to know of this particular gig since it’s a fairly small event (not even your resident social butterfly Hyunjin knew about it), arriving 2 acts before Day6 came on stage. When they arrived (and dressed to the nines for people you haven’t seen outside a studio for the entire semester, as well), you and Chan were dancing to a cover of ‘I Love You So’ by the Walters in a crowd of mostly friend groups enjoying the music and reliving actual prom memories, making the snooping pair easily identify you.

It wasn’t like seeing you and Chan dance closely, one of his hands on your waist while the other is picking a thumb wrestling fight with one of your own, was something different for your friend group, they were all used to it to the point of frequently confusing the 2 of you for a couple before, but Minho and Jisung had knowing smiles on their faces when they approached the 2 of you, copying your position even when the song that follows is livelier.

“Oh, look at that, a cute couple!” Minho pretends to see you for the first time while twirling Jisung. “Chan, Y/N, we didn’t know you’d be here!”

“We didn’t know you’d be here either.” You comment, unsure if you were mortified of being caught slow dancing with Chan just now or of the fact that it was Minho and Jisung, the 2 people who knew your past happy crush phase on Chan, of all people.

“I actually texted Minho.” Chan adds sheepishly as he recounts your ‘prom’.

“What?” “I just asked him what to wear then I...sort of let it slip what I was dressing up for.”

“What about Jisung?” “Oh, don’t worry Y/N, Minho invited me to snoop around.”

"Alright, continue slow dancing like an old couple then, we just came over to say hi.” Jisung then tugs Minho closer to the crowd forming right below the stage. “C’mon, Minho, they’re offering discounted drinks for couples with good outfits!”

“Okay, have fun you two, and leave 6 inches in between for Jesus!” You hear Minho yell at you as he’s being pulled away, making you laugh.

“What the fuck was that?” You roll your eyes when the pair have disappeared to the nearby bar.

At this, Chan notices the next act setting up on stage, “Oh, hey, N.Flying’s on. Do you want to get closer to the stage?”

You follow his line of vision, seeing your favorite band greeting everyone on stage. “Oh shit, you’re right, let’s go!”

Chan followed you around the dance floor throughout most of the night, even with Minho and Jisung coming over to dance and tease you every now and then.

“Are you guys satisfied yet?” Chan asks, downing what remains of his soju. “Are we still even playing truth or shot?”

“I was there so I can provide expert testimony.” Jisung hiccups on his drink. “And I think you were just hung up on what happened at the Christmas party.”

“And what are you suggesting, Sung?” You challenge him, swiping away his drink before he completely passes out.

“That Chan had the most intense crush on you throughout Christmas break because of what you did at the party!”

“Ugh, not that!”

three - radio club christmas party (1 yr ago)

Last year, the exchange gift method on your radio club’s Christmas party was patterned to cheesy high school promposals. The dramatic the gesture, the better. It was Jisung’s idea and your alumnae moderator, Younghyun, was more than happy to back him up because it was right up his type of humor.

On the day of the Christmas party itself at the radio station’s lobby, all members huddled over a table of food and gifts, wearing questionable attires and hiding equally questionable props in their school bags.

“Ah, I’m so embarrassed! Y/N, quick, it’s your turn!” Mina exclaims, running to you as you giggle, clutching her gift to you in your arms. At this point in the party, Jisung had just danced to all girl groups imaginable for Ryujin until she accepted his Christmas present, Ryujin had everyone (led by Mina whom she picked) on a treasure hunt around the school oval, and Mina had prepared the cheesiest tribute video imaginable documenting your friendship for the past 3 years before handing you your present.

“Don’t worry, I loved it.” You chuckle, hugging her with your free hand while she covers her face with your other arm. Eventually, she lets you when you gesture that you need to stand up.

You take out the signs you’ve been secretly making for the past week along with the present you’ve prepared for Chan before proceeding to your makeshift stage of the words “MERRY CHRISTMAS” in glittery buntings, a small Christmas tree decorated with any figurines but actual Christmas-related ones, and an oddly detailed portrait of Santa Clause. “I didn’t have the remaining braincells to think of something witty.” You chuckle, to which everyone follows along. “Which is especially disappointing since the person I’ve picked was being very witty when we met.”

“But I know this person cried over Love, Actually, on last year’s Christmas party so I’m taking advantage of that.” Everyone but Chan laughs at this, already knowing that it’s him you’re referring to.

So you turn to him, a mix of surprise, amusement, and secondhand embarrassment evident on his face, as you flip the signs you hold in time with your following words, “Christmas, love, gifts, festivities, and carols.” You cringe internally at your next words, hands visibly shaking as you flip to the last pair of signs, the one you just made (and decorated excessively) last night. “These are really pretty words but the prettiest word would be your yes when you agree to receive my gift as your Secret Santa this year.”

Everyone bursts laughing, even you as you approach the now flustered Chan with your gift. He takes a moment to take his gift, too busy covering his reddened face as everyone else tries catching their breath, which allows you time to fan your own flushed face and calm your rapid heartbeat.

“You have to say yes Chan!” Changbin scolds the older boy when he finally takes the gift from your hands.

“No, it’s okay.” You wave your hand dismissively in front of the two before sitting down.

“This is promposal-themed and you asked a yes so we need to hear a yes!” Jisung, ever the instigator of all of your troubles.

“Chan, do you accept?” Mina asks in between laughs.

“Y-Yes.” Chan manages to stutter out before breaking into more excited laughs.

“Ah, I think I do have to pay up.” Jeongin comments, feigning sadness. You glare at him. But then, he suddenly turns hopeful, “But then, Seungmin has to pay up too!”

“What now this time?” You send daggers across the table to Seungmin who sips his soju with wide eyes. “Has everyone been betting on us this entire time?”

“Just a couple...” Seungmin continues to sip on his soju slowly like he’s drinking tea. “Whether any one of you two has as ever had a serious crush on the other.”

“Seungmin has to pay up because he thinks that you never had a serious crush on Chan because I know for a fact, as your neighbor, that you had a serious crush on Chan during that Christmas and before that.”

“What?!” The entire table is quick to exclaim, even Chan who almost spat his drink on Minho.

“Yah Yang Jeongin!” You hiss in an attempt to reach across the table before Changbin and Jisung managed to hold you down on your seat.

“Tell us more, Jeongin.” Hyunjin now has his soju bottle pointed at the youngest.

four - second year semester break (2 yrs ago)

Chan offered to help you prepare for an internship and treat you with coffee on the first day of your semester break, mostly on Changbin’s insistence since the older boy’s been cooped up in their dorms for the past month despite his deadlines being close to Christmas break. You were supposed to go home for the 2-week break, actually, but Jeongin tipped you off on a flyer he saw on his department building the other day for an internship that suited you better, the deadline of submissions being on the last day of the break.

Plus, Changbin and Jisung needed someone to watch over Chan and make sure he’s not staying inside all the time.

And so, the two of you sat outside the Starbuck’s inside campus, papers and laptops carefully laid around your coffee cups on the round table. You give Chan a book to occupy himself with in place of his laptop he usually looks at 24 hours a day while you worked on your internship application.

After a while, however, Chan decides on putting down the book to watch you fill out your form and research on the place you were applying for.

“What?” You look up at him from your laptop. His coffee cup has been empty for a while and the book you lent him, an old copy of Pride and Prejudice, sits next to it with a bookmark halfway through. “Bored already?”

“Do you need help?” He asks. “It’s not that Pride and Prejudice is boring, no offense, it’s just that I feel so...so idle.”

“You sit for hours in one spot when you make music too, what gives?” You shrug with a teasing smile.

He shrugs as well, not exactly sure of himself. “It’s like...I’m starting to have ideas while being outside but they’re not clear yet, while sitting here.”

“Ah...” You nod understandingly. “Tell you what, I’m almost done with this actually so why don’t we go to the campus oval? Some kids play frisbee there on weekends, plus the sun’s warmest there around this time.”

“Really?” His eyes widen at the suggestion.

You chuckle. “Sure. You need to explore around your own campus more anyway.”

When you were finished with your papers, you took Chan to the campus oval and sat on the grass, watching some families play frisbee.

“That sounds suspiciously like a date.” Hyunjin comments. “What can you say on this, Chan?”

“It was a hangout.” Chan hesitantly corrects.

“A babysitting job, more likely.” You add to which Changbin and Chan both laugh knowingly.

“So is this a date?” Chan asks you later that day.

“You didn’t ask me out to this as a date.” You counter immediately. “Plus, I was working most of the time.”

Chan shrugs. “But if it were, would you have considered it?”

He was walking you back to your dorms and you realized that wording it that way (along with your current conversation) made it seem that you were just on a date, the thought suddenly lingering in your thoughts more than you wanted it to. “Maybe? I don’t know, Chan...” You conclude, trailing off. “You’re a cool person, though...”

“Should I try better next time?” “If you’re ever going to ask someone out, make sure to tell them your exact intentions, please, you’re a Libra for God’s sake.”

That seems to diffuse the sudden tension between the two of you as Chan laughs. “Okay, noted.”

Chan still thinks about this to this day every time he asks you to hangout alone and you vented out your conflicting feelings to Jeongin later that night.

“Anything else, Jeongin?” Hyunjin asks.

“Oh, hey, I remember something!” Changbin exclaims. “How could we miss Chan’s birthday from 3 years ago?”

five - chan’s birthday (3 yrs ago)

You’ve never heard of the paranoia game until Chan’s birthday when Minho suggested it and called on all of Chan’s guests to participate. “Rules are simple.” The unofficial MC announced over his bottle of soju like a microphone. “I start by picking out someone and asking them a question in private. They answer by choosing another person then we do a coin flip if the person I asked reveals the question or not. And it goes on and on and on!”

The game does goes on and on but it only seemed endless because every time Minho flipped a coin, it would always land on the choice to not reveal the question, frustrating everyone to no end.

“This game should have some drama but the drama’s not coming.” Sana frowns next to you while Felix whispers something in Chan’s ear at the center of the circle.

“I know.” You agree, that is, until you see Chan approaching you from the corner of your eye.

He extends a hand out to help you stand up. Behind him, everyone cheers for a reason you weren’t aware then (only to later find out that almost everyone you knew confused the two of you for a couple). So, reluctantly, you accept his hand, standing up and following him to the center of the circle without even noticing that he didn’t let go of your hand until Minho tossed a coin.

“Ah, goddamn it!” Minho groans. “Stupid coin doesn’t want to reveal the stupid questions!”

“Ey, everyone knows what the question is anyway.” Changbin dismisses.

“I don’t know.” You mutter under your breath which Chan immediately catches.

“Ah, you don’t have to know.” He hurriedly tells you with flushes cheeks.

“We didn’t miss that, fool, that was what Chan and Y/N were talking about when they said they’ve talked about this before.” Seungmin points out.

You shake your head disapprovingly, “Okay, I’ve had enough. Can we talk about something else?” You push the lie detector toy to Minho. “Since you started this mess, come on, Lee, I dare you.”

epilogue - chan’s birthday party (3 yrs ago)

The party was slowly dying down at around 3:15 AM, when your Uber messaged you in the middle of an intimate conversation with your friends. “My Uber’s here.” You announce softly over the acoustic music playing from Changbin’s phone, standing up afterwards to straighten out your attire. Turning to Chan you add, “I’m heading out, happy birthday again, Chan.”

“Wait, let me see you out.” The birthday boy in question follows your actions after.

“You don’t have to.” “I insist, it’s late and there could be creeps out on the street.”

He sends you a persistent look and you give in tiredly. “Okay, fine. Let’s go.” The group then proceeds to bid you goodbye in hugs and ‘goodnight’s before Chan escorts you out of his dorm.

You reach the elevator in no time, finding its lights harsh against the soft light of the hallway your eyes have been accustomed to throughout your walk.

“Thanks for coming, by the way.” Chan decides to speak up once the elevator door closes. His dorm is on the topmost floor, the elevator ride down taking around 3 minutes since the elevator itself’s already rusty and has a tendency to stop on floors for no reason.

"Of course.” You nod. “Wouldn’t want to miss out on Seungmin’s first alcoholic drink.”

Chan laughs with you at this but both of you can unconsciously agree that there was an awkward tension in the air. “Listen, about the paranoia game a while ago...” He starts, trailing off when you finally turn your head towards his direction.

You pretend to be nonchalant about it, shrugging, “What about it?”

“It just seems like the question Felix asked me bothers you.”

You try to smile reassuringly. “I’m sure Felix doesn’t talk shit about me behind my back...unless of course he told you something embarrassing then that would be a different story!”

The elevator dings! and opens on the wrong floor. Chan is quick to press on the lobby button again. “Well, since it’s just us...he just asked me to pick the person whom I have a happy crush on.”

He said it casually as he can, with the best attempt he had of ignoring his rapid heartbeat and clammy hands, almost missing the way your eyes widened in the brief silence that followed.

“Y-You? Have a crush on me?” You repeated in disbelief, a bit breathless for no reason. “Wow...”

“Yeah but it’s just a happy crush, though!” He’s quick to clarify, hands waving frantically around while he speaks. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“No, no, it’s cool, it’s cool.” You assure him, cringing internally at repeating your words. “I had a happy crush on you too some time ago so it’s...it’s cool.”

“Really?” You nod at his question.

“I don’t have a happy crush on you now, though, if that’s what you’re thinking.” You chuckle awkwardly.

Finally, the elevator door opens to the lobby. You quickly step out.

“I think it’d be weird.” You add, though deep inside you knew it felt weird saying that out loud. “Similar friend groups and all.”

Chan nods in agreement. “Right! Right.”

“So...this is me, unless you want to escort me to the Uber?” You call for your Uber driver’s attention, signalling for him that you’ll be there in a second. “I’ll just text you the plate number and everything in case something happens.”

“Okay.” He nods again. “Go home safe and remember to text me.”

“Yup! Goodnight, Chan.” You smile at him one last time, though it feels heavy somehow (it still does to this day). “Happy birthday...well, belated.”

“Thanks.” He returns your smile. “Goodnight, too.”

When you arrived home, you made sure to text Chan again with a goodnight message and a happy birthday, ending it with the sloppy ‘I hope we’re still good friends after this’ remark that you’ve long deleted from your phone history.

Of course, Chan read and re-read this message until morning.

237 notes · View notes

penny-lane629 · 3 years ago

Text

＊Smile＊

minors dni!

description: Armin Arlert loves sweet, innocent things, especially when he can ruin them with his very own sickening sweetness.

pairings: Armin Arlert x gn! reader

word count: 2.4k

!!reader is afab(assigned female at birth), gender neutral and of legal age (around their 2nd year of college)!!

)^o^(

Whatever Armin Arlert wanted, Armin Arlert got. Cars, VIP seats, answers to exams, anything you can imagine. Being one of the most well-respected alumni of Paradis Institute’s only son definitely had its advantages.

“Can I help you, Arlert?” Were the only words you spoke to him when he entered the science lab you were trying to work in.

“Am I bothering you, ___ ? I can leave.” You took one look at his big, ocean blue eyes and sighed, taking your glasses off.

“No, sorry.”

“Rough day? I’m sure it’s nothing a massage can’t solve.” He offered, walking around the table you were working on and immediately placing his hands on your stiff shoulders. You shrugged them off quickly and faced the other way.

“Are you sure you don’t want a massage from the person paying for your scholarship?” He whispered in a low voice, which would be very attractive if you weren’t intimidated by him. You gulped and nodded, allowing him to happily massage your shoulders and upper back.

“I heard you’re having a hard time with the new lecture.”

“I-I do.” You tried withholding a pleased sigh. The massage was definitely working.

“Be at my dorm around seven. I’ll help you with it, ___.” Armin left with a polite smile and bow of his head, leaving you to wonder how he looked so sweet yet acted so bitter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At seven sharp, you stood outside of Armin Arlert’s dormitory, patting your hair down, fixing your shirt underneath your uniform pants and looking around nervously. With a deep breath, you finally knocked on the wooden door, which was opened almost immediately.

“Come in, ___!” Armin’s face lit up the moment he saw you and he stepped away for you to enter his room. A kitchenette, a double bed, a desk and a bookcase filled all the space, just like every other dorm on campus. And as you set your books on the desk, you could have sworn you caught a glimpse of tiles, running water and a nude person as the lock screen on his laptop, which he was quick to close before you took another look.

“Would you like a coffee, ___?”

“Yes, please.”

“Oh, I almost forgot!” ,he exclaimed and opened a drawer, “I have some flash cards for you!”

“Oh, it’s not necessa–”

“I insist.” He said firmly and looked through some neatly filed papers. Once again, your eye caught a few pictures of someone’s back profile and you could swear they had the same lower back tattoo as you. You, however, dismissed it once again. Boys tend to have pictures of pornstars, right?

Flipping through the flash cards, a picture fell out and Armin rushed to pick it up before you could. This time, however, it was loud and clear that the person in those photos was you taking a shower. At the time, you didn’t know that all those pictures were set up on purpose. For you to see and become vulnerable in front of Armin Arlert.

“Armin, what’s that?” Your voice came out in a hoarse whisper instead of the clear and stern tone you were planning on.

“Just something I’m planning on posting on the college’s site tonight.” He grinned.

“Wh-what? Why would you–”

“I don’t know, ___. You tell me.” He leaned closer to you, holding his weight on the arms of your chair. His blond hair fell over his eyes, making it the perfect shade of dark blue under the shadows.

“I have to go.” You said sheepishly and started picking your books up, but an arm around your waist stopped you.

“Why do you keep on resisting me, ___?”

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

“I want you. And you want me too, right?”

You were confused. Heartbroken. You always thought of Armin as nothing else than your classmate. So, what was this sudden urge to lock your lips with his?

“I’ve never seen you wearing a skirt or a dress…you always act so modest, but the way you touch yourself so desperately in the shower…” his hand ghosted over your clothed thigh and stopped at your hip, “you just want to get fucked like a whore, right?”

“A-Armin…”

“Why don’t you put a little show for me? Undress yourself.” He sat on his chair and opened his legs, shamelessly showing off the tent in his uniform pants.

“On your knees.”

“Just like that…good…take it all.” You would be lying if you said his words didn’t make you rub your thighs together, desperate for something, anything to fulfill your need.

“Please, Armin…’m gonna-”

“Armin…”

“Why so quiet, love? Do you not…like…the way I’m fucking you?” He said between quick thrusts, not giving you the time to make out a single word. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as the knot tied low in your stomach was ready to come untied.

“Do you think it’s funny? The way you let me fuck you so easily?” A hand now met your hair, pulling your head back into the pillow a bit.

“A-Armin!”

“Please…too sensitive…I can’t-” Your words came out in stutters, your legs closing involuntarily only for Armin to push them open again every time.

“Say my name.” He moaned out, thrusting inside your cunt now almost inhumanly fast.

In the heat of the moment, it took you a few seconds to notice a stinging on your cheek, but when you did, you looked up at the blond, who was smirking down at you, hand still on your red cheek.

“Who’s fucking you? Huh?”

“You! You’re fucking me, Armin!”

“Louder.” He grunted, finally giving some attention to your nipples by slapping them teasingly.

“Armin! Armin! Fuck, I’m gonna–”

“Cum on my cock…fuck, ___.” Armin couldn’t take it anymore when your walls clenched around him once again as you orgasmed for the second time that night. Between moans and gasps and whispers of his name, you felt a wave of air hit your core and you realized Armin had pulled out.

~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~

Lmao I hope y’all liked this otherwise it’d be embarrassing. Anyway, requests are always open, leave some for me to do while I procrastinate! <3

13 notes · View notes

pixieminutes · 5 years ago

Text

Back For Her | HJS

genre: angst, slight fluff, dad!jisung

members: han jisung x reader, brother!yang jeongin, bang chan, seo changbin, hwang hyunjin, lee felix, kim seungmin, lee minho

warnings: mafia!skz, gun use, swearing, pregnant!reader

15th March [19:32]

“jisung, i’m serious,” you sighed.

“and so am i,” jisung said, “look, i’m sorry.”

“you told me you’d be home!”

“y/n, this is big. you have to understand where i’m coming from, huh? the government. our government, is actually a bunch of crooks,” jisung spat, disgusted at the memory of jungle city mafia running the government, “you can’t even imagine how much danger the entire country– no, the entire world will be in if we don’t do this.”

“but, what about jiwoong?” you said, tears filling your eyes.

“he’ll be in danger, y/n, we all will if i don’t go and do this,” jisung whispered, crouching in front of you, taking your hands in his.

“why do you have to go?” you asked, letting the tears fall from your eyes.

“i’m front line assassin, you know that,” jisung sighed, “why is this so different to anything else i’ve done?! jiwoong’s almost four now! he knows i go away on business for a while!”

“jisung,” you said, taking a shaky breath as you took jisung’s hand and laid it on your stomach, “i’m pregnant. your second child is inside of me and i don’t know what to do if you and my brother both go to destroy the government!”

jisung let out a breath he didn’t even realise he was holding, “serious?”

you sighed, reaching into your bedside table and pulling out the pregnancy tests you’d taken only two days prior, “serious.”

jisung’s eyes filled with tears as he pulled you into a hug, “i’ll be safe.”

“you’re still going?!”

“i have to!” jisung yelled, before sighing into your shoulder, “how far along are you?”

“2 and a half months. 10 weeks,” you sighed, sitting back on the bed, placing your head in your hands, your elbows resting on your knees, “i went to the doctor a couple days ago.”

“no, daddy!” jiwoong yelled, running in the room, “mummy’s sad now!”

“i’m sorry, woong,” jisung pouted, taking his son into his arms, “i’m sorry. everything’s fine, okay? me and mummy are just thinking about something.”

“are you going away?” jiwoong asked, pulling away so he could look at his dad.

jisung sighed, looking up at you.

“yeah,” you nodded, wiping your tears away and joining them on the floor, “daddy’s going to be going away for a while. he has something very important to do.”

jisung nodded, “so you’ve got to take care of mummy, and your new baby sibling, okay?”

“baby sibling?!” jiwoong exclaimed.

jiwoong nodded excitedly, “i want a brother!”

“hmm, we’ll have to see,” you chuckled, “come on. why are you out of bed, huh? let’s put you back where you belong.”

jiwoong laughed as you carried him out the room, his body flailing around in your arms.

jisung stood up and followed the two of you to his nursery, standing in the doorway and watching as you read your son a bedtime story.

he was gonna go. that was for sure. he had to. for you, jiwoong and baby junior.

28th March [15:02]

“just please promise me you’ll be safe,” you said, holding jisung close, one hand on the back of his head, one of the small of his back.

he took a deep breath, his arms wrapped around your waist, “i promise. i’ll come home and i’ll be the best father for these two, okay?”

you nodded, finally pulling away and holding jisung’s face for a second, giving him another kiss before finally letting go.

“he’ll be fine, y/n,” jeongin said, “we’ll all be.”

“i know you will,” you sighed, pulling him into a hug, “i just get slightly worried knowing my twin brother, my husband and all their friends are a mafia group.”

jeongin laughed, “you make it sound like we’re a regular mafia group.”

you rolled your eyes, pushing him away with a laugh just in time to see jiwoong handing his dad a small toy frog he owned, and quite frankly, treasured.

jisung swallowed a lump in his throat, looking at the plastic frog, “are you sure, bud? i might be gone for a while.”

jiwoong nodded, “uncle chan told me that it’s magic! and you need luck. magic luck.”

jisung smiled, pulling his son into one last hug, “thank you, woong. i’ll return him safely, okay?”

jiwoong nodded, watching his dad stand up and smile at you one last time.

“we ready?” chan asked, “bye jiwoong!”

jiwoong ran over to you, clinging onto your leg as he waved goodbye to his dad and seven uncles.

“you alright, jiwoong-ah?” you asked, crouching down to look your son in the eye as he nodded, “you were very grown up for giving daddy your frog.”

“he needs it,” jiwoong nodded wisely, “can we play outside now?”

you chuckled, “of course, come on.”

30th March [18:22]

“isn’t this a bit obvious, chan?” changbin inquired, looking down at the city out the window that took up the entire wall of the bedroom.

“nope, cause they have no idea who we are,” chan sighed, laying out various styles of clothes on the bed, as well as hair dye and scissors.

“oh god,” jisung said, shaking his head.

“desperate times, desperate measures,” chan shrugged.

“yes! now it feels like i’m an undercover spy!” felix exclaimed.

“you’re in the mafia,” minho said, an undoubtably judging tone in his voice.

“i bagsy red,” jeongin said, grabbing the dye before anyone could stop him.

“is brown different enough?” jisung asked, grabbing the ends of his black hair.

“it doesn’t matter, as long as we all slightly change, it’ll throw them off,” chan said, grabbing the bleach, “they’re not very smart.”

“you have a razor?” changbin asked, shrugging, “always wanted an undercut.”

chan chuckled, “crazy bastard. in there.”

“oh god, please don’t do it yourself,” hyunjin sighed, following after changbin into the room where chan just pointed.

jisung sighed, sitting down on the bed nearest the window as the rest of the boys dispersed out, apart from jeongin and chan.

“how do you think red’ll look?” jeongin asked, looking at his brother-in-law.

jisung chuckled, “it’ll be fine. it’s only temporary anyway.”

jeongin squinted his eyes to the box, “hmm, don’t know about that.”

jisung laughed half-heartedly, shoving his hands in his pockets and smiling as he felt jiwoong’s frog.

“you alright?” jeongin asked, looking at jisung with innocent eyes.

“he has a family! he’s soft now!” hyunjin exclaimed.

“fuck off, hwang!” jisung exclaimed, “truthfully...”

“what?” chan asked, peering up at jisung, “if y/n didn’t want you to come, don’t feel guilty.”

“but i do!” jisung exclaimed, “fuck it. she’s pregnant. again. but i just– shit! i’m just so fucking worried that something’s gonna go wrong and i– i’m never gonna even see my second child.”

jeongin’s eyes widened, “she’s pregnant?!”

jisung nodded, “she told me a couple days before we left. jiwoong knows as well, so i told him to take care of them, but... shit.”

“it’s okay, sung,” chan said, “we’ll destroy these bastards and we’ll be home in time for some of y/n’s pregnancy and for sure, the birth of your second child. i promise.”

jisung nodded, “thank you, chan.”

7th April [08:33]

“we go in, we get buddy-buddy. do not try and get any information, just try and get friends,” chan said, “we don’t want anyone suspecting us.”

the boys all nodded, chan giving them one final nod as they all entered the breakfast hall.

“mr. park? oh how great it is to finally be in your presence! nice to meet you, i’m jihoon,” jisung said, “kang jihoon?”

“of course! mr. kang, how are you doing?” park yidam greeted jisung, inviting him to pull up a chair next to him, “i’d say we have a lot of introducing to do.”

“too right we do,” jisung said with a friendly laugh, one hand on mr. park’s back, one holding jiwoong’s frog as tightly as he could.

“uncle chan told me that it’s magic! and you need luck. magic luck.”

jiwoong’s voice rang in his head.

god, please, please be magic luck. please.

28th April [16:38]

“we’ve been successful so far, but we need a moment, we need a time that we can really pounce on them, alright?” chan explained, “from talking to mr. moon, i’ve discovered that they’re having a grand press conference august 5th. that will be our time.”

the boys all nodded as jisung furrowed his eyebrows. august?

“10 weeks. i went to the doctor a couple days ago.”

“august?!” jisung exclaimed.

chan nodded, “august 5th. we’ll take them down and we’ll go back. home by august 7th.”

“chan, do you understand? by august 7th my wife’s gonna be eight months pregnant, taking care of a fucking four-year-old,” jisung spat, “i’m gonna miss my son’s fourth birthday, i’m gonna miss most of my wife’s pregnancy. this baby isn’t even gonna know who their dad is! do you know how much i’m missing right now?! i can’t stay here till august!”

“jisung, that’s the choice you made.”

jisung felt anger pierce his veins. chan was lovely, he really was. he was good at talking, he was nice to people, he was good with kids, but the one thing he wasn’t good at was making long lasting connections with people. not unless he’d seen you at your worst and raised you up to your best.

“i can’t be here right now,” jisung sighed, leaving the long meeting table and storming out the room.

“what do you want me to say, jisung?” chan asked, storming to the door.

“god, i don’t want you!” jisung yelled, “i just want my fucking family! that’s all i want! i want to kiss my wife and sing my son to sleep! i want to watch my baby grow! and i don’t care if all of you lonely dickwads think i’ve become soft! maybe i have! maybe you should try it!”

“jisung, just go,” chan sighed, “i’ll call when dinner’s ready.”

jisung turned away, feeling tears prick at his eyes as he stormed up the stairs. how he longed to hold you in his arms.

he wanted you.

he wanted jiwoong.

he wanted to sleep with you on one arm, jiwoong nestled in between the two of you, peacefully.

1st May [19:13]

“i’ve decided we can’t do this alone,” chan sighed, “seungmin, you keep researching and make sure the city jungle mafia have absolutely nothing to do with nct.”

“nct?” jisung asked, “are you sure?”

“this is what we need,” chan sighed, “we need as many men as possible and who else when you need numbers?”

changbin nodded thoughtfully, “i could call wooyoung if you wanted atz in on it too?”

chan smiled, “i like your thinking. guys, rest time now, sleep well so we can keep making connections tomorrow.”

“hey, chan?” jisung called, catching his leader’s arm as he went to walk out the room, “i– i made up my mind. i’ll stay till august. i mean, i know you think that was my only option but truthfull—”

“don’t be stupid, ji,” chan sighed, “i know that wasn’t your only option. i literally cannot even begin to imagine how hard it is on you right now. but, when we get back in august, you’ll have a baby that is basically here and your family will be safe. i can promise you that.”

jisung smiled, “thanks, hyung.”

“now go and rest, kang jihoon-ah,” chan chuckled.

21st May [09:12]

“daddy! daddy! dad—”

jiwoong stopped in his tracks, looking at the half empty bed in his parents’ room and sighing. he walked over, his bunny hanging from his hand as he pulled himself onto the bed.

“jiwoong, ah,” you smiled, waking up as you felt his cold hands and feet touch your back.

you rolled over, pulling him into your chest, “our jiwoong-ie is four! you’re so grown up! i remember when you were in my tummy like junior!”

jiwoong giggled slightly, but it ended in a sigh and you frowned.

“what’s wrong, baby? you can’t be sad on your birthday!” you exclaimed.

“i made a birthday wish,” jiwoong pouted, “b-but it didn’t come true.”

you furrowed your eyebrows, “what was it woong? maybe we could make it come true.”

“i wished for daddy.”

you took a shaky breath, watching as jiwoong started to cry for his dad’s absence. you sighed, sitting up and pulling him into your lap.

“it’s okay, i know,” you cooed, “i know, jiwoong-ah. if i could wish for anything, i’d wish for daddy as well.”

jiwoong screamed and cried and cried, wrapping his thin arms around your neck and burying his head in your neck.

“daddy’s doing something really important, okay?” you sighed, “he’ll be home soon. i promise, he really will.”

19th June [23:00]

“mr. park! what a delight to see you here!” jisung exclaimed, already one glass of wine deep, but he knew that park yidam was a lot further.

“kang jihoon!” yidam exclaimed, “my friend, oh, it is great to see a familiar face.”

jisung chuckled, watching the filthy rich man as he filled his glass with whiskey.

“you’re having a glass?” mr. park offered.

“why not?” jisung laughed, the way posh men do when they’ve said something entirely not funny.

“let me tell you, i really mean it when i say i’m glad to see you,” mr. park said, lowering his voice, “i have a confession to make, but it’s also a proposal.”

“oh?” jisung said, raising his voice in interest as he brought the glass of whiskey to his lips, pretending to take a sip.

“the government, us,” mr. park said, laughing incredulously, “we’re no real politicians. we’re a mafia group.”

jisung’s acting skills were leading up to this moment, he dropped his mouth open, looking to mr. park with wide eyes and quickly chucking his drink under the table while mr. park threw his head back laughing.

“mr. park! i– i don’t– how can i say anything?”

“don’t worry, we have... morals. of sorts,” mr. park laughed, “we’re called jungle city, and we want you, and your friends, to join us. join us in the revolution.”

jisung sighed, trying desperately not to flinch as mr. park got closer and closer to his face with every word, his breath smelling like a mixture of various types of alcohol and cigars.

“what do you say, jihoon?” mr. park asked, sticking his hand out, “join us?”

jisung smiled, shaking mr. park’s hand, before turning to chan and winking.

26th July [12:36]

“jiwoong! lunch is ready!” you exclaimed.

“coming, mummy!” jiwoong exclaimed, skipping into the kitchen.

“ooh, very pretty choice of clothing,” you complemented, looking at his pale blue shirt and black jeans, “you eat, okay? i’ll go and clean your room.”

jiwoong giggled, “can i watch cartoons, mummy?”

you scrunched up your nose, sighing, “how can i ignore that beautiful face, hmm? go on then, use my phone.”

you heaved yourself off the chair, as jiwoong climbed onto one, walking into your son’s nursery where, just as you feared, clothes covered every square inch of the floor.

you sighed, placing a hand on your six-month-pregnant stomach. he really didn’t make it easy for you, did he?

you began to bend down, finding that it was not the best option as you could barely even reach your toes. lifting yourself back up, you went with simply sitting on the floor and picking up each item one-by-one, folding them up and placing them back in the drawers.

you could feel junior moving around inside of you, their little legs working hard to hit the outside world. as you leaned forward and picked up one of jisung’s old t-shirts, you sighed.

“fucking hell, han jisung,” you murmered, “i really didn’t think it was gonna be this long.”

as you blinked, a thought flashed through your head.

what if he wasn’t back in time for junior’s birth?

5th August [14:42]

“they’re coming,” jeongin said through his walkie-talkie, the voice ringing in the ear of each member of skz, atz and nct, “on a massive float, can’t miss them.”

“thanks for that, dickwad,” changbin said, rolling his eyes.

“seungmin, now,” chan instructed, seungmin walking just beside the float, hyunjin and jisung joining him.

as the seven boys followed after the float, chan nodded at them.

“felix, go to nct,” chan instructed, “when i say now, you get them to go, okay?”

jisung nudged changbin, “stay safe, okay? remember your ear plugs.”

changbin chuckled, shoving jisung, “softie.”

jisung smiled, handing changbin one of the bags in his hand, all three containing rifles, as he handed the other one to chan, nodding subtly.

chan smiled as the three boys got into place in the outskirts of the plaza.

“jisung, get mr. park. changbin, get mr. jang,” chan said, aiming his rifle exactly in the middle, “i’ve got mr. moon.”

“you’re dead on,” jeongin said, looking at the cctv screens, “ready?”

“as i’ll ever be,” jisung sighed.

“now!” chan exclaimed, the three boys shooting their desired men as the 29 boys ran at them from behind, some were carrying weapons, some had insane skills.

“chan, i– i don’t think it’s just the government,” jeongin said, a panicked voice, “the crowd. they’re not here for this.”

“felix, attack the crowd,” chan instructed, “we have to stop them.”

“do they have weapons?” changbin asked, “...jeongin! do they have weapons?!”

jeongin sighed, “i can’t see that well.”

“i’m going up,” changbin groaned, climbing onto the podium were the men of the government were just standing.

“attention!” he yelled, the seven other skz boys looking on with bated breath as nct and atz began attacking the threatening members of the crowd, “this was not our government. this was not any government. they weren’t politicians, they had no morals, no values. they were members of a mafia group who were going to take this country into ruin.”

the cameras were all pointed directly at changbin as he took a deep breath.

“you don’t need to know who we are, but you need to know that you were saved from something big,” changbin said, “today will go down in history. now bring mr. kim back to the office. fuck them! thank you!”

“dude, i have a four-year-old who could be watching right now,” jisung sighed.

“oop, sorry jiwoong,” changbin said, “and any other kids watching. don’t join the mafia!”

5th August [18:00]

“jiwoong! jiwoong!” you exclaimed, “daddy’s done! daddy’s coming home!”

jiwoong looked at you with his head tilted to the side as tears poured down your face.

“look! look! it’s uncle changbin!” you said, pointing to the tv as the news re-ran the press conference, “daddy’s safe! he’s coming home!”

jiwoong smiled, bursting out in giggled as he jumped up and down, both of you dancing in glee.

you stopped, laughing at your son as you placed a hand on your eight-month-pregnant stomach, grimacing slightly as you felt a surge of pain through your lower back and abdomen.

“oh god,” you breathed, “oh no.”

“mummy?” jiwoong asked.

“mummy’s alright, everything’s okay,” you smiled, “okay? let’s put you to bed, alright?”

jiwoong giggled, “but i’m too excited! i don’t want to go to bed!”

you felt a proper contraction kick in, gasping slightly at the pain, as jiwoong kept dancing.

“come on, please,” you said, your breathing heavy, “let’s go to bed, hmm? otherwise i’ll tell daddy that you were misbehaving for me.”

“i’m going!” he laughed, running up the stairs, leaving you to wallow in a pain for a moment, before the contraction passed.

“i’ll come and tuck you in,” you said, following slowly behind.

“mummy, are you in pain?” jiwoong asked.

“it’s very hard to have junior,” you nodded, “and junior’s causing me a bit of pain right now. just go to bed, yeah?”

you kissed your son’s head as he smiled, thinking of his dad finally coming home, happily snug in his blanket.

you sighed, walking back out and pulling his door to, jumping at the sound of your phone ringing.

“finally,” jisung panted down the phone, “it’s finally over, i can call you and i’m coming home baby.”

your eyes filled with tears at jisung’s voice, “but sungie. junior’s coming as well.”

“wh-what?!”

“i just– i just got a contraction,” you sighed, “i mean it didn’t last long and i’ll try to hold out but, shit, ji, what do i do?”

“i’ll be home. i promise. i will,” jisung sighed, “i love you. if your water breaks, go straight, okay?”

you nodded, taking a breath, “well done, ji. i’m proud of you.”

jisung smiled, “i love you.”

“i love you too.”

you sighed as jisung hung up the phone, both of you at either end of the country having a flashing thought.

“you’re staying in there whether you like it or not,” you said, rubbing your stomach.

what if he wasn’t back in time for junior’s birth?

“chan, is there any way of going quicker?” jisung asked.

chan rolled his eyes, “i know you miss them, ji, but i’m not putting us in danger after every—”

“bang chan, my wife is in labour and i would appreciate it if i could get home quickly.”

“oh my god,” jeongin gasped.

chan nodded, “ah. let’s go.”

8th August [20:10]

“jiwoong, come here please,” changbin said sternly, grabbing jiwoong’s arm and lifting him onto his lap, “just stay here, mister.”

“but i’m bored!” jiwoong whined.

“want me to tell you some stories?” minho asked.

jiwoong nodded excitedly as minho smiled.

“okay, so once, when we were all on a business trip, we had all our guns taken off us and were left with knives only. loads and loads of different types of knives—”

“guys!” jisung exclaimed, bursting out the hospital room, “she’s here.”

“she?” jiwoong said, “i have a sister?!”

jisung laughed, nodding as he crouched down, beconing for jiwoong to come closer, “you want to meet her?”

jiwoong nodded slowly, happily being lifted up by his dad.

“jeongin?” jisung called, “you wanna come?”

“r-really?” jeongin stuttered.

jisung smiled, “you’re family, you know.”

jeongin smiled, following his brother-in-law and nephew into the hospital room where you were laying half-asleep in the bed, an incubator laying beside you.

“why’s she in there?” jeongin asked, looking at the medical equipment.

“she’s a few weeks early,” you whispered, “it’s just to make her stronger.”

jisung lifted the lid, bringing her out and rocking her gently.

“she’s tiny,” jeongin gasped.

“junior!” jiwoong exclaimed.

“want to know her real name?” you asked.

“it’s not junior?” he pouted.

you laughed, shaking your head, “jaeun.”

“jaeun?” jiwoong repeated, “alright.”

“han jaeun,” jisung said, “our little magic star.”

there was silence for a moment before jisung looked to jiwoong and gasped, “oh! that reminds me.”

he handed your daughter to you, reaching in his pocket and keeping something clasped in his hands as he beckoned jiwoong over.

“here,” jisung whispered, unclasping his hands to reveal two plastic frogs, “this one joined me one day when i was out doing business. he said he made the magic luck even bigger!”

jiwoong’s eyes sparkled with wonder as he inspected the frogs.

“have them,” jisung smiled, “they’re yours.”

“both of them?” jiwoong asked.

jisung nodded, “go on. they helped me, and now they’ll help you.”

“thank you, daddy!” jiwoong exclaimed, hugging his dad.

jisung smiled, hanging on just a bit tighter, “god, i missed you.”

#stray kids #skz #han jisung #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #han jisung scenarios #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #han jisung imagines #jisung #jisung fluff #jisung angst #dad!jisung #kpop #jyp #jyp entertainment

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addercharmer · 3 years ago

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Izumi is sleeping soundly when the emergency ringtone she set for Rei starts going off.

She's literally jumping out of her bed as she hits the answer button, wide awake and ready for anything.

"Rei!" She exclaims, worried as all hell as she throws a hoodie over her shoulders.

"Please...park...Touya…" Is all Izumi can make out, she's pulling on her slipper boots when the call is cut off as soon as she opens her door after getting them both on.

"Shit, shit, shit." She swears as she throws open Nezu's door.

"Dad! Rei called, call Tsukauchi and Recovery girl!" She shouts at him before she's slamming the door behind her and bolting out of the house as quickly as she can.

She runs full sprint to the park. Izumi sees Rei holding Touya who is bleeding from multiple cuts. Natsuo and Fuyumi are clinging to her skirt, and Shoto is in a baby carrier on her back, all of them shivering in the cold from the lack of proper clothes for the cold.

Izumi runs to them, she pulls Touya into her own arms before she crouches in front of the two kids holding onto Rei.

"Get on kiddos, we are gonna be moving fast." She tells them calmly, she feels four arms wrap around her throat and four legs around her waist, standing carefully to adjust to the weight.

"Follow close Rei, we aren't far away." Izumi says over her shoulder as she starts to move as a fast jog, Rei keeps up well but Izumi can tell she's running on fumes.

The door is unlocked as Izumi crashes into the house, she doesn't bother kicking off her shoes she just bolts to the dining room to lay Touya on the table, she heads back to the living room and crouches by the couch where Rei is sitting clutching Shouto closely.

"Off we go kiddos, go sit with your mom. I'll take care of Touya until Recovery girl gets here." She's gentle but firm when she talks to them, she knows better than to sound panicked, it takes a lot of effort to stay calm.

On her way back to the dining room she grabs the first aid kit from the small closet, she's already opening it as she puts it next to Touya's head on the table.

"Sorry Touya, this will probably hurt." She whispers to the unconscious boy.

First she pulled out scissors and cut away his shirt and pants. She's angry, so, so angry at the wounds on the child she wants to go and beat up Endeavour right now.

"Tsukauchi-san and Chiyo-san are on their way, Tsukauchi's E.T.A is five minutes, Chiyo's is half an hour." Nezu tells her from the entryway.

"Awesome, I can get the surface wounds stitched and splint any broken bones, she will just need to check the rest." Izumi says as she's pouring rubbing alcohol over her hands and into one of the collapsible bowls from the kit, she won't use it again unless it's to wash her hands the same way a second time.

She's snapping on her gloves before she pauses. "Can you call the gang over? Rei is gonna be busy with Tsukauchi and I can't watch all the kids if I'm in here with Touya. You also know where the USB is for evidence, I've been updating it daily." She asks and then explains and directs, she feels the pinch between her eyebrows as she concentrates on too many things.

Nezu nods at her and heads back to the living room leaving her alone to work on the injured boy, Izumi is thankful that she can leave everything else to him now and focus on helping Touya.

The doorbell rings as Izumi is halfway through wiping down Touya's body to see the wounds better, the cuts are bleeding heavily and it's worrying her about the amount of blood being lost. She ignores it and finishes what she's doing, she ignores whoever just walked into the room trying to talk to her as she resets Touya's ankle and then wrist.

He wakes and screams loudly when the snap of his wrist bone going back into place echoes along with it.

Izumi has to push him back down on the table. Her hands are firm but her voice is gentle, suddenly there are another pair of gloved hands pressing on Touya's shoulders.

"Hey Touya, it's Izumi, I don't know if you remember me from the park but we played tag together." She says as she wraps the wrist tightly, even though he's fallen unconscious again at the pain, she needs to talk right now just to filter some thoughts.

"I'm sorry I hurt you but I had to put your bone in the right place." She explains. "I'm also really sorry that it's gonna hurt when I stitch these cuts closed, I will put numbing cream on them, but sometimes it isn't enough. A few of them I could glue together but I never trusted the glue to hold personally, I used to have to stitch myself up a lot so I got pretty good at it, really I should get my first aid certification."

Izumi notes she will have to wipe each cut again before she uses the cream and starts stitching. She feels terrible that she has to hurt Touya to help him.

She starts with first turning Touya over to get at the worst cut that goes diagonally across his back, from left shoulder blade to deeply into his right buttock, it's the longest and deepest, any deeper would have nicked his spine.

"Shit." Izumi hears Oboro swear from where the other hands are helping her.

"Put a doughnut shaped cloud under his face." She demands quickly now that she knows her helper can make Touya more comfortable.

She loses herself in the motions. Clean, cream, stitch, clean, cream, stitch, as she moves from cut to cut. She can feel herself humming and trying to comfort herself and Touya who is still unconscious.

Oboro at one point was ordered to go get the other two first aid kits, Izumi had almost run out of thread and she felt her needle becoming blunt making it that much harder and no doubt more painful to use.

She's working on the last cut that is a deep split through the corner of Touya's bottom lip when she's broken from her trance by something hitting her lightly on the thigh.

"Good work girl." Recovery girl says to her before she's pulling a chair over and hopping up on it.

"We will have to expand further on this talent." The woman says again as she examines the stitches and splints critically before nodding in approval.

Izumi just nods herself and backs away from the table with a heavy sigh, she's tired and her neck and shoulders hurt from being bent over and the constant repeated motions.

"I scanned him with a portable device that allows me to check bones and inner tissue as you worked." Recovery girl tells her and turns the machine to show Izumi. "Tell me what you see."

"Bruised ribs, bruised lower intestine, broken left wrist and right ankle, broken nose, concussion, multiple contusions." Izumi list's blankly. "I don't know how to set a nose." She also admits woodenly, she hadn't noticed that it was broken.

"Come here." Recovery girl directs, her voice is a lot sharper than Izumi was used to.

Once Izumi is close enough Recovery girl grabs her hands and frames Touya's nose with her fingers, then simply uses her hands over Izumi's own to jolt the cartilage back into place.

"Like that." Recovery girl says simply. Izumi feels a little sick at how the woman just...seems to be fine with a child laying on a table covered in stitches with broken bones.

Recovery girl's lips then stretch and she plants a kiss on Touya's head and right ankle. "All I can really do is clear up the concussion and heal the broken ankle." She admits, this time Izumi can hear the sorrow and it loosens the tight feeling in her chest.

"Go clean yourself up girl, the others need to know the boy's status, and you can't tell them covered in his blood. Shirakumo too, he can make a screen so they won't see you."

Izumi feels like she has been wrung out, she is numb but present. She and Oboro walk behind a wall of clouds up the stairs, he uses the bathroom first to clean his arms of the small amount of blood on them, he leaves his hoodie in the bathroom as well because of the blood from where he had to lean across the table, thankfully his shirt is clean and he doesn't have to borrow one of hers.

Izumi gets into the shower fully clothed, she just stands there under the spray lost in her anger and sadness.

She collapses on her knees and cries, roughly ripping her clothes off her body and throwing them at the wall of the shower. She wanted to scream but knew that it would be heard so she just choked on her sobs behind her hands, she hadn't been able to protect them, she failed and now a seven year old boy was paying for her mistake.

Izumi made herself calm down, she forced it all into a box to deal with later, she knew once she had spoken to Tsukauchi she could break down trusting the others to comfort Rei and her children, Izumi couldn't, she knew she couldn't.

Struggling back to her feet, Izumi was happy that her hair was in tight twin braided buns and that she had kept her hair from being under the spray of the water. She started to scrub her skin. It wasn't the first time she had been covered in blood, just the first time it wasn't her own, she sobbed a little, but held on to her emotions as best she could.

Once she was dressed and back downstairs Tsukauchi stops her from getting closer to the others in the room.

"Nezu-san, could you please tell me of the events that happened tonight." Tsukauchi said after Izumi had agreed to speak with him in the kitchen.

"I was woken by my phone ringing, it was a special tone just for Rei-san. I didn't hear much of what she was saying but I did catch 'please, park, and Touya'. I knew they were in a bad way, abused people generally recognize each other. I woke dad and then ran to the park where we met them. I took Touya from Rei-san and had Natsuo and Fuyumi climb on my back. We ran here where I then set Touya's broken ankle and wrist before stitching up thirteen cuts of varying lengths and depths. Recovery girl then showed me a scan from some machine she had. Bruised ribs, bruised lower intestine, broken left wrist, right ankle, and nose, concussion, multiple contusions. Recovery girl then taught me how to set a broken nose." Izumi speaks clearly and carefully, she was being recorded and with Tsukauchi's quirk she had to be careful.

"Thank you Nezu-san." Tsukauchi stands and bows to her.

"Wait, please. You need to help them, he will kill them if this continues." Izumi begs, she can feel tears running down her cheeks again, she can't help herself, can't stop herself anymore. "Please."

Tsukauchi sighs and keeps walking. Izumi doesn't know how long she sits at the table crying before she feels a paw on her knee.

"Dad." Izumi cries harder, she pulls him into her lap and holds him as she cries into his shoulder.

He hums a soft tune for her and just lets her cry on him and hold him tightly as he pats the top of her head.

"Come now, the others need to be settled. Keigo has offered his bed for the children, and I have offered mine to Rei. I have also called the school to let them know that all six of us will not be present tomorrow." Nezu says as he wiggles in her hold, to get free.

She lets him go, and waits a little to stand and follow him, her tears have run dry, but she still feels hollowed out.

#rewound #aizawa shouta #yamada hizashi #female midoriya izuku #dad nedzu #shirakumo oboro #kayama nemuri #takami keigo #chapter 28 #bnha #boku no hero academia

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lilacsos · 4 years ago

Text

Denial LH Part One

A/N: Howdy! This is the first thing I’ve written in a hot minute and I actually really like it. Fun fact when I first thought of this I thought of Spencer Reid from Criminal Minds so yeah. All flashbacks are in italics :)

Words: 4330

Pairing: Luke x Gender Neutral Reader

*Warnings*: Mentions of cheating and throwing stuff, I think like one swear word, oh and I named someone Nicole because I needed a name so sorry if that’s your name

Summary: You and Luke are close childhood friends. Despite what Ashton says, you’re just friends, nothing more and nothing less. Right?

Masterlist Taglist (newest one) *if you were on any previous taglist please put your info on this one*

“Come on Luke! We can’t be late!” The squeaky voice of a small child shouted as they ran down the sidewalk, running as fast as their short legs could carry them.

Behind them, a young blonde boy rushed to try and keep up. “Don’t leave me behind! We have to stay together; my mom will be very upset if I tell her you left me!” The other person groaned and stopped moving while a triumphant smirk made its way onto Luke’s face. “Besides, it’s also your fault that we’re running late Y/N.”

With a roll of your eyes, you crossed your arms over your chest and tapped your foot on the ground as you waited. “Luke we both stopped to pet the dog but you stopped first and like you said, your mom will be very upset if I left you.” You giggled, your own smirk forming. Once Luke finally caught up, you grabbed the young boy by the wrist and dragged him as you continued to run home. You and your family moved into the house next to Luke only three months ago but the two of you quickly became friends and now walked home from school together. You were only ever late once and the disappointed look from Mrs. Hemmings was enough to make sure you were never late again.

You both kept running and in the distance, you could see your houses. With a look at his watch, Luke slowed down to walk. “We have enough time to walk. Unless you enjoy running.” Luke smiled as you also slowed down, walking in step with him. “What do you think of Mr. Martin’s project?”

“I can’t believe he wants us to write a whole paragraph about what we want to be when we grow up! We’re seven!” You threw your hands up into the air with an exasperated whine. “I don’t know what I wanna be. Do you?”

“Yeah!” Luke’s eyes lit up in the afternoon sun and his lips curved into possibly the biggest smile to ever be seen. He bounced a little as he walked and his hands flew out in front of him as he said, “I’m gonna be a rockstar! I’ll sing and play a guitar and have a really cool band. I’ll be so rich and famous I could buy all of Australia!”

Despite Luke’s contagious excitement, you grew quiet, kicking away a pebble. Luke continued to share his dream as you walked the rest of the way home. As you approached the houses, you could each see Mrs. Hemmings through the kitchen window and the smell of dinner wafted out of the open front door. “Luke,” you began, stopping Luke from walking. “When you’re a famous rockstar, promise you won’t forget me.”

Luke cocked his head to the side but his smile never faded. “Of course I won’t forget you! You’re my best friend in the whole world. I could never forget you.” His arms wrapped around you, tugging you close as he tried to hug the worry out of you. “Hey, maybe you can be my maid.” Luke giggled as he was pushed away.

“Then I would have to clean up after you! I’ll never be your maid!” You squealed and ran to your front door and Luke ran to his.

“You’ll change your mind when you see the paycheck!”

“Hello? Earth to Y/N!” You shook your head as the memory faded and the current world took its place. Luke rolled his eyes and shoved your shoulder, gesturing to the man waiting to take your order.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” You mumbled before giving him your order. The other people at the table laughed which only caused you to roll your eyes. “Will you four shut up?” You and Luke were no longer seven like you were in your memory but most things didn’t change. He still told you horrible jokes when you were upset, you still played rock-paper-scissors when you couldn’t decide who got shotgun, and you were still best friends. Just like Luke told you all those years ago, he became a rockstar. He got to sing and play guitar with a ‘really cool’ band. As Luke’s best friend, Michael, Calum, and Ashton easily became your other best friends and you continued to be the number one 5 Seconds of Summer fan. Out of all of them, excluding Luke, you were the closest to Ashton. He was very easy to get along with; his only flaw is that he had this outlandish idea that you were in love with Luke.

“What were you thinking about anyway?” Ashton asked, sipping his coffee. There was a glint in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place. Maybe it was mischief or maybe the morning light was changing things.

“Just when Luke and I were kids and he told me he was going to be a rockstar.”

“And I offered to let you be my maid but you refused my offer.” Luke chuckled and bumped your shoulder again.

Michael snorted and rolled his eyes. “So even as a child Y/N didn’t want to put up with your bullshit.” The table erupted with laughs and Luke’s arm wrapped around your shoulder, tugging you close to his chest as he smooshed your cheeks together between his fingers. You giggled and jabbed your fingers into his sides, causing him to squeal and let you go. Luke continued to giggle and the sound made your heart warm. His laugh was easily your favorite sound in the world. If you ever had a horrible day, all you needed was to hear Luke’s laugh to turn your day around. A smile easily appeared on your face as you looked to your left to see Luke smiling back at you. You stayed like that for a moment until the waiter came back and set your brunch in front of you.

Before you dug into your meal, you could have sworn you saw Ashton nudge Calum while smirking in your direction.

...

“I feel like I just ate my body weight in pancakes.” Calum groaned and slouched down in his chair. A murmur of agreement came from the others around the table before Ashton cleared his throat.

“We can always work off brunch by going on a walk.” You couldn’t help but to roll your eyes; of course Ashton would be the one to suggest a walk. With their own sounds of disapproval, the boys shook their heads. “Oh come on. There’s a nice park close by.”

Luke sighed and shrugged. “I’m sure it’s nice Ash but taking a walk in the park isn’t going to be easy for us.” He had a point. It was hard for any of the boys to go places without their pictures being taken or getting stopped. Of course they loved getting to talk to fans but sometimes they just wanted to have a normal day.

“Fine if you three won’t come with, will you Y/N?” Ashton asked, his bottom lip jutting out in a pout as he leaned across the table, taking your hands into his. You were going to agree with him that a walk sounded wonderful but you didn’t even have the chance to answer him. “Great!” He tugged you away from the table, gathering your things for you before he rushed off towards the park.

“Well,” you began with a sigh, glancing back at Luke. “Guess I’ll see you guys after my walk. See you later Mike, Cal, Bubs.” With that, you ran after Ashton, punching his shoulder when you caught up to him. “What was that for? I was going to go with you so you didn’t need to force me.”

Ashton shrugged and threw his arm around your shoulders. “I wanted to talk to you without anyone snooping and since the other three didn’t want to come, it seemed like a good chance to talk.”

Your heart pounded in your chest and your hands grew clammy. You had nothing to be scared of but you couldn’t help how your fight or flight instinct kicked in and right about now, you were ready to run away as fast as you could. “About what?”

A soft chuckle rumbled through his chest at your question. “I just wanted to ask if you thought you were being slick.” What? You stopped walking and looked over at him. What on earth was he talking about? You must have looked as confused as you felt because he continued. “I mean you really don’t think we can’t tell about your little crush right? Luke might be dense but not everyone else is.”

A groan escaped your lips and you rolled your eyes, continuing your walk as your heart rate returned to normal. “How many times do I have to tell you, I don’t have a crush on Luke.”

“Of course you do Y/N. You always sit next to him, you’re constantly touching him, and god the dopey look you get when you look at him. You can’t tell me you never felt anything more than friendship.”

Ashton looked ready to continue but a group of young girls walked over and asked for photos. You’ve never been more thankful for fans than you were in that moment. Luke was just your friend and that was it. There was no other emotion and Ashton needed to let it go. Of course there was that time he was dared to kiss you.

You were both 16 and hormones mostly controlled your brain. In only a few short weeks, your boys would be going off to tour with One Direction. You were flooded with pride when Luke told you about the tour and you both promised to spend as much time together as you could before he left. You and the four boys crammed yourselves into Luke’s bedroom, stuffing your faces with snacks and giggling at the horrible dares you all came up with. At some point, Michael dared Calum to slow dance with Luke’s brother Jack and while he did it, the dare was lame.

“Luke, your turn. Truth or dare.” Calum asked, leaning against the bed as he tried to throw some popcorn into his mouth.

“I’ll go with dare.” Luke chuckled and leaned over, elbowing you in the side. “Cal has the worst dares so it can’t be that bad.”

Calum smirked and took a quick glance at Ashton before speaking. “Well then, I dare you to kiss Y/N.” Silence filled the room as you and Luke looked at each other. You could feel your body start to heat up and you told yourself it was just because you were embarrassed, not because you liked Luke. Luke looked as red as you felt and you wondered if he was just scared or if there was something else. But you quickly shot that thought down; Luke was your best friend so certainly he didn’t have any feelings for you. Which was great because you didn’t have any towards him.

“Pick a different dare Calum. I can’t kiss Y/N, they haven’t kissed anyone before.” It was true. You had never kissed anyone before and it didn’t bother you since it doesn’t matter when you kiss someone. But was that really the only reason Luke didn’t want to kiss you? Calum did just say that he had to kiss you, not shove his tongue down your throat. Luke looked between you and Calum, trying to figure out just what to do. Calum shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest, watching Luke begin to lose his mind. “Is this alright with you? If you don’t want this then we don’t have to.”

You nodded and rubbed your hands on the carpet. “It’s fine Bubs. At least my first kiss will be with someone that actually cares about me and not some jerk.” You said with a nervous laugh, hoping that Luke wouldn’t be upset that you were fine with it.

“Right, ok then.” Luke mumbled and scooted over to you, his shaky hands coming to rest on your cheeks. “I’m gonna kiss you now.” You nodded and Luke took one last look at Calum over his shoulder before he leaned in. His lips quickly pressed against yours and you were surprised at how soft they were. You were also surprised at how nice and natural it felt to have his mouth moving against yours; you didn’t want it to end. He was warm and the way his lips fit yours almost perfectly was new and wonderful. You weren’t exactly sure what a kiss was supposed to feel like but you felt light and like you were floating on a cloud. Everything around you faded away and in that moment, it was just you and Luke, lip locked. Quickly and suddenly, Luke pulled away and sat back in his spot, rubbing his lips with his fingers. His face was flushed an even darker shade of red and the room suddenly felt like it was 50 degrees hotter. The other three boys giggled and Ashton winked at you.

“So how was your first kiss?” Michael snorted and looked at Luke who was looking at anything but you. How were you supposed to answer that? You certainly weren’t going to tell anyone how nice it felt but you couldn't say it was bad and hurt Luke.

“It was a kiss? How was it supposed to feel?” You decided it was a good enough answer.

“No fireworks? No butterflies or tingling sensations?” Ashton asked, leaning forward. Maybe that was a good way to describe your feelings but before you could come up with a lie, Luke jumped to his feet and ran out the door, mumbling about getting water. You glared and shoved Ashton as you ran after Luke, catching up to him in the kitchen.

“Are you alright?” You whispered, feeling like anything louder would break open a dam of emotions you weren’t ready to tackle. Luke sighed and leaned against the counter, gesturing for you to do the same.

“I should be asking you that. I just took your first kiss because of a dumb game.” He shoved his hands into his jean pockets and rocked on the balls of his feet. “Are you ok?”

“Of course.” It was a lie. You didn’t feel fine at all. You were confused and worried about just how nice that kiss was. “Luke if I wasn’t alright with it then I would have said something.” He nodded but remained quiet. For a few moments, neither of you talked or moved; you just watched the cars out the window as they drove by. “So, are you alright?”

Luke nodded and turned, looking at you for the first time in ten minutes. “I am, I just don’t want this to mess anything up or ruin our friendship. I mean I just kissed you, it was a little weird.” He laughed.

Right. He didn’t feel anything for you and so of course this was weird for him. Not that it wasn’t weird for you too because you didn’t like him. You rolled your eyes, shoving your confusion down for the time being and elbowed Luke. “Nothing is going to change our friendship, not even a weird kiss.”

Luke smiled and bumped his shoulder against yours. Despite telling yourself that you felt nothing towards your best friend, you couldn’t stop the queasy feeling in your stomach as Luke looked at you. You must have eaten something weird because there was no way you were feeling butterflies. “Let’s get back to the guys. Maybe we can make Calum kiss Michael as payback.”

You blinked away the memory, feeling Ashton’s eyes on you. The fans must have left when you were zoned out since you didn’t see anyone around. “So, you’re sure you don’t like Luke?”

“Yes Ashton. I’m sure so can you drop it?”

“I’ll drop it when you realize you’re in denial.” He said with a shrug while you both continued on your walk.

“It isn’t denial. You’re just imagining things.”

...

A week later, Luke texted you and the other boys about a party he was going to throw at his house. He didn’t tell you exactly why he wanted to throw a party but he did mention he had an announcement and an important question for you. Your first thought was that he was going to ask you out but you convinced yourself that you were just confused. Ashton refused to back off and he constantly told you that you were in denial. At this point, you almost believed him.

The night of the party, you got dressed and waited for Ashton to pick you up. He was out picking up some drinks so he told you he would pick you up and drive you home. Well, he didn’t exactly say he would drive you home. He was positive that a certain blonde boy would be inviting you to stay the night with him tonight. Ashton must be confused because Luke wasn’t going to ask you out. He’s still so hurt from his last relationship that ended only a few months ago.

The sound of your phone ringing had woken you up late one night. Normally you would have ignored the call but when you saw Luke’s name light up on the screen, you answered. “Luke? What is it? It’s three in the morning.” He didn’t answer but on the other end, you could hear his sniffles and what sounded like a choked sob. “Luke? Bubs what is it? Talk to me.”

“She cheated on me.” He sounded so small and broken; fury rushed through your veins. You never liked his girlfriend but he was happy with her. Now that all has changed. You threw your blankets off your bed and tugged on a jacket and some slippers.

“I’ll be there in five minutes.” His soft reply was almost too hard to hear before he hung up the phone. All you wanted to do was find this girl and beat her into the ground but Luke needed you. He was always a sensitive boy and this was going to crush him. He cried watching Finding Nemo as a 23 year old for god’s sake; how was he going to survive this? You quickly ran out the door and made your way to Luke’s house as quickly as you could. When you pulled up, you fumbled with your keys, searching for the one he had given you. Finally you found it and unlocked the door, coming in to see Luke on the couch, surrounded by broken furniture and staring blankly at the wall. Wordlessly, you stepped over the mess and sat next to him, pulling his head to rest on your chest. As soon as he made contact, the tears poured out and his body quaked as the sobs tore out of his throat. Your hands found his hair, combing through the curls in a hope to comfort him. There was nothing you could say to make this better, you both knew that. All you could do was hold him until he was ready to talk.

Almost an hour later, the tears stopped flowing and Luke grew quiet once more. “Want some water?” You asked, drying his face with the sleeves of your jacket. He nodded but when you went to stand, he clung onto you, making you stumble and fall back onto the couch. “I have to stand to get you water Bubs. You can come with.” Luke nodded once more and let you go just long enough for you both to stand before his hand gripped yours, keeping you close. It was hard to avoid stepping on broken glass with the giant man holding onto you but you both managed to get into the kitchen. Once you filled a cup with water, he took it from your grasp, sipping at it as he looked at the mess around you both. The kitchen wasn’t much better as you could see crushed mugs and even a blender on the floor. “Do you want to talk about it? You don’t have to.” Your free hand came back to his hair, brushing it out of his face. You almost expected him to refuse but slowly, he started talking.

“I came home from a party, she didn’t want to go, said she felt sick.” He swallowed thickly and you began to rub his back, encouraging him to continue but not pushing him. “Some asshole was all over her on the couch. Half naked. His hands were,” he took a shaky breath before continuing on a new topic. “She told me it was an accident but how could it have been? He was in my house.” At this, tears fell once more but he continued to talk. “I threw a vase at them. He left and she started yelling and throwing things at me. Said it was my fault she cheated. That she wouldn’t have to if I was around more. We threw more things and then she packed up her shit and she’s gone.”

“Oh god Luke. I’m so sorry.” You took your hand out of his grasp and rested your hands on his cheeks. “What can I do?” He was going to be hurt for a while and nothing could change that. But if there was something, anything, that would make him hurt just a little less, you would do it.

“Can you stay the night? I don’t want to be alone.” He sounded like a child, coming to his parent’s room, asking to sleep with them. You leaned in and kissed his forehead before nodding.

“Of course Bubs. Anything you need, I’ll do it.”

Three sharp knocks on your door broke you out of your trance and you scrambled over to the door, unsure of how long the person had been there. When the door opened, you smiled at Ashton. “Ready to be fashionably late to the party?” He chuckled as he took you to his car. The first half of the drive was pretty quiet, filled with the sounds of the radio. “So,” Ashton began, smiling widely, “how’s the water in denial?”

“What?” You could only assume he was still on his bullshit about you liking Luke but you could never tell with Ashton.

“Denial. You know since you still refuse to believe Luke likes you. He told me he had an important question to ask you tonight so you’d better admit your feelings to yourself fast before he asks you out. He’s in love with you Y/N.”

“You don’t even know if that’s the question Ash.”

“No, I suppose not.” Despite his words, the smile never left his face. Maybe he knew something you didn’t. Was it possible that Luke wanted to ask you out tonight? Maybe Luke had some secret romantic feelings for you that Ashton knew about. Maybe you had some romantic feelings for him. Ashton stopped the car outside of Luke’s house and smirked at you. “Just be ready for anything tonight.”

It was actually a pretty small party which surprised you. It looked like Luke had only invited friends and a few other people in the music industry, which was fine. You actually liked the smaller parties since it felt more normal and not like a rager thrown by a rockstar. Ashton grabbed your arm and dragged you into the house, looking for Luke. He wasn’t too hard to find since he was taller than at least 90% of the people here. He was standing in the living room with Michael and Calum by his side. “You’re here!” Luke cheered, and pulled you in for a hug. “I’m so excited for tonight. I can’t wait to talk to you.”

Butterflies, yes butterflies, jumped around your stomach as you listened to him talk. Shit. Maybe you really did like him. Was it possible that all this time you had just been in denial like Ashton thought? You always found Luke attractive but you never dared to think of him in a more than friendly way. His white shirt only brought out the blue of his eyes that much more and dear lord did his hair look perfect. “Lukey!” A squeal broke you out of your thoughts and from the other side of the room, a girl ran over. You had never seen her before and while you didn’t know all of Luke's friends, you thought you knew most of them. The girl jumped and Luke caught her in his arms before he leaned in and kissed her. Yeah, he was definitely kissing her. Your heart completely shut down as you watched his lips move against hers. He slowly set her back on her feet and with a sheepish smile, he looked back at you and the boys.

“This is what I wanted to tell you guys. This is my girlfriend, Nicole.” All at once, you could feel your heart shatter into a million pieces and your gut dropped down to your feet. That’s not possible. How does Luke have a girlfriend? You watched as he wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her flush against his side as she kissed his cheek. That should be you. You should be the one jumping into his arms and kissing him. He should be holding you like that, not her. Who did she think she was? Was she just dating Luke for the fame and money? Was she using him? You felt a hand on your arm and looked over to see Ashton, who looked like he had seen a ghost. He was wrong. Luke didn’t love you at all. He loved Nicole.

“Y/N? Are you ok?” Ashton whispered, trying to get you to look away from the couple.

“Denial.” You whispered, unsure if the words actually even left your mouth.

“What?”

“Denial Ash. It was denial.” Without another word, you turned and ran out of the house. What the fuck?

Taglist: (Please let me know if you want to be removed)

@lustingfor5sos @mycollectionofnuts @ohhmuke @softboycal @norawashere @who-do-you-love-5sos @aftermidnightclifford @katiaw2 @littlesinnersins @bbyboyycal @rosecoloredash

#luke hemmings #luke 5sos #luke hemmings fanfiction #luke hemmings fanfic #luke hemmings x reader #5sos #5 seconds of summer

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rayroute-clear-saeran-text-sound · 5 years ago

Note

BRO ZEN X READER X SEVEN KINGDOM AU PLEASE!!!!!

Aaaa thank you for requesting this!!! I missed writing for our Kingdom Boys 💐 Context: An au made by us taking place in Europe. Seven is a jester, Zen is prince of France.

Silky fabric was in contact with almost every inch of your skin as you went farther into your dark closet, picking through the dresses you almost never wore. You never were a fan, and tried to get away with wearing anything else when you could.

"Too long...definitely not...too flashy...that color is not flattering one bit..." You murmured hundreds of absentminded critiques of everything within the confines of your closet, not happy with anything. It wasn't that you were stuck up or ungrateful, you just did not like wearing dresses. In fact, you would rather spend all day out in the woods getting dirty than inside doing princess things. Did that make you a disgrace as the heir to the L/n throne? You hoped not. You were always worried about being a disappointment to your parents who were counting on you, but you also wanted to be happy and not condemned to a life of being just a pretty face for a prince to use to gain more power. Now why were you picking out a dress in the first place? Your parents had decided to give you a little nudge to find a suitor by throwing a grand masquerade ball. The King and Queen had invited every family with an eligible bachelor they could think of. You, on the other hand, were not enthused. It was a combination of all the things you hated: suitors and formal functions. After sifting through your dresses for what seemed like the umpteenth time, you groaned into your hands. Well, you thought it was a groan, but it was more like a loud cry of frustration. Someone in the hallway seemed to take note, as they poked their head in.

“Everything alright, miss?" You looked up at the voice, and were very pleased to see a familiar mop of red curls that paired along nicely with a goofy, crooked grin.

"Evening, Seven." You motioned for him to come in, and at first he hesitated. "Oh come on, I know I'm royalty, but you don't have to avoid me like the plague." Out of everyone in the castle, including your own parents, Seven was probably the one you were closest to. "If anyone asks, just say that I was upset so you came in to make me laugh. It wouldn't even be too far from the truth." Seven shrugged and bounced into the room, his signature smile back on his face.

“Well, I guess that is my job as the royal fool. I can't deprive a lady in need of a good joke or two, now can I?" He shut the door behind him just in case, and came to take a seat on your mattress. "What seems to be the problem?" He asked you, but you knew he was already vaguely aware of the answer.

“You're going to laugh at me if I tell you."

“Awe, come on, no I won't." His golden eyes turned pleading, and you let out a relenting sigh.

“Well, you know that the masquerade ball is tomorrow night, and I can't find a dress that I like, but my parents are expecting me to look beautiful for all of the princes." There was a beat of silence, and then Seven broke out into a ruckus of laughter. "Hey, you said you wouldn't laugh!" Your face flushed, although it wasn't necessarily from embarrassment. You always had a similar response any time he laughed, it sounded so natural and musical, and you always became happy whenever it would ring in your ears.

"Sorry, sorry! It's just that it's such a princess problem that I can't help but laugh." You now instantly felt guilty, as you knew that he and the other servants had way more pressing challenges in their lives than worrying about what dress to wear. "Okay, no, I'm sorry. I swear it. What can I do to help?"

"I don't know." You sighed, slumping onto the bed next to him.

“What don't you like about them?" He questioned, hoping that if you talked it through with him he could come up with a solution that would make you feel confident in yourself. All he really wanted was for you to be happy.

“Is everything an option...?" You chuckled awkwardly, brushing stray locks of h/c hair behind your ear. "No...I guess the main problem is that they're all too flashy and sparkly. That's not me, you know? I'm not fancy."

“Oh believe me, I know." Seven chuckled, reminiscing on how many times he had seen you sneak in late at night, covered from head to toe in mud and grass stains. You broke him from his memories when you pointed to a f/c ballgown. It was nice and simple, not overly loud or sparkly.

"Well...I do like that one, the only problem is the length and the sleeves. Long ballgowns don't suit me." What Seven really wanted to tell you was that you would look stunning in anything, but he knew he had absolutely no place in saying that. So, instead, he opted for a crazy solution.

"The length is the issue? Then, let's just cut it!" Your eyes lit up, and you almost immediately hopped up to find scissors and retrieve the dress. "Okay, put it on and we can go for it." Seven turned his back to you, closing his eyes and placing his hands over them as an extra measure. Once you had slipped the ballgown on, you tapped his shoulder to alert him that you were done. He turned to you, and it took all of his self control to not react. However, he had no control over the blush that rose to his cheeks. "So, where do you want it cut?" His voice cracked on the first syllable and he cleared his throat. You didn't seem to notice, and for that he was thankful.

"Um, about here?" You put your hand a little under halfway up your thigh, a length considered to be a violation of one of the unspoken rules of social functions.

"T-There?"

“Yeah. They can call me a wench if they want, I just want to be comfortable." Seven nodded and began cutting, shaking his head as he did so to keep his thoughts straight. "And the sleeves off."

"You got it, miss." He was trying to keep everything as smooth as possible, without any of the edges looking jagged.

“I guess maybe a part of me is hoping everyone will be put off by this. I hate princes. They don't give me respect." You thought back to the countless suitors you've already had try to court you, and none of them saw you as a person, only as the key to potential property and wealth. "They expect me to apologize for everything when they're the ones who wronged me." You had even been hit by a bachelor before, and that was your final straw. You had vowed to be done with suitors, at least for a while, but your parents were pressuring you to find a prince.

“You deserve better, someone who will see you for who you are rather than just a kingdom. You should be owed at least that much, as you're one of the kindest people I've ever met. Who else would treat me so good?" No one of your status and social class had ever referred to you as kind; usually just strange or rude. But something about Seven's words hit you, and you smiled softly. The jester stood up, placing the scissors back in their original place. You looked at yourself in the mirror, and for the first time, you loved yourself in a dress.

“Thank you, it looks just like I wanted!" You wrapped him in a hug, tilting your chin up to place a chaste kiss on his jaw in thanks. His face darkened to a color that likened his hair as he smiled goofily.

“I-I'm glad you like it, miss!" He exclaimed through a stutter and bolted out of the room before he said something stupid that should never be said. You found yourself unable to fight off a grin, something that usually happened after spending time with Seven. You figured it was appropriate for him being a royal fool.

Next morning

Seven rubbed his eyes as he blearily stared off into space in the massive ballroom. He was dimly aware of both Saeran and Vanderwood grumbling about his uselessness as they continued to decorate the grand room for the soon-to-be-held masquerade ball.

“Can you just tell us what you're thinking so we can move on and get this done? Some of us have other tasks to do." Vanderwood huffed, smacking the redhead lightly. Instead of reacting and hopping right into his work like normal, Seven continued to stand tiredly.

“I just can't believe she's going to maybe find a fiancé tonight." He murmured softly, still somewhat lost in thought.

"You have got to be kidding me." Saeran shook his head, strands of hair that perfectly matched Seven's falling into his eyes. "I know you like her, but you have to understand that it will never happen. Your classes are just too different."

“Yes, but she doesn't even want to marry a prince!" Seven didn't need to have her, he knew that was impossible; but that didn't mean he was happy about someone else having her, either. Especially when she didn't want them in the first place.

"What, and you think she'll marry you?" Fantastic, exactly what he needed; another spat with his brother early in the morning.

"You know that she can't do that, she has to marry a prince." Vanderwood chimed in, hoping to end this discussion so the work could get done. "We can't exactly make you a prince." He muttered, and Saeran froze in his place.

“Or can we...?" Saeran had to admit, every time he witnessed the interactions between the princess and his twin, even he could feel the spark between them. Not only that, if his plan was successful, Seven would stop his incessant whining. Vanderwood exhaled deeply, knowing he would be sucked in to the twins' scheme whether he wanted to or not.

“I can probably dig up some spare ball clothes if you work on your character." The brown haired male rolled his eyes as Seven thanked him and Saeran countless times. Although he didn't expect much of that night, he knew he would at least get to dance with her, and that was enough for him.

Ball of a Lifetime

You were waiting anxiously in one of the empty corridors outside of the main ballroom, waiting on your cue for entry. You were wearing the custom dress that Seven had helped you with the night prior, and when your mother saw what you did to it she almost had a heart attack. Of course, you left Seven's involvement out for his sake. You were also wearing an intricate black mask with f/c accents and jewels to match your dress, only covering the top half of your face, e/c eyes shining through. Everything was rather quiet, and you were desperately wishing that Seven could be there to fill the silence with his horrendous so-bad-they're-good jokes.

“You look nervous, princess." The voice that called out to you made your shoulders tense, as you hadn't heard the individual approach you. The man chuckled at your expense. "I apologize, I didn't mean to scare you." The voice had an almost comically thick Scottish accent. You turned to face the mystery man, and came face to face with a rather charming male. His face was covered in a detailed black and red mask to compliment his ornate red, white, and black suit. His flaming red hair seemed somewhat familiar, but you assumed that it was only because you had just been thinking of Seven. Eyes of melted gold shined through the mask, and again, you concluded it to be the light playing tricks on you.

It couldn't be him, he's a fool for Christ's sake... You thought to yourself as the stranger stuck out a hand for you to shake, which you cautiously accepted.

“I am prince Luciel from Scotland. And you're the infamous princess Y/n, I presume?" You had never heard of a prince Luciel from Scotland in your life, but you were never all that interested in politics, so you supposed he could exist. That being said, he definitely wasn't well known. But, you couldn't seem to shake the feeling that he was reminiscent of someone. Just as you were about to respond, you were cut off.

"Now presenting, princess Y/n L/n!" Your father's booming voice recited, which was your cue to enter the ballroom with a flourish. You quickly and politely excused yourself, unsure if you were more grateful or disappointed. Something about him seemed off to you. You politely excused yourself and stepped into the ballroom, greeted by hundreds of pretty faces all flashing you smiles, most probably fake. You zoned out whatever speech your father made about the purpose of the ball, and were still staring into space when your first suitor came along. He was a tall and admittedly very handsome man with long silver hair tied back. You had never seen an albino in real life, except for a rabbit one time. His red eyes shimmered with positivity beneath a stunning silver and white mask, and you caught yourself blushing as he brought your hand up to his lips and kissed it lightly.

"Evening, princess. I'm Hyun Ryu, prince of France, but you can call me Zen." You quirked an eyebrow at his nickname for himself, but decided it was fairly accurate. You felt a wave of calm wash over you in his presence. "May I have this dance?" He inquired you as the musicians began playing their tune, the first of many that night.

“It would be my pleasure." He put his hands on your waist with much more confidence than your loose grip on his neck. There was quite a large height difference, and you had a hard time looking him in the eye.

"You're very gorgeous, do you know that?" You have heard that line countless times before, yet you still found yourself blushing at his words.

"What do you really want? My kingdom? My wealth?" You sighed, knowing that this would be a long night. However, Zen only laughed.

"No. I could care less about your wealth, and I'm fairly bad at managing my own kingdom." You narrowed your eyes, still skeptical. "Actually, when it was announced that you were having a courting masquerade ball, I was immediately excited. I'm, um, actually one of your fans." His cheeks were dusted in pink, the first time you had seen his confidence falter.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand. My fan...?"

“Yes. I watch you in press conferences, and I instantly fell in love. You're so independent, and you couldn't care less about what others think. You know what you want, you aren't afraid to stick up for yourself, and you don't need a man to come and save you. It's nice and refreshing from all of the other women who throw themselves at me." You chuckled nervously, the sudden compliments catching you off guard. You were thankful that he was acknowledging your need for autonomy, and that he was already aware that you would need to be your own woman in any relationship. You put him on your mental list for potential fiancés until he proved otherwise. For the rest of the song, the two of you danced in a comfortable and happy silence, the rhythm you two had going stopping as the music faded out in preparation for a new piece. "As much as I don't want to, I must let you go. I see how the other men are eyeing you." Zen leaned down to plant a kiss on the top of your head, winking to you. "Just remember, all men are beasts, so watch yourself." You rolled your eyes with a smile.

“Alright, Zen. Thank you."

“Anytime." And with that he stepped away, leaving you to your own devices with the other men. The rest of the suitors blurred together, as all of them were definite nos from you. All they were interested in were your looks, money, or kingdom.

“Sexist prick..." You muttered under your breath as the man you had just been dancing with strode away. There was a call made by your father that this would be the final dance of the night, and at the end would be the grand unmasking. Your father and mother took the opportunity to step onto the dance floor as the King and Queen, reliving the night they met with winsome smiles on their faces. Just as you were bitterly thinking how ironic it was that on the final dance of your ball you were left alone, you felt a finger tap your shoulder.

“Would you mind if I had this dance?" The humorously over the top Scottish accent rang pleasantly in your ears, and you once again turned to face the ginger who grinned at you devilishly.

“Not at all." You couldn't hold in your sigh of relief, as you got the feeling prince Luciel wouldn't be as bad as his predecessors. He placed his hands at your waist, definitely lacking the confidence that the other princes you had mingled with that night possessed. You placed your own hands on his neck, and he seemed to jump at the contact, but composed himself.

“Sorry, it's, ah, been a while since I've danced."

“I can tell." You chuckled, Luciel joining a split second later. The longer the dance went on, the more you were convinced that he flat out did not know how to dance, which seemed improbable. If you were royalty, dancing was drilled into your curriculum by the time you could walk. He kept stepping on your toes, profusely apologizing when he did. You smiled softly, and decided to do something you never had the chance to try; you began to lead the dance. He seemed to relax, now that some of the pressure was off. The tune you were dancing to was a familiar one, a classic Irish melody. You knew by the key ritardando that the song would be ending within the next minute. Luciel seemed to realize this as well, and stiffened once more.

"Okay, um, listen, Y/n. Don't freak out, please..." Confusion coursed through you, as he seemed all nervous again. Despite that, he leaned in as if to kiss you, but not just on the cheek; he was making for your lips. You had to say it was bold, as it was an unspoken rule that you never fully kissed someone on the first dance. However, you were all about breaking unspoken rules. You didn't move away as he pressed his lips to your own for a brief moment. He pulled away rather quickly, eyes darting to the exits as the song continued to draw to a close.

"You act as if you're saying goodbye." Luciel chuckled nervously, accent slipping for a moment.

“Yes, about that..." The accent had dropped completely, and you couldn't stop your eyes from widening. 'Luciel' got close to you again so that when he lifted his mask slightly, only you could see his face.

“Seven?!" You whisper-yelled, a million questions buzzing through your head. The song had finally faded, and the countdown for the unmasking had begun. Seven dashed away, muttering a thousand apologies under his breath as he went. He left you standing there with countless problems. No doubt about it, Zen was the best out of the qualified suitors. And yet...

Am I really in love with a fool...? You asked yourself as you stood there alone, your own mask still on as others cheered and tossed theirs haphazardly into the air.

#kingdom au #mystic messenger x reader #mystic messenger fanfiction #mystic messenger #mysmes x reader #mysmes #x reader #seven x reader #saeyoung x reader #luciel x reader #luciel choi #saeyoung choi #707 x reader #707 imagine #choi twins #zen #zen mysme #zen x reader #hyun ryu

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sheepsandcattle · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 26

This chapter is a bit gory so beware!

“Hey, what the fuck do you want for Christmas?”

“Hm?” A spider is climbing up the side of the shed of whoever’s garden they’re in - one of those spindly ones that are so skinny you can see their dotty little knee joints. He can’t seem to take his eyes off the thing as it loses its grip every thirty seconds or so, dropping a few inches but catching itself with a web that’s too thin for Curly to see under the dim light that barely reaches them from the kitchen window.

They’ve claimed a garden chair each, somehow managing to sneak out to share a smoke while the garden is empty.

“Christmas. I’ve never bought for anyone before. Except for my mom, I mean, but…” He shrugs, dismissing the digression. “Ain’t got a clue what to get for you.”

For fuck sake, Christmas is coming up again. How the fuck did that happen? This year is lost on him. He’s not even sure if it’s November or December, honestly, but he’s not about to ask.

“Nowt,” he says with a shrug, taking a drag of their zoot and finally pulling his eyes away from the struggling spider as he leans over to hand the smoke to Jordan. “Never even thought about it. I don’t really want anything.”

“Well that sounds like bullshit,” He laughs lightly, pausing to take a drag and extending a leg to nudge Curly’s foot with his own. “C’mon,” he insists, smoke escaping him as he speaks. “If you don’t give me any ideas, you’ll still get a gift. It’ll just be a fuckin’ shitty one. Don’t make it hard for me.”

Curls mulls on this. He’s going to really fucking struggle this year; completely skint and no idea how much time he even has to make a bit more cash before Christmas comes around. As if on cue, The Darkness plays inside the house, the people inside all singing “feigning joy and surprise...” It’s bloody good tune as far as Christmas songs go but, given the timing, he can’t help but pull a face before the first line's even over.

“Maybe you could just do me a tattoo or summet,” he suggests on his exhale. “And I’ll find summet to do for you. Unless you’ve got your mind on—"

“No, yeah. I like that - it’s a good idea.” He looks genuinely pleased as he lifts a leg to prop his foot up on the arm of Curly’s chair. “You want another?”

Jordan’s nodding towards his hand, throwing Curls for a moment until he follows his eye line to the spliff between his fingers that's more or less bunt down to the filter now. “Yeah, go on then.”

***

Spliff 2.0 probably wasn’t necessary, especially since they smoked before they set out tonight but, now back in the kitchen and watching Jordan playfight with some guy called Scott that Curly’s not met before (but is pretty sure lives here), he’s still feeling clearer than he has at the last dozen house parties he’s been to.

They’d come back inside just as a small group of lads flooded into the garden and now, back in the kitchen, it reminds him of that night he spoke to Jordan for the first proper time, scissors in hand and t-shirt in bits and Jordan laughing at him and never even trying to hide it.

J’s laughing dopily as his mate gives him a decent shove and Curly's expression is probably similar as he looks on.

“Hey, you carrying?”

A bloke that looks vaguely familiar has slid up to lean against the counter beside him, but Curly couldn’t say where he knows him from. He’s looking straight ahead as if they’re gonna get nabbed for talking about drugs in a place like this, even after Jordan had said he’d spotted a bloke doing coke in the lounge earlier, before getting a spliff out for the two of them to share.

He shakes his head. “Sorry, mate.”

“Nothing? Weed, coke? Pills?”

“Not carrying tonight, mate,” Curls shrugs, still watching the man’s profile but with no better idea of where he’s sold to this guy before. “There’s a bloke here somewhere – orange top. I think he’s dealing, but—”

“Nah, nah,” the stranger interrupts him. “Your stuff's good. Yours is good.”

Somehow, he only then realises the man’s already on something, but his response remains the same as he shrugs. “Sorry,” and his eyes find Jordan again, who’s not playfighting anymore, but sending a frown his way.

He gives him the nod, which Curls returns, but this bloke to his left is bloody persistent, going on about Curly’s gear and J’s crowding his space within seconds, asking, “you good, pal?”

The stranger doesn’t even get to reply though, because Jordan’s mate’s followed him over and he’s shoving the guy as if a fight's started and Curly hadn’t even noticed. “The fuck are you doing here, Rory?”

He exchanges a look with Jordan, who doesn’t look any more in-the-know than himself as he nudges Curls with his elbow; a gesture for them to make moves – in record time too, as suddenly the two bickering men becomes a crowd of four as a couple more of the homeowner’s friends join the row.

He vaguely hears the bloke -Rory- say, “I’m just buying, relax,” and another bloke tells him, “you won’t find that shit here.”

“You know him?” Jordan asks now they stand at the opposite end of the room, Curly shaking his head as he watches the argument become a fight. “Oh shit,” J mutters when some of the lads from the garden re-join them, joining the fight as if they'd been waiting for it, and the herd of now-six guys go from shoving to throwing fists.

“Don’t,” Curly warns, a hand around Jordan’s arm before he can even think about jumping in. “It's not your fight. Keep out.”

Curly’s not sure who’s on what side, but that Rory fella manages to break loose for long enough to point in his direction as he shouts, “he’s got it!” - and Curls feels Jordan’s arm twitch in his hand.

“I fucking ‘aven’t,” he defends, although he's not sure exactly what he's being accused of, taken aback by how fuming the man looks now, glaring at Curly like he’s completely mugged him off. Even if he was dealing, he definitely wouldn’t be selling whatever shit this bloke is after.

“I’ve bought from you!” He’s red in the face now, and nobody’s throwing punches but holding him back – holding him away from Curly as if he weren’t talking like they were best mates a minute ago. “You and that redhead. I’ve fucking brought from you, you lying fucking junkie!”

“What the fuck,” Curly mumbles, shooting Jordan a confused look, but the man’s already snatching his arm from Curly’s hand and- “J, don’t—” he’s already drawing a fist back before punching the guy about four steps back. By the time Curly’s caught up enough to jump in after him, the growing group has closed up around Jordan and Rory, everyone starting up a fight of their own and leaving Curls to fight his way through the masses.

Someone grabs him, pulls him off to one side, and when he gets a look at the face, Scott’s raging as he asks him, “what the fuck are you dealing?”

“Nothing! Nothing, honest, all’s I’ve got on me is weed and I’m not—”

He still looks at Curly like he’s disgusting though as he warns, “don’t bring that other shit here.”

“Mate, I swear, I—” A glass breaks and it only distracts him for a second before he continues; “I don’t deal that shit – I swear I never have,” but then the rest of the room falls silent and Scott’s attention darts from Curly to something happening over his shoulder.

Someone shoves him from behind, sending him stumbling into Scott, and Curls almost apologises but realises the man’s too busy watching half of the crowd flood from the kitchen, rushing out of the house in near-silence and stumbling as they go.

“Dickheads,” he grumbles before he turns to pick Jordan out of the remaining crowd. All’s he can see is backs of heads though and everyone in the kitchen has gone quiet too except—

“Fuck, call an ambulance.”

He’s not sure who says it or why, but then he hears someone repeat Jordan's name and he can’t see him and suddenly he feels sick and his brain remembers how much weed he’s smoked and as he shoves through the bodies, the room begins to pulse around him and he doesn’t know why he’s got such a fucking bad feeling until his fears are confirmed.

“J,” he chokes when he sees him, lying on his back with a broken bottle by his head and his hands on his throat, blood pouring between his fingers. “Fuck, fuck. Jordan, you—Fuck has someone—” He looks to his left and the man there is on the phone, frantically repeating the word “ambulance, ambulance.”

He must look as useless as he feels when Scott appears beside Jordan with a dishtowel. Scott says, “move your hands, c’mon,” and he’s not sure if he even realised Jordan was still awake at that point, but the sight of his eyes half-opening as he nods, oddly calm as he moves his hands from his neck is a relief and suddenly he snaps out of it.

Curly drops to his knees and takes over, pushing the cloth to Jordan’s neck, unsure of where all of the blood is even coming from. “You’re alright,” he says, quiet now as he watches Jordan’s eyes close again. “J,” he says uselessly. “Oi, Jordan. J, open your eyes. Fuck, I’ve— Can someone—”

“I got it, I got it,” Scott tells him, taking over again as Curly pulls his hands back, holding them shakily and uselessly in mid-air before him. They’re already covered in liquid red as he sways back to sit on the cold tile as bile rises in his throat and his vision goes blotchy. “Get everyone out,” the man tells someone, and Curly screws his eyes shut and forces himself to get over it, shaking his head when Scott adds, “take Curly out back.”

“I’m alright, I’m fine,” he mumbles, opening his eyes again but training them down to where Jordan’s chest is still rising and falling even as he remains unresponsive.

***

In the ambulance, the paramedic had tried to give Curly one of those silly shock blankets. He’d snapped at the guy in return because his boyfriend was bleeding out between them, but then spent the rest of the journey apologising as a second paramedic tended to Jordan as best he could in the back of the van.

Jordan was passed out which meant Curly had to answer all of their questions; has he been drinking? Is he on drugs? What kind? And somehow the seven-minute drive felt closer to thirty and every bump in the road felt as lethal as a Staffordshire pothole.

“Curly.”

He doesn’t even look up from his hands. There are brown and red specks stuck under his nails, chipped black polish failing to cover the mess as he pecks it away silently. He’s shivering all over, his high long gone and leaving him painfully sober in the harsh plastic chair of the waiting room.

“Curls, I’m getting coffee. You want one?” Dean is standing over him, but he doesn’t dare lift his gaze from his lap. His shirt still feels wet against his chest from wiping his hands clean in a panic. He knows logically that it’ll be dry by now, but.

“I feel sick,” he whispers, shaking his head ever so slightly.

Dean’s shoe squeaks as he shifts, lowering himself before Curly until he’s kneeling in front of him. His friend places a hand on his knee and his convulsing shivers only worsen. The man says, “Curls, he’ll be alright. Doctor says it’s big, but it isn’t too deep. He’ll be alright,” he repeats.

“I feel like—” He swallows, shakes his head, shuts his eyes, but then darts them open when that image creeps up on him again. “Feel like I watched him die. I don’t even—”

“He didn’t die,” Dean reminds him, his hand leaving Curly’s knee. “He’s a lucky bastard,” he tries to joke.

Miraculously, he’s not cried yet. Too stressed to cry, probably. He dry-heaved in the ambulance, sure, but he put it down to travel sickness at the time, said, “It’s ‘cause there’s no windows – will you get that daft bloody blanket away from me.” He still feels about as close to vomiting now, but it’s beside the point.

He takes a deep breath, dragging his hands over his face and daring to raise his head to meet his friend's eyes now. “You don’t get it, we—” He swallows down the nausea that creeps over him. “He’s—We’re not,” he scoffs, almost pissed off at himself for making such a fuss of this when Jordan’s getting his neck stitched up down the corridor. “Jordan and I aren't just-“

“I know,” Dean interrupts, putting him out of his misery. “Jeff too. We know,” he tells him, and Curly’s not sure what to say now – almost says sorry until the man adds, “like I said; lucky bastard,” and ruffles Curly’s hair as he stands.

***

“I ought to bloody kill you,” he growls, shaking just as much now as he had been all those hours ago. The blood has washed from his hands, but it’s still stained on his top and the backs of his eyelids. When all’s he gets is a hum in response, Curly adds, “I’m so bloody angry at you,” but it gets all choked up in his throat and loses its fury.

The ER’s full of eery noises and harsh lights – all clinical and no comfort, which he supposes was effective in saving his boyfriend's life, but it didn’t bloody help with the panic attack he had when Jordan was taken into surgery. Dean just barely caught the end of it and, by the time they got a hold of Jeff, who arrived a couple of hours later, Curly was managing to string sentences together again.

He promised to ring them when Jordan was up, but they can wait for a while.

“Sorry,” Jordan mumbles, followed by a dry gulp as he shuts his eyes for a moment and suddenly Curly feels bad for coaxing a word out of him. J looks a little confused, eyes moving about the room before they return to Curly, where they dart to his stained shirt and back again. “That bad?”

He nods. “You better start thinking of tattoo ideas because you’re gonna have a fat scar.”

Jordan goes back to humming in response, closing his eyes as he takes a few long breaths. “You look sick,” he tells Curly, who scoffs as he tucks his chair closer to the man’s bedside.

“Worried sick,” Curls sulks as he rests his arms on the bed, the fingers of one hand slipping around Jordan’s wrist when he spies the man moving his arm as if planning to touch his neck. “Eight stitches,” he tells him. “You don’t need to touch ‘em.”

All Jordan has to say is, “shit.”

“Yeah, shit,” Curls huffs, and the room falls silent as J stares up at the ceiling like he’s still recalling the events of last night. “It’s not that deep,” Curly decides to tell him. “It’s big, but it’s not deep enough to…” What’s a nice way of saying instantly kill you? What was it the doctor said? “If it was a knife, you’d be dead.”

“It didn’t hurt,” Jordan tells him. “I didn’t even realise, ‘til some guy said.” The image of Jordan on the floor flashes in his mind; how calm he’d looked as he nodded and pulled his hands away, revealing nothing but thick, dark red. The man frowns, but a chuckle follows. “Fucking hurts now.”

Nodding, Curly forgets to respond as his eyes dart over Jordan’s face, who looks back at him, looking guilty now as he pulls his wrist from Curly’s grasp to instead tangle his fingers in the back of his hair. He mumbles, “c’mere,” tugging Curls to rest his head on his hip. “I’m fine.”

“I never sold him gear, J,” he finds himself saying, his neck feeling hot at the memory of Scott looking at him like he was dirty – a memory he’s only just now recalling, now that Jordan’s awake and telling him he’s okay. “Jules sells that, I don’t—”

“I know,” Jordan says before he repeats, “I’m sorry. That kid was fuckin’ tweaking or some shit. Wasn’t our fight.” He swallows again, eyes shut and Curly can tell it hurts.

Turning his head to press a kiss to wherever his lips happen to land, Curly mutters, “we’ll talk about it more later.”

Jordan’s already shutting his eyes and Curly bites the I love you off the tip of his tongue.

#ch #ch26 #writing #'wtf do u want for christmas' 'nowt' 'do u want another spliff' 'yh go on then' ROMANCE

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marvel--for--life · 6 years ago

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Stucky + Pregnancy

A Stucky addition of Starker + Pregnancy

~ After Peter and Tony announce that they’re expecting, Bucky starts getting jealous. Don’t get him wrong, he’s very happy for them both, elated to see them both practically glowing at each other, but the announcement causes old thoughts to rise up again.

~ Bucky remembers most of his old life. There are parts that are still a bit fuzzy, and some memories he probably will never get back, but after HYDRA is out of his head for good, memories start flooding into him. One memory that had stayed hidden until the announcement was a time when Steve was still small. They were curled up in their bed in Brooklyn, fully dressed with every blanket they owned on the bed surrounding them to try and keep warm (and keep Steve from getting pneumonia again). They had passed the time by thinking up their future lives, plans of getting married and having kids. They knew it wouldn’t happen, given the laws of their time, but it had put them both in a good mood and left them warm and fuzzy. Now, living in the twenty-first century though, Bucky wants the old memories to become reality.

~ Admittedly, Bucky hadn’t been thinking. He was oddly nervous to talk to Steve about the possibility of a child, and he could never think of any way of even approaching the topic besides just saying “let’s have a kid”, and truthfully, that didn’t seem like it’d go over well.

~ Bucky’s brilliant (read: idiotic) plan had been to throw out the box of condoms in their bedroom and lie about it, but of course, sitting there with a pair of scissors and the box was how Steve had found him when he came back early from his run with Sam. Being caught in this peculiar position hadn’t been his plan for alerting Steve of his desire, but life didn’t really go Bucky’s way.

~ Steve, while he was confused and a tad hurt that Bucky hadn’t just told him, was more than happy to help Bucky get what he wanted.

~ It takes a few months before Bucky finally begins to feel different. He’s got the stomach pains and nausea that he’s seen Peter suffer from, and truthfully, he’s been eating more than he and Steve together, so he gets the tiny spider to help him out.

~ Steve nearly breaks down the wall to the bathroom when he hears the heavy thump of a body fall. He’s shocked to see Bucky lying on the floor passed out with a tiny little white stick in his hand.

~ When Bucky comes to, Steve is playing with his hair and smirking at him. A blush runs all the way up to his hairline, and he purposefully ignores the other as he begins to push himself up. “So?” Steve asks, leaning forward to press a kiss behind Bucky’s ear.

The blush across his cheeks darkens, and Bucky mumbles, “Shut up, punk.” Steve laughs softly and nuzzles the other, smiling when a shy but happy smile spreads across his mate’s face. “We’re gonna have a baby.”

~ Peter screams when Bucky tells him the news, and Bucky, while shocked at the outburst, can’t help but be happy and smile and celebrate the news with the youth. He and Steve are going to have a baby.

~ It’s when Peter’s twins are two months old that Bucky suddenly feels strange again. There’s a pain, sharp and throbbing, in his lower gut. When he goes to the bathroom - because that’s what a sensible person does when they’re feeling stomach pains - it’s not what he was expecting. The pain increases, and when Bucky eventually finds it in himself to stand, there’s blood.

Suddenly, Bucky can’t breathe. It feels like the world is collapsing, and everything is growing dark. A sob bubbles up from his throat, and he can’t stop the rush of absolute terror and hatred that comes with it.

He slips out of their bathroom, using his stealth training to hide from everyone in the tower until he gets to the hospital bay. Sneaking into the room, he finds Dr. Cho in the back of the lab, looking at some test results. She nearly screams when he sneaks up on her, but she jumps into action when she sees his distress.

The news is exactly what Bucky knew and feared it would be: he lost the baby.

~ Bucky has absolutely no idea how to tell Steve. He stays curled up in their bed for the rest of the day, the pain in his abdomen still not subsiding. Helen had warned him that the pain and aches would last a few days, but the emotional pain is a lot heavier and harder to take.

~ Steve comes home from a mission, covered in sweat and grime three days later, and immediately makes a plan to shower before he goes looking for Bucky. Only… the brunette is curled up in bed at seven-thirty at night, and it looks like he hasn’t moved in a while. “Buck?” he calls, moving towards his side of the bed.

Bucky sniffles softly, and Steve suddenly feels a cold dread covering his body. Bucky hasn’t had a bad day in quite some time, but this seems like it did back in the beginning, back when the Soldier was still getting used to not being the forefront of Bucky’s mind. “Darlin’?” he calls, reaching out and petting back the brunette’s hair, only to suck in a breath at the tears staining Bucky’s face.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky whispers, voice cracking. “I’m so sorry, Stevie.” Steve is confused and aching as he watches his mate fall apart, sobs wracking his frame and causing him to shake. He quickly pulls Bucky into his arms, nuzzling his hair and kissing his skin. Bucky continues to cry and whisper apologizes over and over, and Steve whispers sweet nothings, trying to comfort his mate even as his confusion continues to mount. It isn’t until Bucky whispers the words that he realizes what has upset his mate so much, and he feels his own heart shatter. “I’m sorry, Stevie. I’m sorry I lost the baby.”

~ It takes a long time for them both to move, but Steve carries his mate into the bathtub, holding him and allowing them both to settle in the warm water. When the tears stop and the water has grown cold, Steve carries them both back to bed, lying his mate down and curling around him. The next few days are quite on the Rogers’ floor.

~ Telling the Avengers is heartbreaking. Everyone is crying. Nat and Peter curl up with Bucky on the couch, and the three of them stay together for two days straight, their respective mates bringing them food and adding to the cuddles.

~ Bucky spends a lot of time with the Stark twins. He and Steve are the two most hands-on babysitters of the Avengers, and Peter and Tony are happy to be of any help at all when it comes to their healing. They spoil the twins just as badly as their parents do, and that’s probably why they're the favorites.

~ When the twins turn nineteen-months old, Bucky finds out that he’s pregnant again. There are a lot more tears associated with this one.

~ Sadly, this one lasts even less time. About a month after finding out, Bucky loses the baby. This time though, he loses hope with it.

~ For a while, Steve and Bucky focus solely on the twins. Peter and Tony are pregnant again with their little girls, and the massive growth of their family leaves them in need of the extra hands, so the twins get to spend a good amount of time with their favorite uncles.

~ It doesn’t happen for quite some time. The twins are five now, and the triplets (who are absolutely adorable) are three when Bucky goes to visit Helen for a routine check-up only to learn that he’s pregnant again.

~ Bucky is absolutely terrified of the news, but when Helen calls him and Steve down again to talk about a plan, he feels a bit more relieved. Helen thinks that Bucky might not have had enough nutrients with his previous pregnancies, and his serum had caused the babies to grow quicker and the lack of nutrients had been lethal, so she starts him on an extremely strict diet that includes a lot of supplements.

~ This time, Steve and Bucky are very prepared. Bucky spends a lot of time relaxing and keeping himself busy with anything that doesn’t require much energy (which he absolutely hates). As much as Bucky hates it, Steve adores being able to spoil his mate and take care of him while he carries their child.

~ When they reach the sixth-month mark, Bucky grows nervous. It was around this time that he lost their first baby, and the pain and fear have never fully gone away. He’s terrified about losing another one, but he visits Helen often to check on the baby’s well-being.

~ Steve and Bucky honestly try to not get too excited about the baby for a very long time. It isn’t until he begins to show that they honestly allow themselves to celebrate the fact that they’re once again pregnant.

~ At eight-months, Peter and Tony as well as the rest of the Avengers throw Steve and Bucky a baby shower. Bucky is terrified at the same time he’s overjoyed, but at the end of the day, he’s surrounded by the people that are his family with a rounded belly and a baby that is happily pressing against his rounded his and Steve’s linked hands.

~ It’s only two weeks later that Bucky goes into early labor, and with it, the fear intensifies extremely. Steve is there though, holding his hand and gently petting back the brunette’s hair. He whispers sweet words of encouragement as the operation takes place, kisses along the brunette’s hairline, anything to help soothe Bucky.

“I promise, Buck, whatever happens,” he whispers, listening to Helen talk softly to Bruce on the other side of the sheet, “Til the end of the line, darlin’, til the end of the line.”

Bucky sniffles, trying to keep all of the emotions in as they start to bubble up again. “Til the end of the line,” he agrees softly with a small nod.

“Not to interrupt a sweet moment,” Helen’s voice suddenly becomes clear as she peeks over the edge. “I think you want to see someone.” And suddenly, there he is. A tiny little thing that’s absolutely furious; their baby screams and flails his small arms, but Bucky and Steve swear neither of them has ever seen something so beautiful.

~ Once they’re out of the operating room and resting in their own bed, Bucky can’t look away from the small boy in his arms. Steve is resting on his other side, arm tightly around his mate’s waist and one hand gently petting their little boy’s hair. “He’s beautiful,” Bucky whispers, unable to look away from the sleeping child’s face.

“He is,” Steve agrees softly. “Gets it from you,” he adds with a sappy smile. Bucky gives him a half-hearted glare before immediately returning his attention back to the boy in his arms.

“He needs a name,” he says softly, resting his head against his mate’s neck. “We never picked one…”

“You’re right,” Steve agrees softly, burying his nose in the other’s hair. “Do you have any ideas?”

He hums softly, letting his eyes slip closed for a minute as the exhaustion from the day begins to take control. “Grant,” he finally says.

“Grant?” Steve asks skeptically. “You want to give him my middle name?”

Bucky nods slightly, opening his eyes and looking back down at the small boy. “Yeah… He looks like you after all,” he points out. Steve tries to hide the smile fighting its way across his face.

“Grant James Rogers?” he offers.

Steve can feel Bucky’s smile against his neck, and he smiles wider because of it. “Perfect.”

~ Grant James Rogers is the cutest baby Bucky has ever seen. He’s got little waves in his blonde hair, and when he finally cracks his little eyes open, they’re the most beautiful shade of blue he’s ever seen. He smiles like a ray of sunshine, and he doesn’t fail to make everyone around him smile either. He is also a wonderfully easy baby. Bucky has heard from Peter about the nightmare babies can be during the night: about how they tend to wake up often and fuss and keep him and Tony each awake for several hours several times a night. Grant, however, sleeps like a log every night. Bucky has actually had to wake him up before to feed the little fella in the middle of the night, but he always goes right back to sleep as peaceful as he was earlier.

~ Steve likes to take Grant out on runs on nice weather days. Grant loves the bouncing movement of his father’s steps. He screams and giggles like mad, clapping his little tiny hands with almost every step Steve takes. Steve never minds stopping to take pictures of them together.

~ Steve has always had several sketchbooks of Bucky, but now he’s got at least ten full ones from Bucky’s pregnancy and Grant’s birth, and the little thing is only six months old.

~ His favorite drawing is of a sleeping Bucky lying on the floor, a baby bib over his chest and a sleeping Grant on top of it. Anthony and Benjamin are sleeping at Bucky’s side, and the girls are asleep on his mechanical arm. Steve can’t even deny the fact that that picture (because he’s not stupid and he knew he had to snap a picture before the opportunity disappeared) is his background and will probably always be.

~ Happy with their only child, it comes as a massive surprise when Bucky ends up pregnant again.

~ This time they have a little girl, and thankfully, it’s the smoothest of Bucky’s pregnancies thanks to Helen. Sarah Winifred Rogers is the opposite of her brother and almost exactly like Steve in personality. She’s feisty and loud, and she absolutely hates falling asleep alone.

~ On a lot of Sunday mornings, Bucky will wake up before anyone else in his family. Sarah will join him in the kitchen as he makes breakfast. She’s usually drooling all over his shoulder now that she’s sleeping in her favorite spot, and he’s got a towel there to protect himself (it doesn’t do much truthfully). Every time before breakfast is finished, little Grant is crawling out of his bed and joining him.

Grant comes in and clings to his mother’s leg, and Bucky always showers him with some kisses before telling him to take his sister to the master bedroom. Bucky follows behind with a massive tray of food. After setting the tray on the bedside table, he takes Sarah from Grant, who happily climbs on the bed and jumps on Steve until he wakes up.

They spend the morning curled up in bed together, eating and laughing and merely enjoying their family time. Sunday quickly becomes Steve’s favorite day of the week.

#stucky #steve x bucky #bucky x steve #bucky barnes x steve rogers #steve rogers x bucky barnes #implied starker #referenced starker #stucky pregnancy #pregnancy #angst with a happy ending #babies #maybe i'll actually write the story i wanted to for this one day #if i write the starker one

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scouthearted · 6 years ago

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spaces in your togetherness - a streetcrows fic

Six.

The world did not exist, and neither did Odette Rowel.

Everything, including her body and soul, was in a state of dreamlike horror, a state she was intrinsically familiar with. She never did remember any of her dreams but the nightmares, and those played out so normally except for the little twists in the world around her, little details that made the last vestiges of her personality cringe. The photographs that sat in their frames around the parlor were ones that she or Ethan never would have picked, for one; the two of them in tutus as they danced through part of Swan Lake as children, Ethan fake smiling during a family vacation as their father’s hand clutched his shoulder too tightly, and that horrible picture of their first day of college… the very picture that convinced Ethan to shave his long hair off. He never let it grow back. It looked better short, anyway.

Around her, people mumbled condolences. Odette decided not to respond. No, decided was wrong. She couldn’t have responded if she wanted to. She only had one sentence anymore, it seemed, and that sentence had been silenced by the only person she thought would understand.

Four.

“He’s not dead! I am going to find him. Don’t act like he’s dead!”

Oliver Rowel ignored her, continuing his phone conversation. “Roses. Twenty dozen of them. Black.”

“Father! He’s not dead!”

“Yes. I understand.” Odette momentarily softened until she realized this was to the person on the other end of the line. Her eyes, usually focused and steady, seemed to dart around. She was looking for… for Ethan. She could always count on Ethan to mock their father behind his back, until Odette had to try not to laugh, until she felt better.

But he wasn’t here.

Two.

“It’s not here,” Ethan laughed as he watched Odette overturn every little corner of his little apartment. “What do I need with a comb?”

“If this is one of your tricks, I swear to Grimen...” she said, half-snapping at him.

“Have you asked Mallory?”

“What would she do with it? She has combs of her own. I think, and her hair is so different than mine that it wouldn’t do her any good.”

Ethan adjusted, sitting cross-legged on his bed. Odette recognized it as his “sibling talk” position, honed between them after years of secret sharing in their shared bedrooms and dormitories. “Maybe it’s a girlfriend thing.”

“Or maybe you took it because you want to do your eyebrows.”

“With a comb?”

Odette shrugged. “I don’t know how you manage to keep them so perfect.”

“Actor vanity.”

“My comb.”

“Tweezers.”

Odette had to laugh at that, just a little. “Fine. I suppose I’ll believe you.” The grudging tone of her voice was her own little act… she never would choose theatre for a living, but she always had been able to give convincing performances anyway. “Well, then, I have business to attend to. I’ll be off.”

“Yeah, yeah. Love you too, Odie,” Ethan said with an eye roll and a smile.

She didn’t say it back. It would ruin the moment.

It would, later, break her heart.

Three.

“Breaking news, another disappearance in a streak that police and media alike are calling the Aberration Spree Killings. Twenty year old theatre student Ethan Rowel, son of the Dean of Students at…”

Quieter.

Her Gift responded to her will, and the newscaster seemed to fade away. It was wrong. This wasn’t something to keep quiet. Everyone should know this. Everyone should feel how awful she felt. Like a switch, the realization made the volume reduction reverse, until the voice was normal volume, then loud, then terrible, then ear shattering, then-

the television exploded. As glass flew towards her, Odette sat, unflinching. The crescendo was always her favorite part of her gift.

Ethan had been the opposite. He had always preferred the softer decrescendos, when the volume was low and the world and the heavens were just the two of them.

Seven.

Odette fell onto her childhood bed feeling worse than she had at the reception, the viewing, the not-funeral. Whatever her father had chosen to brand it as when he decided Ethan was never coming home.

The room was pleasant like a room in a dollhouse, or a picture book. A child might dream of living in it, with its candy floss pink walls and curled iron bed frames. The carpet was plush and white, stains masked by Gifted housekeepers over the years. They must have never stopped cleaning the nursery, as there was no expected layer of dust. Odette’s three story dollhouse in one corner was pristine. Ethan’s little wooden stage with the tiny red velvet curtains looked as though it had been recently waxed. It felt as though any moment, two tiny and tired identical twins would enter, throwing their ballet duffle bags on the floor (they’d be yelled at for it the next morning) and collapsing to the beds. If only. Odette would scoop little Ethan up and never let him go.

She looked up. In the center of the room, as though straddling the invisible line that divided Odette’s half from Ethan’s half, was a plaque with a quote.

“You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore but let there be spaces in your togetherness. And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.”

Their mother had picked it out before she died. Ethan and Odette had always liked that quote. They liked the dancing imagery, when they took ballet together as children, and the rest when they got older and learned what the quote really talked about.

Had they ever known? A space in their togetherness, once upon a time, had meant going on study abroad trips in different semesters. Not this. Not this.

Don’t dance through the heavens yet. You aren’t dead.

Five.

“Listen to me, Father, he’s not dead.”

Oliver Rowel never listened.

One.

Ethan picked his name with the gusto of a five year old. He played with Danger, with Rowan, and with the names of a hundred stars. He toyed with Siegfried and Benno and even Tchaikovsky, to match Odette’s name.

It took a while before he had the final idea. “Ethan Oliver.”

“Ethan Oliver?”

Ethan grinned. “Yeah, it’s Dad’s name, but flipped. Oliver Ethan Rowel… Ethan Oliver Rowel.”

“I never would guess you would want to be connected to Father.”

“Well…” Ethan shrugged. “We don’t always get along, sure.” An understatement if Odette had ever heard one. “But he’s still my dad. Maybe this will make him happy.”

“But does it make you happy?”

“Yeah, I think so. Ethan’s a good name. I think it fits me.”

Odette looked at her brother, a once-identical face, now so different than hers, like she was looking into a what might have been. She looked at his piercings, his clear eyes that were stuck between contacts instead of glasses, and his ever present smirk.

She thought about her initials, OER, Odette Elizabeth Rowel. They were once his initials too. Ethan Oliver Rowel, EOR, was close, but not the same. It was a space between them, two separate people who remained linked.

“I think it fits too,” she said.

Eight.

Ethan kept clothes at Oliver Rowel’s house, same as Odette did. Oliver, however, never liked Ethan’s clothes. Ethan’s wardrobe was thirty three percent leather jackets and metal band shirts, thirty three percent athletic wear for his active classes, and thirty three percent hoodies and comfy jeans. Casual, not befitting someone of their social standing, so Oliver liked to say. So while Odette had a dresser in their childhood bedroom, full of nice blouses and skirts for emergency stayovers, Ethan hid his clothes in the attic, among their mother’s things.

The cardboard box labeled Tonya Rowel smelled like attic musk and lavender and leather. It sat opened… Ethan stopped taping it back up when he realized Oliver never looked up there. Odette rarely did either, barely enough for it to be familiar to her.

Inside was a mixture of photographs of their mother, a lovely woman who seemed to bring her own light to wherever she was, and soft hoodies. They smelled like Ethan’s detergent. Odette tried, and failed, to blink back tears. For a moment, she crouched on the attic floor, her nose buried in her brother’s clothing, her heart recognizing him even as her mind knew he wasn’t there.

It was so confusing, something had to give.

And give it did. Dazed, dreaming, dissociating, she put on his hoodie and went to see Mallory.

Nine.

“Don’t worry. I’m not really crying. It’s just sort of happening right now.”

Whatever was left of Odette Rowel tried to make Mallory feel better. Hard when her own cheeks were streaked with tears that poured down her face, when her glasses were salt-stained and dirty. Mallory, still, looked more distraught than Odette felt. Odette had to comfort her girlfriend. That’s what girlfriends did, and anyway...

Mallory is all you have left.

Mallory, beautiful Mallory, brilliant Mallory, bold Mallory… she looked at a loss. A part of Odette wanted to laugh, but it came out a choke.

For once, she’s not together. She doesn’t know what to do. Isn’t that funny?

Her green eyes seemed to flash, and there it was. Mallory the wonderful was back, and somehow, Odette resented it down in the bare vestiges of personality she held. “Do you want to talk about him?” she asked, as if talking about him would bring him back.

“Let’s not… Mallory, let’s just go home for today, okay?”

She stared, then nodded.

When they got home, Odette locked herself in the bathroom with a pair of scissors. She didn’t come out until her hair was short. It was messy. Any other day, she would hate it, but Ethan would have loved it. She looked in the mirror and smiled.

Ten.

“You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore but let there be spaces in your togetherness. And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.”

“This is a space in our togetherness.”

“Ethan Rowel is not dead.”

“I will find him.”

“I will do anything to find him.”

“I will do anything to find him, even if it costs me everything.”

“I will do anything to find him, and I have nothing else to lose.”

Eleven.

As she slumped into Raccoon’s arms, bleeding, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in Raccoon’s goggles. Short hair, a hoodie on, a genuine smile on her face for once. She looked like Ethan, as much as she could while still being herself. They always… they said twins… were like this… even as different as we are… we’re identical, Ethan, aren’t we?

“Bluejay! Blue...jay…?”

She laughed. “Looks like I overdid it a little bit…”

It was with the strength of an actor that she pulled herself up. She patted Raccoon, idly said some things (she wasn’t sure what. Focus hadn’t gotten easier, and dissociation was her normal), and walked away.

Ethan, I look like you. I don’t act like you, but I look like you. Would you be proud? No, I know the answer. Just trust your older sister, okay? This is a space in our togetherness.

Together we shall be forevermore.

#streetcrows #tabby writes stuff #time to be sad about bluejay!

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mimik-u · 6 years ago

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Flower Child (Chapter 9)

Title: Home (III)

A/N:

The last of the Beach City filler episodes "Home" installments—I swear, lol. Thank you guys for sticking with "Flower Child." I appreciate each and every one of your Kudos and comments; they never fail to make me feel like I'm on top of the world. Hope you guys enjoy this chapter! Next week, we'll be back to Empire City, and for the first time in this fic, I think we'll play around in Steven's point of view for a little while. ;)

(Pearl sketch at the bottom.)

AO3

01.

The sand pushed against Garnet, but Garnet pushed back, dragging her feet through the coarse grain that seized at her with millions of grasping hands. Fingers around her swollen ankles. Claws. But she did not stop; she could not afford to stop.

She was afraid that she would let the sand bury her if she did.

The yellow dunes a monument to her cowardice.

To every instinct that had told her to run.

The sun carved itself into her back; she ran to invite its pain, not in spite of it.

Her tank top was slick with sweat, pressed against her skin like a white tattoo; she ran and half-wished the garment would choke her.

Damn coward that she was, she ran.

And she did not look back. The sharp heaving of her chest felt like knives.

One full hour of this—don’t stop—two—don’t look back—and then suddenly, without warning, Garnet’s powerful legs buckled underneath her and she pitched forward in the sand, choking, teeth gritted with the salted grain. She coughed violently, and black spots sprayed across her vision as she fought to maintain a tenuous grip on reality, but it slipped away from her as she dipped her forehead against a fallen, sweat drenched arm. The sun bore down on the back of her exposed neck. Her breath clouded in the pocket between her face and the hot sand. The ocean seethed against the shore.

Garnet closed her eyes.

She let go.

And a memory stole in—soft, vulnerable, a moth fluttering next to a candle.

It was twilight, and the setting sun slanted through the blinds to soak the painfully white walls. An orange that seared. A deep purple that left a bruise. An angry pink, like the aftermath of a blow. Garnet sat on the edge of the railed bed, hands clenched until they were gray on her lap.

And she was still, dreadfully still—a statue on the verge of erosion.

“Garnet?”

She didn’t hear him at first, couldn’t hear anything past the blood boiling in her ears and the unholy trembling of her bones, her chest, her stomach.

“Gaaaaarnet,” he persisted, a teasing edge to his voice. “You’re missing the best part! Toast just broke up with Milk because she thought he was cheating on her with Cereal, and now they’re both crying about it on split screens! Oh, wait—no! I spoke too soon! Toast, Milk, and Cereal are all crying on triple split screens! Gosh, this is good stuff!”

It was Monday night, which meant that a new Crying Breakfast Friends was on. A show about clinically depressed breakfast items, it was somehow Steven’s favorite.

He liked to gush about it.

This was normal, she told herself.

This was normal. She bit her lip so hard that blood welled where she split it.

This was normal. She couldn’t look at him.

This was normal. His empty catheter bag hung limply off the side of the bed.

“Pearl said that I need to, uh, critically examine the stuff I watch, though, so if I’m being honest, the problem here is kinda forced. Cereal is obviously not into romantic relationships, and she just views Milk as a friend, which is totes cool, but I appreciate the character development they’re giving her.”

Kidney failure.

He had kidney failure.

He was thirteen years old, dammit, and he had—

“Because you see,” he continued over the sound of a closely whirring machine, over the sound of her spiraling panic, “Cereal never shows emotion. Like, ever, and she really values her friendships with both Toast and Milk, so this being the thing that breaks her is actually kinda sweet.”

Dr. Maheswaran’s lined face had fallen into geometric disarray when she had told them, all of her harshness slipping into nothingness, into a helplessness they had only seen her wear once before.

The day of Rose’s funeral.

“I’m sorry,” she had whispered. “I’m so sorry that this has happened.”

“And what I’m trying to say, Garnet, is that you’re spacing out right now, and it’s really scaring me,” Steven said, his voice vulnerable with the admission, cracked.

The words were distant to her, landing in her ears but traveling no further. Even so, Garnet painfully drew her head up to look at him; it felt as though there was a weight upon her neck, a yoke, an iron clasp, a world.

His dark eyes burned into hers, and they were the only things that did; the rest of his features were pale, ghostly, having long lost their beautiful olive tint to sickness.

He was thirteen.

He had kidney failure.

“Please,” he murmured softly, extending his chubby hand towards her—as far as all of the tubing and wires would allow. “I need you to be here for me, Garnet. If you’re scared, let’s be scared together. Because I’m kind of scared, and everyone else is gone, but you’re here, and yet, you’re not really here, and I—”

She was slow, slower than she usually was when it came to comforting Steven. He scraped his knee after falling down? Easy. She could scoop him up into her strong arms and blow raspberries onto his tubby belly until he forgot the sting. Emotional episode of Crying Breakfast Friends? She’d pass him the tissue box seconds before he even opened his mouth to ask for it.

But this?

This?

This was uncharted territory—for Steven, for her, for Greg, Amethyst, and Pearl.

So she was slow, achingly slow, to close the distance between them, to wrap Steven into her arms, to place her chin on the crown of his curls.

But she managed it.

(How? She couldn’t say.)

She rubbed soothing circles into the small of his gowned back and whispered, “I’m here.”

I’m here.

In the warm shield of her arms, Steven began to cry.

Barely five minutes had passed, but they felt like an eternity as Garnet finally pushed herself out of the sand and into a tentative sitting position, lightheaded from the heat and yet heavy with exhaustion. She could have floated away; she could have melted into the ground.

But both of these options were untenable.

She had to—she stumbled gracelessly to her feet—get to—she palmed a sweaty hand across her face—Steven. A low growl tore through her teeth as she began to run.

The sand pushed against Garnet, but Garnet pushed back, hands scissoring the still air, thighs burning with the exertion. She felt the clever trappings of the yellow grain, felt the particles climb up her skin and entreat her to stay, but she did not stop; she could not afford to stop.

She had a purpose now.

Something… someone… to run home to.

One full hour of this, but not quite two—she was fast, determined, indomitable—and the beach house came into view, snugly perched on the cliff, its railings newly livened up by a multitude of colorful balloons. Garnet only slowed to a walk when her foot found purchase on a stair, lead pooling suddenly onto its weight.

Nearly four hours of running, and she’d forgotten her water bottle in her haste to leave. Her lips, her throat, her entire body were scorched, but she paid no mind to these little details as she dragged herself up the stairs, one sluggish foot after another.

She had to—she crossed the wooden deck—get to—she wrapped her glistening fingers around the door handle—Steven.

Garnet opened the door.

A whoosh of cold air rose to greet her, and she was able to pry her eyes out of their half-lidded weariness. The ceiling fan in the living room whirred. Kneeling next to the coffee table, Peridot and Lapis looked up from where they had been counting plastic utensils.

Peridot opened her mouth as though to speak, but someone else beat her to the punch.

“Garnet?”

Her head shot to the left, and there Steven was—sitting on his bed, his pale face awash with relief.

She was slow, achingly slow, as she climbed the couple of steps leading up to the loft.

But she didn’t have to go much further.

Steven slid off his bed and met her halfway, curling his arms around her sweaty leg.

“I’m here,” she said softly, placing a tentative hand on his curls.

I’m here.

(And I’m sorry.)

“Ugh,” he replied with a grin, scrunching up his button nose, “you stink, Garnet.”

02.

Naturally, the fish fry was a success—as it always was with Pearl at the organizational helm.

Only a handful of people lived in Beach City, true, but this very handful invited their friends and family from neighboring towns and cities, and fifteen odd people somehow became nearly one hundred. By five, around seven hundred dollars had been raised, and they hadn’t even looked at the bids for their silent auction yet! (Vidalia was offering up some of her artwork, and Boardwalk vendors like Mr. Fryman and Kofi had been gracious enough to donate services like free catering to the pool of available items.)

Leaning against the porch railing, Pearl surveyed the view in front of her and waited for the swell of pride that usually congratulated her after a night of such accomplishment. Garnet and Amethyst had arranged round tables all over their little stretch of beach, and sitting at the front of the deck, a long, rectangular table boasted scant and scattered piles of white to-go boxes, the pitiful remnant of what had once been teetering pyramids. (Surely, people would snag the last couple on their way out, just to have leftovers for tomorrow.) The sun, golden and blurred around the edges, sunk into the low neck of the horizon, casting lovely, shimmering images on the ocean just beyond the beach. People were laughing and talking and dancing to some hip electronic song that Vidalia’s DJ son was blaring through his tall speakers.

The day had been perfect.

So why did Pearl feel like she was about to throw up?

Maybe it was the way various people from town kept coming up to her and asking after Steven. They meant well, but their sympathetic eyes and the pity in their voices and the subtle relief in their faces (I’m glad it’s not me) started to blend and grate after awhile.

“Ah, poor Universe,” Mayor Dewey sighed, tsking lightly. “It just doesn’t seem fair, does it?”

“Sweet kid.” Barb Miller knocked her affectionately in the shoulder (nearly barreling her over in the process). “I just dunno if I could do it if it was my Sadie.”

“You tell Steven that he’s welcome to come to Funland at anytime, ya hear?” Mr. Smiley smiled, all teeth, brimming with an ungodly kind of optimism.

“He’s not looking good, is he?”

“You guys are doing the Lord’s work.”

“Has there been any news?”

“I’m bringing a casserole over soon!”

And on and on. Pearl’s hand drifted to her stomach, and her eyes drifted down to one of the tables closest to the house, where Garnet was sitting alone, her expression seemingly vacant behind her trademark sunglasses. But Pearl was perceptive, and what’s more, familiar with Garnet after nearly two decades of being her roommate. The sculptured lines of her muscles were tense, electric with nerves. Her legs were crossed, but the foot she had on the ground bobbed out of time with Sour Cream’s music.

Maybe it was the knowledge that tonight, she’d sit across Garnet and tell her about the contents of Dr. Maheswaran’s letter. She’d have to watch as Garnet’s stoic features would crumple as she registered the words feeding tube, how her hands would clench tightly on her lap in the place of spoken words.

Maybe it was the fact that Steven had only picked at his grilled fish tonight, had nibbled on an unsalted french fry or two before shoving his plate away apologetically.

“I’m just not hungry.” He’d said the same thing about his pancakes this morning. He’d thrown up the one pancake that he could stomach.

Or maybe it was the way Amethyst’s brown eyes had dulled after Pearl had grabbed her arm earlier this evening and told her that they were going to have a family meeting on the deck.

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” Her voice was quiet, scratchy in all of her vulnerable places.

Pearl stifled the urge to look away and could only manage a curt nod.

“I figured as much,” she sighed, pulling a hand across the back of her neck. “Dr. M was really antsy this week. Guess that can’t mean anything good.”

She searched for Amethyst now and found that she was with Steven. They were sitting on the shoreline, backs to the house, eyes on the setting sun. She had one plump arm slung around his shoulders. In the dying light, her long hair was a brilliant silver stream.

Jealousy nicked at her with an unexpected sting, a little paper cut right across her sternum, one inch long.

She wanted to know what they were talking about.

Wanted to cling to every word that came out of his mouth.

Every moment… every hour, every minute, every second… was precious with him nowadays.

He was an hourglass turned over, slowly trickling away.

Maybe she’d go down there and join them…

Maybe that would abate the awful mess of her stomach…

Maybe was her constant refrain tonight.

Uncertainty was the word.

“Ya’ve done it again, Pearl.”

Pearl blinked, and with a jolt, realized that Greg had joined her on the balcony, an appreciative grin stretched across his red face as he greeted her. In an old, white tank top and ripped jean shorts, he was just as Greg as ever, but his bleary eyes betrayed him (just as Garnet’s foot did her and Amethyst’s dull expression spoke volumes). His tired gaze slid to where Steven and Amethyst sat on the beach, following where hers had just been, and his smile seemed to take on the subtle tinges of sadness as he absorbed the simple image.

She regained her composure with a tiny cough. “Ah, thank you, Greg. I’ve been meaning to catch you by the way. We’re having a family—”

He cut across her as kindly as anyone cutting across someone could manage. “—meeting tonight. Yeah, I know.” He jerked his thumb down below. “Garnet told me.”

“Oh.”

“Mhm.”

They lapsed into silence. There was nothing left to say; there were oceans. (But neither of them were particularly good at navigating the rough waters, so they remained silent in an attempt to not choke on salt.)

The party swirled on without them.

People laughing.

Talking.

Dancing.

Enjoying themselves.

They were all but alien creatures, every single one of them.

How were they so happy?

So carefree?

How was their world not bleak and gray and centered around a little boy named Steven?

“Pearl?” Greg asked after a long while.

“Hm?” She slid a curious glance his way, but he never took his eyes away from the darkening silhouettes of Amethyst and Steven; they were but specks in the distance now, bathed in the dusky sun.

“Do you remember what Rose used to say about sunsets? She had this whole speech about them, and I can almost hear it in my mind, but I honestly can’t remember it word for word.” He chuckled lightly and tapped the side of his balding head. “The years are catchin’ up to me, I guess.”

The mere mention of her name sent an involuntary shiver down Pearl’s spine. She wanted to hug herself; she wanted to wrap herself around the name and be left alone to mourn for it, but all the same, she knew instantly what Greg was searching for in her memories.

Her voice was thick as she volunteered it.

“She loved sunsets,” she whispered, looking down at her hand on the railing. Pale and cold, it was knotted with tiny goosebumps; the wooden grain beneath it was simply knotted by time and wind and salt. “And when she was… sick, you know, she used to say that sunsets were lovely ways to think about life and death and everything in-between. They’re explosions, riots of color that precede beautiful, star-strewn nights. She—”

Pearl faltered; she couldn’t go on.

“She said she was a sunset, didn’t she?” Greg said softly when he realized this. “She said that we shouldn’t grieve for her… that we should appreciate the night she leaves behind.”

She couldn’t say yes so much as she could intimate it.

She nodded very slowly and tried to smile.

He shot her a watery grin in return.

The first stars began to pop up in the vast canvas of sky; Steven lifted his arm to point at them.

03.

By seven, nearly all of their guests had finally left; what stragglers remained helped clean up. By eight, the beach was all but pristine, the fish fry eradicated from its silky existence. All that remained were the multitude of collapsed tables that they had leaned against the deck for the night. Greg would take ‘em back to their storage unit sometime tomorrow. By nine, Steven had taken his bath and was tucked into bed by all four of his guardians.

“G’night, Stu-ball.”

“Goodnight, Steven.”

“Night.”

“Don’t let the bed bugs bite, Ste-man,” Amethyst grinned before promptly attacking his blanketed feet.

He giggled, the others stepped down from the loft, and then he surreptitiously whispered out of the corner of his mouth, “The window!”

She winked at him conspiratorially before descending herself.

When everyone was in their respective rooms, getting into their pajamas, Amethyst snuck into the darkened living room and moved deftly towards the corner that was opposite to Steven’s loft; with its L-shaped bench and plush cushions, it was more or less a reading nook for nerds like Pearl and Peridot to make themselves comfortable in. Glancing around to make sure that no other adult was observing—she was pretty sure she could detect a dark pair of fourteen-year old eyes glinting at her from across the room—she unlatched the lock in the window that overlooked the deck and pushed the glass an inch or so upwards. A narrow strip of humid air snuck its way into the cool room.

She gave Steven a thumbs up she wasn’t entirely sure he could see before scurrying off to her own room to pull on her own nighttime gear (a tank top and booty shorts, of course).

By 9:30, their little coterie was assembled at the white table that perched conveniently on the far corner of the deck, asses already chafing in the uncomfortable plastic chairs. (“I’ll eventually get us cushions,” Pearl often claimed. “I’m just waiting to find a set that complements the house best.” “Jesus,” Amethyst moaned in return.) Pearl sat lightly at the edge of her own chair and squinted at a tiny slip of paper that was barely illuminated by the soft, yellow porch light; Amethyst immediately recognized it as one of the papers that Dr. Maheswaran had wanted her to pass on.

As furtively as possible, she snuck a glance at the crack in the window that no one had yet to notice, thrilling a little at their clever subterfuge.

“So, uhh, what’s in that letter, Pearl?” Greg asked, nervously eyeing the note. He didn’t know the contents—none of them did—but there was something in Pearl’s features—something dark, something bleak—that spoke to their worst assumptions. Amethyst stiffened in her seat to prepare for the blow, never quite letting the window leave the periphery of her vision as she did.

Shit, maybe she shouldn’t have done this.

Pearl opened her mouth and then promptly shut it, and then opened it again but no words came out. Silently, she passed the paper to her left, to Garnet, who scanned Maheswaran’s piss poor handwriting before shoving the paper into Greg’s surprised hands.

She didn’t have her sunglasses on.

Her eyes, one blue, the other brown, stared wildly into space.

Amethyst was suddenly stricken of the image of a wounded animal—cornered, desperate, doomed.

“No, no,” Greg shook his head, his low voice rising with each denial. “It’s too soon for that. We can’t be there yet. He’s still eating. He’s—” The note had crumpled in his large hand.

“He’s puking up nearly everything we give him,” Pearl said lifelessly, staring down at the table. “That can’t be healthy for him.”

Amethyst impatiently snatched the letter from Greg’s clenched hand. “Lemme see!”

She smoothed out the wrinkles as much as she could manage and read:

Pearl,

Steven’s health has declined considerably in the past few weeks. You all have probably noticed it and let me be quick to assure you that it isn’t because any lapse on your behalves. Chronic kidney disease tends to progress faster in adolescents.

All the same, he’s lost seven pounds since May, and with the onset of anemia, he’s at risk of losing even more, amongst other complications. My advice to you this week is to ensure that he strictly follows the dietician’s recommendations for caloric intake. Additionally, he absolutely must take those iron pills in order to encourage red blood cell production in his body.

If I find that his condition has worsened by the end of this week, then I think our best step forward is hospitalizing him again, so that we can supplement his nutrition with a feeding tube—

She didn’t read any further, didn’t have to, dammit, and she cast the offending object away as though burned. Wrinkled and worn, it landed in the center of the table, an eyesore that drew all of their baleful glares.

For the most part, the letter was fine.

Hell, it was in the ballpark of the kind of stuff Dr. M usually sent.

It was just those two words.

Feeding tube.

He might need a feeding tube.

Greg was right.

They couldn’t be there yet.

It was way too soon.

“Dammit,” she said aloud, only remembering at the last second that it was carrying to ears beyond the ones at the table. (With every passing second, with every new drop of horror pooling in her belly, Amethyst regretted letting him listen in. He’d just been so persuasive on the beach, so ready to accept the consequences of what he could possibly hear… but even if he was prepared, she wasn’t so sure that she was.)

“Crude,” Pearl sighed, pinching the bridge of her sharp nose, “but accurate.”

Garnet shifted in her seat, her mouth set into an impossibly firm line that only budged when she spoke; her words were tense, pushed out through gritted teeth. “So what now?”

“Pardon?”

“What do we do now?” she asked, as though it was the most obvious question in the world, and perhaps it very well was. Dr. M had given them a possible consequence, and now they had to do their best to avoid it coming into fruition—if that was even possible.

Amethyst pulled the paper back to her side of the table, glanced over it one more time.

My advice to you this week is to ensure that he strictly follows the dietician’s recommendations for caloric intake. Additionally, he absolutely must take those iron pills in order to encourage red blood cell production in his body.

“I guess we just try to follow Dr. M’s orders,” she shrugged when no one else was forthcoming, but even the act of shrugging seemed like a betrayal to the situation at hand. Her mouth was achingly dry. “Make sure he eats, give him his medicine, and yadda-yadda-yadda. It’s not a lot to work with, but it’s, like, better than nothing.”

“Well said,” Greg murmured, and to her relief, both Garnet and Pearl eventually brought themselves to nod.

“Better than nothing,” Garnet repeated, seemingly to herself. And then her bicolored eyes seemed to focus, as though drawing themselves back to the present. She blinked once and offered a lopsided grin to Amethyst, and Amethyst felt a sudden rush of grateful heat clamor up her cheeks. It’d been far too long since one of those had graced her features.

“Then I suppose that settles that,” Pearl said with visible relief, reaching across the table and reclaiming the note. She appeared a little less harried now that they had established a game plan. “Before we disperse, we should probably cover our finances for—”

Amethyst hadn’t even opened her mouth to call Pearl lame when an ominous plunk resounded from inside the house—dull but louder than it should have been. Closest to the window, but not facing it, Pearl whipped her head around and ascertained the crack with a choking gasp.

“Has that been open this whole time?!”

Amethyst suddenly found herself very interested in a lightning shaped crack in the table, but luckily enough, Pearl was more focused on examining the source of the noise—please be one of the cats, she hoped against hope—than actively being suspicious about a window that they usually kept closed all the time. She sprung gracefully from her chair and opened the door as quietly as she could possibly manage, sticking her head in to look.

“Oh, my God! Steven!”

#steven universe #pearl #garnet #amethyst #greg universe #flower child #mimik-u #s: steven universe #i'm so tired y'all #i woke up at 3am to finish this baby #long post

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notbecauseofvictories · 7 years ago

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FIC | another city (better than this one)

[READ ON AO3]

“It’s ‘Solo’ now.”

Ben offers it up before Lando can even open his mouth; abrupt and with a whole mess of badly-hidden nerves. For the moment, the kid is sitting cross-legged on a drum of tibanna gas, picking at a hole in his leggings despite the bulky stun-cuffs binding his wrists together. He keeps darting black looks at the patrolmen flanking him on either side, and scowling. He’s fifteen, Lando guesses; give or take a few years (Lando hasn’t been keeping track) and has mastered the art of scowling with his whole body, every inch of him lending itself to the effort.

He’s grown another foot since Lando saw him last; it adds up to a lot of scowling.

“You really should be more creative with your aliases,” Lando says mildly. “I’ve had every anagram of ‘Skywalker’ flagged since the first time you tried to run away from home.”

“Yeah, well, the droid was recording the manifest,” Ben mutters. “Can’t mind-trick a droid into letting you slip by.”

He shrugs, though it looks more like an awkward twitch. The kid’s all awkwardness, from the absurd slope of his mouth to the way he hunches his shoulders in, like he’s somehow attempting to make himself smaller. The effect is like a bantha trying to pass for a housecat.

Lando snorts. “My advice is the same, pick smarter aliases. Something random, next time.”

Ben shoots him a look and Lando sighs, gesturing for the patrolmen to remove the stun-cuffs. “Why ‘Solo’ all of a sudden?” Lando asks. “You and Leia fighting again?”

Ben hunches over further, the ragged mop of his hair hiding his eyes. It must have been bad, whatever argument he and Leia got into; Ben only cuts his hair when it’s bad.

Most of Lando’s memories if Ben feature a kid wearing complicated braids—it was an Alderaanian tradition, and it had been a point of pride for Leia to pass on something to her son, Lando knew. He also knew that before being shipped off to Luke, Ben had screamed and screamed and when that didn’t work, he took a pair of scissors and sheared off every strand of hair long enough to braid. Leia had been devastated, and since then, the length of Ben’s hair has become a reliable indicator of how long it’s been since the last serious fight with his mother.

Lando wonders if it’ll ever be long enough to braid again.

Ben is silent, even when the patrolmen move take off the cuffs. (He clenches his fists when they move in close, and Lando panics, dizzily thinking, if he tries anything—

Ben abruptly flattens his hands out again, as though he can hear Lando thinking it. No one ends up choking on air, or thrown off the dock by a vast, invisible strength; it’s enough and Lando forces himself to relax, breathe.)

“I can handle things from here, thank you,” Lando says to the patrolmen after the cuffs have been removed. He dismisses them with a weary smile, making a private note to follow up after and ensure the paperwork for this particular incident disappears into the ether.

It’s not the first time Ben decided stow himself away on a ship headed for Cloud City, but it had been easier when he was younger. Leia could call in favors to keep transport grounded, and Han could follow the trail, catch Ben before he got off-world. Captains were suspicious of a child trying to talk his way onto a freighter. The kid only managed to get off Chandrila once before, and then only because he’d snuck in through the exhaust and wedged himself beneath an empty tibanna tank, unnoticed until the freighter was already in hyperspace.

Now that Ben’s come into his inheritance as a Jedi, Lando doubts anyone but Luke could stop him from going wherever he pleases. And clearly, Luke’s falling down on the job.

Lando studies the sullen line of Ben’s mouth. “Does Luke even know you’re here?” he asks.

Ben has gone back to picking at the hole in his leggings. “No,” he says finally. “He probably hasn’t even noticed I’m gone. The---school keeps him busy.”

Lando’s never heard anyone say ‘school’ with as much venom as Ben manages to fit into that single word.

Briefly Lando shuts his eyes, imagining the evening he had planned—the nice decanter of Kuat sherry, minimal paperwork, the sweet possibility that the mine’s handsome new investor would stop by, as he’d suggested he might. It had been a beautiful dream, Lando had been looking forward to realizing it.

Lando sighs, and scrubs a hand over his face.

“Okay, kid. Okay. Here’s the plan. First, we’re going to comm Luke and let him know that you’re not dead. Then you can fill out the application for a temporary residency permit, so you can actually stay in the City longer than a standard day. After that’s finished, I’m having someone fix your hair, because people are going to think you’re some sort of spice-addled vagrant if you walk around like that.”

Ben doesn’t actually smile, but the hard line of his scowl softens a little. “Okay,” he says.

He signs the temporary residency permit ‘Ben Solo’. Lando decides not to mention how uncertainly he scrawls that name, like it belongs to someone else.

Lando comms Leia himself, after making sure that Ben is asleep in the guest room. “Hey, Princess,” he says, propping his chin up on his hand, and he has the distinct pleasure of watching her smile.

It’s a strange sort of friendship, between him and the wife of a man he once thought was his; but a friendship, nonetheless. “Baron,” Leia laughs, revealing new lines on her face. (Not a very close friendship, or a reliable one. But they both have loved Han Solo, and that sort of ruin demands companionship---and worse, understanding.)

“Your son is here,” Lando says, and the laughter vanishes from her face like a fried lamp, electricity shorting out.

“Oh,” she says weakly.

“I thought I’d tell you. I made him comm Luke, but...”

Leia shuts her eyes, shaking her head heavily. “We fought. Again.”

“I figured.”

Leia sighs, and Lando can hear the strain in her voice. “Thank you for letting me know. I’ll pass it along to Han, he has a new frequency now. I’m sure...we can arrange for transport back to Endor, or reimburse you, I just---”

“That’s not why I’m comming, Leia, don’t worry about---”

“I know,” she bites out, and Lando is sorry for bring it up, for saying it like that, like his holdson is some sort of shipment he’s expecting reimbursement for. There’s a gods-fucking lake of things they don’t talk about when it comes to the wake of the Civil War---the Rebellion, though no one calls it that any longer. In those early days of peace, Lando had been the only one with money, squirreled away in Hutt vaults and shady Outer Rim banks. He’d funded Leia’s first senatorial campaign, and shelled out for Han’s racing modifications to the Falcon; he’d even underwritten Luke’s school on Endor, and that was just a few years ago.

He’d seen it all as...a gift, to the only family he suspected he’d get in this life. It wasn’t as though his money was doing anything meaningful sitting in a bank.

It wasn’t until Han got spectacularly drunk one evening that he let slip Leia uncomfortably considered it a debt, one she could never repay. (She’s royal, you know, Han had said. He’d been drunk and loose, flushed with love and new fatherhood, and Lando hadn’t envied him, except maybe a little. They’re...funny about credits, they don’t like to think about what life costs. She doesn’t like to think about it.)

“Leia,” Lando says, feeling very old. “That’s....he’s my holdson. I’m happy to have him. He’s always welcome here, you all are. You know that.”

Even through the wavering blue veil of a comm transmission, Leia looks dubious. (Her son is---perhaps it’s cruel to think it, but her son is not welcome in many places. They both know that.) Lando grins, and then tries softening it to a smile. Something gentler, sincere.

“Really. Let him stay for a few weeks, hide out with his other uncle and review contracts and itemized shipping lists until his eyes bleed. He’ll demand to go back to being a Jedi, I swear.”

Once, long ago, Lando had met the previous Senator Organa---by accident, mostly. He and Han had been smuggling tech to Alderaan, and the Late Senator Organa had been on his way off-world. Lando couldn’t remember why. But the Late Senator had stopped and talked with them for a moment, asked what they were transporting, and where they were from. Lando had been twenty-seven and mostly hopelessly infatuated; he remembers a lot of awkward, stuttering pauses as he tried to think of something impressive to say to the beautiful man in grey-and-purple robes.

(Han had noticed, and he’d fucked Lando into the co-pilot’s seat afterwards, hot with jealousy. Lando had been delighted.)

Lando knows Leia is not the Late Senator Organa’s biological child. Nevertheless, there’s something about her eyes, it registers as the same sort of sinuous pressure on his skin.

“All right,” Leia says at last, as though she’s grinding out transparisteel. “I won’t interfere.”

He laughs. “Princess, you were spying on the Imperial Senate when you were his age. Maybe he’s just restless, looking for his purpose.”

She shoots him a sour look. “He has a purpose.”

“I know,” Lando says. It doesn’t surprise him that Leia got a blindspot there, can’t see the difference between a purpose and your purpose. He doubts anyone ever asked her if she wanted to be Princess of the Rebellion. “I know. But let him...I mean, he’s fifteen. Let him have some room to run.”

They talk for a little longer, back and forth---she complains about the glacial pace of the Senate, he throws in some anecdotes about the dysfunctional Cloud City Board of Trustees that have her crying with laughter. By the end, she’s smiling again, and when Lando says, “Let him stay,” she ducks her head and says, “Yes.”

Ben’s door is still open when Lando goes by. The kid is a dark shape in a room of darkened shapes, and Lando looks at that strange and familiar outline for a minute, thinking about Han, and Leia, and Tatooine and Luke wearing black. How oddly contented he is, watching Ben Organa Solo’s chest rise and fall.

Lando falls into to his own bed, after, and doesn’t dream.

Lando will forever treasure the look on Ben Solo’s face when he sets the stack of datapads down in front of him. “What?” Ben says, and Lando grins, his best grin, the kind he typically saves for investors, foremen, and pleasure cruisers who really just get off on watching people grovel.

“You’re a temporary citizen of Cloud City now. Technically, that means you work for Cloud Securities Limited Incorporated, which means you’re not allowed to remain planetside for longer than twenty-four hours without the approval of a Cloud City Securities Limited Incorporated supervisor.” Lando leans in, until he’s close enough that Ben’s eyes have gone wide and panicked, and the kid’s leaning back dangerously in his chair. “I’m you’re supervisor, Ben.”

Lando will give him this: Ben Solo is quieter than Ben Organa ever was.

(They have lunch together afterwards. Lando takes him to the canteen as a kind of test, but Ben Solo accepts the hydrated meal pack with a minimum of fuss, says thank you, and keeps his head down in the mess hall. With his hair cut, Lando can watch his eyes, and Ben’s are wounded, but not hard. It’s enough. Lando decides it’s enough.)

This goes on, pretty much. Ben Solo has a head for numbers---”Your dad was good at math too,” Lando says, and Ben’s ears go an ugly crimson color---and he’s not bad company if you don’t mind pointed, angry silences. Awkward as all hells, yes, absolutely. Every time a pretty girl even just walks past them he goes silent and panicky, then sulks for hours afterwards; but Han was always like that too, Lando remembers. Too much, too soon, showing all your cards. (Leia had had more dignity, refusing to reveal how far she’d fallen until there might not be another chance.)

“Aren’t you going to ask me what we argued about?” Ben asks during the third week. Lando’s genuinely surprised he managed to hold out.

“You can tell me, if you want,” Lando says, keeping his expression something bored, blank. “But I figure it’s not really my business.”

Ben has to slouch to fit in Lando’s shadow. The realization makes Lando feel pathetically tender towards him, this boy with hands like plates and feet like skimmers and a perpetual scowl. Sometimes, Lando looks at Ben Solo and it’s all he can do not to remember Han, Han at not much older than Ben is now, and he thinks---

It’s not important.

The story Lando heard goes like this:

Ben was nine, all scabby knees and cute, probably. (Han wouldn’t shut up about his son being a handsome devil, but Lando’s seen holos of Ben when he was younger---‘interesting-looking’ is being generous.) Anyway, he was a kid. He got in trouble sometimes, like kids do. Especially when they’re Han Solo and Leia Organa’s kid.

But one day, the school commed Leia, and said, come immediately.

Ben was sitting outside the head teacher’s office, pale and shaking and babbling about an accident, a mistake, he was sorry. He was so sorry. And Ben reached for his mother with blood all down the front of his shirt, on his arms, and dried like black paint on his hands.

It wasn’t his blood.

Ben was nine, and Lando doesn’t know what Leia promised the parents of the little girl he almost-killed but it must have been something else, because nothing about the incident ever hit the holonews. This next part of the story gets elided, or maybe Lando’s just not remembering it all. He guesses Leia commed Luke and talked with him about the fact that her son was beyond meditation and floating rocks now; that her son needed help.

Han wasn’t commed until afterwards. (Lando knows because he and Leia fought about that, the first of the last; Han hid out with Lando in the wake of it. I’m his dad, Han had said after too much whiskey, and Lando’s blood had run cold. Han’s voice had never been that hollow and hopeless. He’d looked...so much older in that moment, an old man already.

I’m his dad, and I can’t even---I can’t protect him. I can’t help him. What’s the point of a father who can’t help his son?)

One month later, Luke arrived to take Ben to the Outer Rim and teach him how to be a Jedi. And that was that.

Ben can be coaxed into talking about Jedi stuff, at least in the theoretical. Lando will admit it’s all a bit beyond him, and boring as all hells, but it’s nice to see the kid get excited about something. Even if it’s just knowing shit Lando doesn’t.

He never talks about Luke or the other students at the school unless Lando asks directly. Even then, his answers are clipped, monosyllabic if he can manage it. The angry poison has faded from his voice, but underneath is a well of something uglier, a hardened sort of bitterness that Lando wouldn’t begin to know how to chip away at.

There were gamblers on Canto Bight who talked like that---old men, spice-addled and ranting, convinced the system had cheated them. Those imagined fortunes curdled their insides, turned them into something monstrous. What a man felt he was owed...

Lando decides it’s none of his business, and stops asking.

Sometimes---not often, but maybe out of the corner of Lando’s eye---Ben doesn’t look like Han at all.

The dining room where Darth Vader once used Lando to bait his trap was torn out on Lando’s orders, remodeled into a solarium. Folirian snowdrops and new, green hyranith trees grow there now, rising up from neat beds. One of the foremen leads exercises there in the morning and Lando knows that it’s a popular place for the younger workers to go after curfew---the cleaning droids keep complaining about empty bottles, and fluids.

There’s nothing to mark the place as anything more than that.

(”Did you save Cloud City from Darth Vader?” Ben asks, and it takes Lando fifteen minutes of cajoling to figure out that the stupid accounting interns have been gossiping with the Baron’s new assistant.

“I don’t like to talk about it,” Lando says sharply enough that he sees Ben flinch from him. “That was a dark time, we did what we had to do.”)

Once, late into the fourth shift, Lando is making his way from the office block to his rooms and---it’s out of the corner of his eye, he doesn’t know why he looks but he does. There’s a tall humanoid standing in the center of the solarium, swathed in shadows and starlight and Lando’s heart, it stops dead, everything stops dead, he stops dead, staring at---at what---

Luke said he saw ghosts. Luke said---

Lando must drop his datapad, because the shadowy figure startles at the crunch of the casing. A moment later, Ben emerges from the solarium, barefoot, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and shadows beneath his eyes.

He’s just a boy and yet Lando is frozen, watching him move like a thing apart from the galaxy as it is---still somehow cloaked in shadow-blue, dangerous. Ben frowns, reaching out and taking Lando’s arm. His hand is hot, through the silk of Lando’s shirt.

“Lando?” Ben says. There’s rare concern on his face, but Lando only makes a choked-off noise, jerking his arm out of Ben’s grip like it burns. (Maybe it does.)

“Uncle Lando?” Ben repeats, and it’s that. Lando is---uncle. This is his holdson, his nephew, his. It’s fine. They’re all fine.

“I’m---I’m fine. It’s...it’s fine.” Lando forces himself to exhale, to bend down and pick up the cracked datapad and smile, weakly. “What are you doing in the iota east sector this late anyway? Come on, let’s...go back.”

Ben walks a step or two ahead of Lando, the tail of the blanket trailing behind him like a cloak. Lando swallows a rising tide of nausea and shuts his eyes, walks the rest of the way blind. Listening to the sound of Ben’s bare feet on the stone, and taking comfort in its humanness.

��Kid’s too pale to be yours,” Umlale says, and Lando doesn’t have to turn his head to know she’s smirking. He rolls his eyes, though he knows she won’t be able to see it through the thick protective goggles.

It’s easy to track Ben through the maze of the processing plant, taller than any of the other techs, the bright green trainee helmet bobbing amid the flow of grey-blue. He’d given Lando the blackest, nastiest look when Lando announced he was being reassigned. Lando had definitely not enjoyed that more than he should have.

“Son of some friends from the war.”

“Must not be very good friends,” Umlale says, and Lando does turn to look at her then. Her luminous eyes wink out from behind the goggles, yellow-green and still uncanny, even after fifteen years of being head of plant operations. Lando always thinks he should be used to it by now; he never actually is.

“What do you mean? He’s my holdson, the kid’s basically family.”

“And you couldn’t get him some swank job in the upper levels?” Umlale asks, her long antennae flicking forward. “Holdson of the Baron, you’d think you could have him making rounds in the casino or overseeing the resorts, working on...outreach, or whatever slick word you’ve come up with to sell the City as more than just a mining colony.”

Lando tries to imagine Ben outreaching to anyone, about anything.

(He pictures...fire. A lot of fire. And people screaming.)

He plays it off with a smirk. “Are you saying that plant tech maintenance isn’t solid work?”

Umlale’s eyes blink, and her whole thorax twitches, in the way Lando knows is as good as a shrug. “It’s solid work. But it’s dirty, and hard. Not the kind of work a Baron gives to family.”

“Unless,” she added after a moment, “you don’t like your family very much.”

“The boy could stand to get his hands dirty,” Lando says, but Umlale is still watching him with bright eyes. Lando flashes a thin smile, turns away. Ben’s green helmet is nowhere to be seen; he must have moved on with the others, into another sector of the plant.

“His pheromones are strange, I noticed when you introduced him. Like something dead and rotting. I know humans aren’t very good at detecting chemical trails, but I wonder...is that what scares you so much?” Umlale asks, and Lando---

---isn’t quick enough to hide it.

“Oh,” Umlale says, and Lando isn’t sure if it’s his face or his pheromones that give it away. Umlale’s spent enough time scenting chemicals and working with humans, it could be either. “You didn’t know. You thought you distrusted him for no reason?”

Lando opens his mouth, and absolutely does not say, no, I thought I was just terrified that he’d raise his hand up like Darth Vader and wipe out half my city, and there would be nothing I could do to stop him.

“Just make sure he doesn’t accidentally burn the place down, all right?” Lando says instead. “He’s my only holdson, but this is my city. I’d hate to have to choose between the two.”

Lando can hear Ben crying at night sometimes, thrashing in nightmares Lando has stopped trying to wake him from. Lando lies awake those nights, staring up at the ceiling and wondering what in all the hells he’s supposed to do, how---

“I liked him,” Ben says one morning, of the handsome investor who has stopped coming over because he can’t stand the howling cries of Lando’s holdson.

“Did you,” Lando snaps. He promised himself he would not get angry at Ben, he would understand, he would understand because he’d slept with Luke Skywalker a few times, back when Luke was young and less in control. Lando can remember the gold-touch of Luke against his mind, the fundamental strangeness of all that alien power pushing through to his skin. And that was just sometimes---he imagines it’s worse, weirder, having that crazy-making thing in your head all the time. Since before you were born.

(Like something dead and rotting, Umlale had said.)

He has sympathy for the uncanny strength collected in Ben’s hands. It isn’t irritation. It isn’t.

But Ben only flinches and then stares down at his hands for the rest of the meal. Lando isn’t sure what’s in that look. It exists. It probably shouldn’t. That’s all.

“It’s been almost three standard months,” Luke says. He’s pacing, and the holoimage keeps flicking in and out of focus trying to track him. It’s making Lando’s headache worse.

“It’s only been eight weeks,” Lando says, shutting his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to get the headache to ease a little. “Anyway, I don’t know what to tell you. He’s a pretty decent plant maintenance tech now, though. Give him another month, I think he may even be eligible for level two clearance.”

“Lando,” Luke sighs, and Lando wants to laugh at how similar they sound---Ben and Luke, that same tone of disapproval from on high. Maybe it’s Force thing.

“You said he’d be begging to come back! You told Leia!” Luke says, and it’s Lando’s turn to sigh.

“I guess I was wrong.”

“He belongs---”

“I’m not going to force him to leave, Luke. He’s an employee of Cloud City, I can’t fire him without cause, and his residency permit only expires upon his death, criminal conviction, voluntary departure, or termination by the City.”

Luke makes a derisive noise, and Lando cracks open an eye, grinning ruefully. “Sorry, Master Jedi. Some of us have to abide by the bylaws.”

Luke is quiet for a long moment. When Lando opens his eyes, Luke is staring off somewhere into the middle distance, looking---grave, maybe. A little sad. “This is his home,” Luke says finally. His voice is quiet. “This is where he’s safe.”

Lando is silent.

He coaxes Ben to talking to Luke himself, after Lando’s done. He gets a shattered comm box for his trouble, the cracked holoprojector throwing out alarming sparks.

“You can take it out of my pay,” Ben snarls as he stalks out of the room, and the air in his wake Lando can taste electricity, like a stormfront moving in.

Most nights, Lando teaches Ben to cheat at sabacc. “Han didn’t do the honors?” Lando asks, shuffling the deck. Ben shrugs.

“He didn’t want to pass on---that sort of thing.”

For someone who’d always loved the weightless speed of hyperspace, Han carts a lot of shame around. “Well, I was always a better cardsharp than he was anyway. The trick,” Lando says, flicking a card from one hand to the other and back again, “is not to be too flashy, trust your instincts, and never get caught.”

Lando takes him to the Cloud City casino, once he deems Ben acceptable. He makes Ben give all his winnings back afterwards, “Since technically, when you beat the house, it’s me you’re stealing from.”

“Thanks,” Ben mumbles, late one night when he’s sprawled out on the couch and already mostly asleep. Lando is just shuffling the deck back and forth between his hands, thinking about storm season, and whether they’ll make their number for the quarter.

In the dimmed light, his expression smoothed out and hair falling in his eyes, The kid looks much younger this way---like a boy, a child.

“No problem,” Lando says quietly. “Anyway, I imagine using the Force makes this sort of thing easy for you.”

“Yeah,” Ben says. His eyes are shut. “But it’s nice.”

Lando’s finalizing the new durasteel supplier contract---it’s been in the works for over a year and he wants it done; they have some major structural repairs to complete before storm season---which is maybe why he doesn’t notice. He’s distracted, running on a haze of caf and uneasy sleep; it makes sense that the rest of the baronetcy staff are also drawn and quiet, focused on pushing through the deal.

It’s a pity when Eroll quits abruptly, claiming a sick mother on Mygeeto, but Lando understands. And it’s a shame that Onrtia decides to use her vacation time just then, given that she’s one of Lando’s best assessors, but she couldn’t be persuaded to wait until the deal closed. Fedyn asks to be reassigned to a lower level, and so does Geem, but Lando always privately thought they didn’t have what it took to work in the baronetcy.

He doesn’t think anything of any of it until he wishes one of the accounting interns a mild good morning, and she promptly bursts into tears. A meddroid has to be called to sedate her.

(The durasteel supplier contract is put on hold.)

“I had an interesting conversation this morning with Saytini Raum, in the accounting offices,” Lando says to Ben that night at dinner. They’re in Lando’s suites, alone; Lando didn’t want to risk this conversation in the mess hall. He’s still not sure he wants to risk it at all, but all he can think about is Fedyn’s haunted expression, the panic in Onrtia’s voice as she insisted, no, everything was fine, why wouldn’t everything be fine?

Saytini, dosed with sed and her eyes still wide, terrified, saying, I can feel him in my head, moving around. Like maggots.

“What did you talk about?” Ben asks nonchalantly. Or what Lando imagines is supposed to be nonchalantly, the kid has a face like a pane of transparisteel, every emotion reflected there.

For a moment, Lando allows himself hate him, Ben Organa or Solo or whoever he wants to be right now, clumsily affecting innocence. For that moment, Lando hates him with all the fire of Bespin’s burning core.

Then he exhales, and lets it slide away. It’s replaced by a vast weariness. “Why did you do it, Ben?”

Ben smiles. He actually smiles, and Lando wants to be sick. He sets down his silverware with a clatter, but the smile on Ben’s face doesn’t falter. “I wanted to help,” Ben says proudly, and Lando shakes his head, uncomprehending. Ben just smiles. “To repay you for everything you’ve given me.”

“A---what?”

“I wanted to help you, help Cloud City. Eroll was talking about you behind your back, complaining about your leadership, so I convinced him to leave and go home. Onrtia isn’t loyal to you, she just wants to make money before she goes, so I made sure she wouldn’t get commission for the supplier contract. You don’t like Fedyn and Geem, they were the previous Baron’s staff, so I convinced them to get reassigned. Saytini was just...I needed information, and she’s a gossip, she knows about stuff.”

“You...convinced them?”

“With the Force, Luke calls it a mind-trick. I even convinced the other workers at the plant to put in more hours, work harder, without asking for any more pay.”

Ben is still smiling, like he’s expecting praise, a pat on the head. Lando dizzily remembers that he had noticed the uptick in safety incidents at the plant; he’d put it down to a learning curve with the new tech, or maybe the weather---everyone tended to get restless and careless during calms. He’d told the safety director to keep an eye on it and determine if it was a trend, then report back.

Of course it’s a trend. His people---his techs, his miners, his processors and ops staff---have been working until they’re too tired not to hurt themselves.

Lando really will be sick.

“Will it fade?” he asks, keeping his voice as light and neutral as he can.

“Fade?”

“What you---convinced them to do, will that fade on its own or do you have to give them new, different order?”

“I mean, I guess it fades on its own if I’m not around, but I don’t understand, why would you want it to fade? Everything’s going so well! Your profits are up, you’re producing more and purer tibanna than before!”

“Ben, you can’t do that, you can’t...”

“I didn’t make them do anything they didn’t want to, it wasn’t even for me. I was helping!”

The worst part is that Ben looks...genuinely confused, hurt and overeager and it’s too much, it’s all too much. (I can feel him in my head, moving around. Like maggots. Like something dead and rotting.) Lando told Umlale that he would hate to choose between his holdson and his city, but he’s made this choice before. Han or Ben, Darth Vader or no---

It’s the City, every time.

Lando squeezes his eyes shut and braces his hands against the table. The wood is cool against his skin. “Mr. Solo. As of now, your employment with Cloud Securities Limited Incorporated is terminated. Your temporary residency permit will expire twenty-four hours from the processing of termination. You therefore have twenty-four hours to leave the City, or---”

Ben shoots to his feet, knocking his chair to the ground with a crash. “You can’t do that! You promised I wouldn't have to leave! I’m helping!”

“This was wrong, Ben. You...you’ve made yourself a threat to Cloud City and my people,” Lando says, staying seated. He’s not as tall as Ben, but he’s broader, and he suspects he can throw a better punch if Ben gets close enough for it. If Ben decides to use the Force, though---

Ben is breathing shallowly, and all the blood has gone to his cheeks, two spots of blotchy red stark against his paleness. “I’ll stop,” he says wildly. “I’ll stop, I won’t...don’t make me go. I’m sorry. Please, Lando, please, don’t make me---”

Ben doesn’t cry, at least not like Saytini had---he’s white-lipped and gritting his teeth through it, as though outraged that he can’t stop himself. “I was helping,” he says again. "You just don’t want me here, like---everyone else, you’re just like the others, you just---”

Lando sits there and lets him rage, doesn’t even flinch when an invisible strength picks up his plate and hurls it to the wall, smashing it in a thousand pieces. Lando watches his dinner slide, forlornly down the wall; Ben is still yelling. Lando isn’t paying much attention to the words, just the---sound, the boy hurting and lashing out. (When he shuts his eyes Geem is there, trying to smile and failing, just looking twitchy and anxious and uncertain.)

It takes him almost an hour for Ben to wind down again, at which point most everything in Lando’s dining room has been tossed or hurled or smashed.

Ben sinks back into his chair breathing hard, blotchy-red from his neck to his ears.

“I’m sorry, Ben,” Lando says quietly. “I really am, kid. And of course we’ll get you passage to Endor, I’ll take care of it---”

“I hate you,” Ben says with that same ugly, hardened bitterness. “I hate you more than any of them.”

Lando swallows the protest. “You’re still---family, my holdson.”

Ben huffs, his mouth curving into a sneer, and staggers to his feet again. “Family,” he says with that familiar ugly, hardened bitterness. “Sure.”

Lando watches him go and then exhales, puts his forehead down on the table. The woodgrain is cool, and comforting. He shuts his eyes, and simply breathes.

“What did you and Leia fight about?” Lando asks, as they’re standing on the wharf, waiting for Ben’s ship to board. It’s a cold, clear morning, and the sun is brilliant white over the clouds.

Ben doesn’t look at him. “I thought it wasn’t any of your business.”

Lando hums, squinting into the light. “Maybe it should have been.”

The freighter captain calls for boarding, and Ben hefts his pack on his shoulder. He looks at Lando for a moment, then swallows and turns away. Lando watches him go, and says nothing.

#the warry stars #star wars #originally this was going to be ben/lando but uh. I wanted to go much much darker for that so instead you have ben & lando #also #this was.....extremely cathartic to write for personal reasons that I'm trying not to examine too much #ANYWAY #long post for ts #this is a thing I made

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