#although if we got a more traditional sounding song and he pulled what he did in tokio funka and aun no beats. AUGH I love when he does that | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

forever-rogue · 2 years ago

Note

Kiss prompt maybe a holiday theme too? 27. brushing lips together, lingering for a moment, catching your breath and/or 60. mistletoe kisses? With Eddie or Bucky if you can.

AN | No, but this is the softest and sweetest thing🥺🥰

Warnings | Mild Language

Pairing | Eddie x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 2.3k

Masterlist | Main, Eddie

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Ugh,” the two of you groaned in unison at the television. Eddie got some popcorn out of the bowl and tossed it at the screen, causing you to almost lose it as you dissolved into a fit of giggles.

“Eddie,” you were practically beaming at him, at the silly face he made while he watched the main characters on screen finally share their first kiss after almost two hours of vapid plot, “you’re making a mess!”

“It’s worth it,” he insisted as he shoved a few pieces in his mouth before doing the same to you. Your little admonishment held nothing but affection, a fact you were both well aware of, “this is insanely bad!”

“The worst,” you agreed, a bad rendition of some old holiday song playing as the credits started to roll, “why do we do this to ourselves?”

“Because,” he scoffed as though you had just gravely offended him. You playfully rolled your eyes at the boy, but he did his best to keep the serious look on his face, “it’s tradition now. And we can’t break tradition. We must watch cheesy Christmas movies and make fun of them. It’s the law.”

“The law?” you repeated as he answered with a fervent little nod, “and what would happen if we didn’t watch any of said movies?”

“I’d be forced to arrest you and put you in jail.”

“And just what does this jail consist of?” you snorted in amusement as he rubbed at his jaw thoughtfully.

“It’s more of a metaphorical jail,” he mused, “the punishment being that you have to spend every waking - and sleeping - moment with me.”

“That doesn't sound like much of a punishment,” you gently nudged his arm, a delicate warmth settling in your bones at the soft look on his face. You already spent a lot of time with your best friend…if you had it your way, you would have gladly spent every single moment with him, “we’re already together a lot. Although sleeping might be the real punishment. You snore a lot-”

“I do not!” His reply was indignant as he crossed his arms over his chest, which only made you laugh harder, “I do not snore.”

“You do!” you insisted firmly, “and you fart!”

“That’s it,” but you were laughing as he leaned across the couch, hands going to your sides as he tickled you mercilessly. You shrieked in amusement, immediately squirming from how ticklish you were. He pulled you into his lap, an action that he didn’t even think about, but that seemed so effortless and natural. You were still trying to get him to show mercy as you wiggled in his grasp, “I do not snore and do not fart!”

“You do! Mercy - please!”

“Take it back,” his warm, large hands settled on the supple, plump flesh of your hips and waist, fingers ghosting along your bare skin, “do it and I’ll show mercy!”

“Never!” tears were running down your face and Eddie had to admit that he was impressed with your ability to keep going.

“No mercy then,” there was a wicked little smile on his face as he went for the sweet spot that he knew always pushed you over the edge.

“Fine, fine, fine,” eventually you gave in, breathless and crying from all the tickles as you looked at your ridiculously pretty best friend, “you don’t snore or fart in your sleep!”

“There,” a satisfied little smile settled on his features as he stopped his assault of tickles, and settled his hands on your waist, “was that so hard?”

“A little bit,” your pretty, soft lips formed a pout that he couldn’t help but laugh at, “it did hurt my pride a little though.”

“Ahh, well I’m sure you’ll get it back somehow,” it was now that you became aware of just how close the two of you were. Your hands were on his shoulders and he still held you in his lap. It was far from the first time that you’d been this close, but something felt different today. You swallowed the lump in your throat as you studied his pretty honey brown eyes, “and I guess we’ll just have to watch more bad holiday movies so I don’t get subjected to any punishment.”

“Smart girl,” you couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes flicked from yours down to your lips, even if it was just for a moment. A comfortable, warm silence fell over the two of you as he reached up and put his hand on your face, brushing his thumb over the apple of your cheek, You couldn’t help the way you preened into his touch, silently urging him for more, more, more. The corners of his mouth ticked up in a small smile, “you’re really pretty.”

“Eddie,” you both subconsciously leaned in, the tips of your noses brushing against one another. This was it, your entire body screamed at you, this was the moment that your best friend that you’d been in love with for years and years finally kissed you. You could feel his warmth breath fanning across your face, the gentle brush of his soft lips against yours when -

“Eddie!” The door to the trailer slammed open as Dustin and Steve made their miraculous appearance. The two of you pulled apart so fast, sitting on the opposite ends of the couch, that it almost gave you whiplash. Your heart was pounding in your chest with nerves as you refused to look at Eddie, quietly trying to catch your breath and pretend that this moment had never happened, “we’ve decided to grace you with our presence for bad Christmas movie time!”

“Fantastic,” Eddie groaned lightly, “simply fantastic.”

You could feel the boy looking at you, but couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. Instead you made yourself small and used the barrier of Steve and Dustin to keep a distance from Eddie.

So close, so far away.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It seemed like both of you had silently decided that the other night hadn’t happened. At least not the part where you were in his lap and about to properly kiss. Like there was some mutual understanding that neither of you would mention it again. It was a moment of weakness, you decided, a moment of two people that craved physical contact, nothing or nothing less.

But you weren’t about to let that stop you from hanging out with your best friend. He’d been your best friend before, and he would continue to be. You weren’t going to let a momentary lapse of judgment ruin almost a decade of friendship.

Which is how you found yourself at the biggest tree lot in Hawkins, tracking around with Eddie, an ax, and the noticeable distance you kept between yourselves. You were on the hunt of the perfect tree, a tradition that the two of you had started years ago. You were often left home alone to your devices, and Eddie only had Wayne, and you’d basically become each other’s family over the years. Which included picking out a huge tree and putting it up in your house and spending the afternoon decorating it while baking cookies, drinking hot chocolate and watching more bad movies. You weren’t sure if heaven was real or some mystical made up concept, but if it was, you were sure that this was your version of it - with Eddie, all warm and cozy, and in love.

Well - you were in love, smitten in fact, but you’d never tell him that. Why scare him away when you could just keep him as your best friend for the rest of your life?

“Umm, princess?” it was the waving of his hand in front of your face that snapped you back into reality. You looked at him, warmth rising in your cheeks as you offered up an apologetic smile, “you alright there, space cadet?”

“Y-yeah,” no, I was just daydreaming about you again, “totally. Just zoned out for a moment.”

“Hmm,” he mused, but decided not to push the issue. He pointed to the tree to his left, “whaddaya think?”

“It’s perfect,” and perfect, at least when it came to the two of you, meant perfectly imperfect. It was tall, some sections more fluffy than others, and a few odd branches out of place, “I think this is the one we’re adopting. Good eye, bub.”

“I have a way for finding the best treasures,” his eyes locked onto yours as you shied away, “I’ll start chopping if you wanna go paid and then we can get it wrapped up.”

“Sure,” you started to walk towards the entrance of the tree farm when you felt him gently grab your wrist, “what?”

“Here,” he pulled a wad of cash out of his pocket and pressed it into your hand. You shook your head and tried to argue but he wasn’t having it, “just take it. I insist…business has been very good lately. Just listen to me for once without arguing, stubborn little thing.”

“Fine,” you couldn’t fight back the smile as you accepted the money and pressed a kiss to his cheek without thinking about it, “hurry back, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he promised, watching you almost skip away. He pulled off his glove and touched his cheek where his skin had been blessed by your lips. A wistful little sigh escaped his lips before turning back to the tree. You didn’t know it just yet, but he had a plan. A plan that would hopefully finally push the two of you in the right direction.

He could only hope you truly felt the same.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The whole house felt cozy and warm. There was a merrily crackling fire that Eddie had started to stave off the chill of the snow that had started to gently fall. The house seemed like the freshly baked gingerbread cookies you’d spent the early part of the afternoon backing. The living room was taken over by the large Christmas tree and decorations placed through the room. It was your own version of a winter wonderland and it felt so utterly perfect.

You were in the kitchen, popping some corn the old fashioned way, to make things more festive Eddie had insisted, and putting together a platter with random snacks for your movie marathon. You’d been left home alone again, this time all week, and had planned on asking Eddie to stay the night. You didn’t want to make things uncomfortable or weird, so you hoped the opportunity would come up organically. And it wasn’t like it would have been a rare thing for him to spend the night or vice versa, but things just felt…different since the barely there kiss you’d exchanged the week before. And you didn’t want to mess anything up with him.

“Princess?” you heard Eddie’s voice call from the living room, perking up at the soft and affectionate tone he always seemed to have for you, “can you give me a hand real quick?”

“Be right there,” you pumped the popcorn into a bowl, quickly buttering and salting it before turning off the stove and heading over to him, “I hope nothing’s on fire or broken!”

“Not yet,” came his cheeky response. You laughed as you walked over to him, failing to see what exactly he needed assistance with. You stopped in front of him and raised an eyebrow.

“Just what exactly did you need help with, bub? It looks like everything's been handled,” you spied the little glint in his eye as he shook his head. It was then that you noticed that he was hiding something behind his back. Color you curious, “Eddie?”

“I was wondering,” his voice dropped to a whisper as he moved ever so slightly closer to you, “if you could hold this while I secure it.”

And from behind his back he revealed just what he had been hiding from you. Mistletoe. Your heart almost stopped when you looked at it, all pretty and wrapped up with a neat little red bow. A small gasp escaped your lips despite your best efforts as you looked between the mistletoe and Eddie. There was a nervous little look on his face as he anxiously waited for you to say or do something.

“Eddie?” your question was almost inaudible but he nodded sweetly as you took the mistletoe from him and clutched it tightly in your hand, “me?”

“You,” he promised. You. It had always been you. Just like it had always been him. You exhaled with nervous anticipation as you stood on your tippy-toes and held the mistletoe to the top of the doorframe. Eddie pulled out some string, along with a nail and hammer, and quickly secured to the top, letting it hang down over your heads, “merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

“Merry Christmas, Eddie,” you whispered back just as softly as you both leaned in, your entire body feeling like a live wire. He reached up and touched your face, searching your eyes to make sure you wanted this much as he did. And oh. You desperately did.

He closed the little bit of distance between your bodies, one hand cupping the back of your head and the other holding onto your waist as he kissed. Finally, actually, truly kissed you. It was everything you had ever dreamed of and then some more.

Both of you refused to pull apart until you were dizzied and breathless, grinning at each other like the lovesick fools you both were.

“I’m in love with you, you know,” he whispered, his hold on you still strong as though he was afraid to let you go, “have been for a long time.”

“I know,” you beamed brighter than the summer sun as you leaned in to kiss him again. Now that you had a taste of him, you never wanted to go without again, “I’m in love with you too.”

“I know,” he smiled before kissing you softly, “best Christmas ever.”

“Best Christmas ever.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson one shot #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn x reader

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ghost-ghost-baby · 3 years ago

Text

Narcissist (alpha!readerxOmega!Bakugo soulmate au)

An: this is heavily inspired by the song narcissist by younger hunger definitely recommend listening to it!

An: BIG TY TO MY BETA FOR EDITING THIS ABSOLUTE MONSTER OF A FIC WE STAN!

Word count: 3.2k (ur welcome)

Summary: Bakugo being a little shit basically- Mina and Denki r sick of him- reader runs out of scent blockers-

Warnings: omegaverse, swearing, Bakugo being a dick, reader just thinks he’s hot, gets a bit spicy but nothing graphic, non traditional dynamics (subby alphas) drug use (weed)

You were in a familiar room, one you’d come to love since you’d started dreaming of it, and you sat on the bed and waited… any moment now.

“Oi, are you here, shithead?” The voice of your omega was dreamier than it was in real life; his harsh words unable to punctuate the tranquility of your dream.

“I always am, Katsuki!” You chirped, grinning as he slowly faded into existence. The black tank top and jeans he wears make him look far too good, and your brain short-circuited for a few seconds.

“I told you not to fucking call me that!” He growled, but you only laughed. Reaching out to grab his hands before he could stop you, you pull him down so you could kiss him. Any anger he had quickly melted away, and Katsuki had pulled one hand away to rest on your shoulder and pushed back. You got the point, you pulled away for air and leaned back on your elbows as you did. Katsuki followed and straddled you without a moment of hesitation. His mouth latched onto your neck and you let out a hum. With one hand gravitating to tangle in his hair, he gave you another push that had you lying flat on your back.

“Hey-”

“Shut the fuck up, don’t ruin this.” Katsuki bit down on your throat and you squeaked, although he licked over the mark seconds later to soothe it, and only pulled away to kiss you when you tried to talk again. You melted, let your hands wander down to his thighs, and had your thumbs rubbing absent-minded circles. Then, Katsuki was unbuttoning the shirt you had on, hands quickly trailing lower to-

“Y/N! Did you hear what Mr. Aizawa said?” Mina’s voice brought you back from the dream you had the night before, and you blinked at her as you blanked.

“No way I'm working with their dumbass!” Katsuki snarled as Kiri forced him into a seat at your table, and you turned your head to Sero with a questioning look. He usually knew what was going on in class.

“We have a group project for a presentation, Mr. Aizawa picked the groups-”

“Oh hell yeah, all my best bro’s working together? Sounds like fun to me!” Denki leaned over to hug you and Mina, and the pieces started to click together. You were working on an art project, with your mate, who hate-

“How could anything be fun with Y/n around, they fucking ruin everything.” Katsuki grumbled to himself, refusing to meet your eyes despite sitting opposite you. Kiri mouthed an apology to you from his seat next to Katsuki. Honestly, you had no idea why he’d decided to act like… such a brat really, but it was just an act, however annoying it was. The two of you were soulmates, he’d come around, eventually.

“Oh hush, Bakugo, Y/n’s a riot and we all know it! You’re the one who goes to sleep at like, 8pm” Denki came to your aid. The electric blonde then pressed a kiss to your cheek that had Katsuki gritting his teeth.

“So, what's the project, guys?” You flipped through your book to a fresh page, resting your chin on your hand as you waited for the others to speak.

“We have to show the versatility of styles and composition under a singular theme!” Kiri was the one that answered you, and the group immediately started throwing around ideas.

“I think we could do horror, a lot of horror artists have different composition styles and still manage to convey the-”

“Tch, that’s the best you could come up with? I’m not surprised, an alpha as shitty as you can’t be capable of any decent ideas.” Katsuki sneered, but you only smiled at him as the group agreed with your idea. Your omega merely grumbled and hunched over in his seat as the group discussed the different artists you could use as examples.

You’d stayed late to double-check something with a professor, and you were still flipping through your notebook as you walked through the unusually empty halls. You weren’t paying attention to where you were going, and before you knew it you ran into someone, the same someone who shoved you against a wall seconds later, but your fear subsided when you realised it was just Katsuki.

“Watch where you’re fucking going, dipshit.” Katsuki wasn’t even sure why he’d pushed you up against the wall, but being this close to you, touching you… it was..nice…

“Tch, god your scent is so weak, you smell like a fucking beta, how’d I get stuck with such a runt, huh? Some sick kind of joke.” Katsuki’s tone didn't match what he was saying. The way he leaned forward to rub his cheek over your scent gland definitely said otherwise, but you stayed quiet, he always found some excuse to scent you, but he’d usually get embarrassed and storm off if you dared to say anything.

“You’re pathetic, you know? Being this submissive for an omega, are you sure you’re not a beta? It’d make more sense.” You bit your lip when Bakugo pressed a kiss to your neck, only hesitating a moment before he started sucking a mark onto your skin. His words bounced right off of you because all you could focus on was how hot he was and how he’d subconsciously put his thigh between your legs and thank fuck you were on scent blockers, or you’d never hear the end of it.

“Really, you aren’t even going to try and defend yourself? You’re even weaker than I thought.” A growl next to your ear made you shiver, and Katsuki pushed away with a snarl when he was satisfied. He cursed at you again and warned you ‘not to tell anyone or he’d kick your ass’ (he wouldn’t) before he walked away, leaving you to walk home with your head completely in the clouds.

“What took you so fucking long, huh idiot?” Katsuki was on you the second you appeared in the dream, pulling you down into a rather ferocious kiss before you could say anything. He bit your lip when you didn’t open your mouth fast enough, swallowing any protests you would have made, and continued to kiss you until you were dizzy. “I’ve been waiting two hours…” He pulled away to kiss under your jaw, and if you didn’t know him so well you’d miss the insecure tone in his voice.

“Sorry, Midoriya wanted-” You stopped when Katsuki growled, biting down so hard you were surprised he didn't draw blood.

“Why the fuck are you saying his name here, huh? Are you tryna piss me off?” He pulled away to sneer at you. You opened your mouth to explain, but the words died in your throat when he unzipped your hoodie, and any coherent thought you had went out the window when he started to kiss your neck.

Everything was ready. The lounge room was set up, complete with snacks, drinks, and stationery for you and your friends to work on the project. They were meant to be here any second, and you couldn’t help but hover near the door to your apartment. You weren’t used to having people over and it still put you on edge having others in your space. But that thought left your head when a knock sounded on your door. You quickly opened it and were almost knocked over by Denki and Mina engulfing you in a hug.

“Thanks so much for hosting bro!”

“Awww you laid out all these snacks and stuff too! An omega’s gonna be really lucky to have you one day Y/n!” They pushed inside. Denki closed the door as Mina oohed and aahed over the setup, their praise had a slight blush rising to your face as you sheepishly rubbed your neck. Sero was next, quickly hugging you before he joined Denki and Mina, then Katsuki and Kirishima last. The blonde pushed past you without saying hello, but Kiri pulled you into a hug so tight you couldn’t breathe for a second, and was complimenting the setup as you took a seat. You tried to sit next to Mina, but Denki let out a whine and the pair was pulling you down between them before you had time to protest. Denki immediately leaned on you once you were settled. Katsuki couldn’t focus on the project, how could he, when his two dipshit friends were all over his mate. And you weren’t even doing anything to stop them! In fact, you were leaning into their hugs and giggling at every stupid joke they made! It had Katsuki fuming. Kirishima was the only one close enough to smell the angry shift in his scent, and he glanced between his friend and you, slowly putting the pieces together. You really had no idea what was happening, but Denki’s head was on your shoulder, and Mina’s arm around your waist as she asked questions about the project, giggling and pressing a kiss to your cheek whenever you got confused, which happened more than you’d like to admit. The blonde gritted his teeth when Mina’s hand went to your thigh, you were his! Nobody else should ever be touching you like that! You should know better! So when you excused yourself to grab something from your room, of course he made up some excuse about needing the bathroom so he could follow you.

The door to your room closed with a click, and you quickly spun around, expecting to see Mina or Denki, anyone except Katsuki to be honest.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He was seeing red at this point. He cornered you and made you stumble back until your waist hit your desk.

“Uh- getting more pens-?” You held out the pack of pens with a confused look on your face that only made Katsuki angrier. How were you so stupid? And so fucking cute when you were- he cut off that thought, he needed to focus on yelling at you. Not the way your brows furrowed and how you nervously bite your lip as you waited for him to say something. Wait- were you blushing? Fuck, maybe he should-

“Katsuki? Are you oka-“

“Shut the fuck up, dipshit.” He snarled. Then, catching you both off guard, he leaned forward and kissed you. Your eyes fluttered closed immediately. He’d only kissed you in your dreams, which was nothing compared to this, and you hesitantly placed your hands on his waist. His hands went to your hair to pull you closer, tugging it until you got the message and parted your lips for him. Katsuki let out a hum of approval as he deepened the kiss, why hadn’t he done this sooner? You couldn’t focus on anything other than how much Katsuki tasted like caramel, he didn’t taste like caramel in the dreams. You couldn’t help but whine when he pulled back. Another insistent tug on your hair had you tilting your head back, and Katsuki didn’t waste any time kissing over your neck. You were so lost in the feeling you almost missed the words he growled against your skin.

“You should know better, you’re mine. Other people shouldn’t be fucking touching you like that.”

“Do you think they’re like…. Finally-” Mina made a hand gesture that had Denki cackling, even Kiri cracked a smile.

“I hope so, it’s getting hard to watch all the back and forth.” Sero sighed, dropped his pen, and stretched.

“Yeah, have you seen how mad Bakubro gets though? It’s pretty fun to push his buttons like this!” Denki grinned as he leaned his head on Mina’s shoulder, and she wrapped her arm around his waist.

“I don’t know… Bakugo’s uh… stubborn, to put it nicely.”

“Your scent is weird… are you wearing a different perfume?” Mina leaned her head on your shoulder, arms wrapped around your waist as you glanced at Katsuki. After whatever the fuck had happened in your room, he’d gone back to acting like he hated you, so, you’d kept letting Denki and Mina do whatever they wanted. He had his eyes fixated on the work, and you turned back to Mina with a smile.

“Oh, sorry about that! I forgot to refill my scent blockers and my doctor’s not available until next week.”

“Don’t be sorry, bro! It’s nice, like really, really nice!” Denki came up behind you, throwing a quick glance at Katsuki before he leaned forward, crooning and rubbing his cheek over your scent gland, Mina doing the same a moment later. The pen Katsuki was holding snapped, his angry scent pumping out in waves as he glared daggers into the book in front of him, all too aware of you laughing.

You were hyper-aware of how strong your scent was, this was the longest you’d gone without scent blockers since you’d presented, and you’d lit a scented candle to try and cover it up. It hadn’t really worked, maybe you should light some incense-

“Y/n! Sorry we’re early!” Mina’s hand on your shoulder broke you from your thoughts, and you shook your head before you smiled. Denki cut you off before you could apologize about your scent.

“Damn Y/n! It smells like you baked cookies- oh my god did you bake-”

“Don’t be stupid, babe, it’s just their scent.” Mina shoved him inside, shaking her head as she followed and closed the door behind her.

“Oh! Of course!” Denki nodded, and he and Mina linked arms with you. They walked you over to the couch and sat you all down with grins on their faces.

“Uh… guys-?” You didn’t trust that look, it never leads to anything good.

“Well, since the project is like, 99.5% done-” Mina started, hand coming up to play with your hair.

“We thought we deserved a reward!” Denki interrupted, reaching into his bag and producing a blunt. You felt your own grin forming.

“Oh my god- is that from-”

“Shinso! You know he sells the best stuff on campus, I decided to splurge for my bros!” Denki looked incredibly pleased with himself, and you couldn’t help but tackle the blonde in a hug.

“Oh my god Denki, you’re the best!”

The three of you were blazed by the time the others got there. Sero happily bounced over to share the blunt, while Katsuki and Kiri just sighed and sat down with you. Katsuki’s eyes instantly zoned in on where you were lying on Mina and Denki on the couch. He was oddly silent as he tried to keep his cool, the nagging thoughts that had always been there slowly got stronger. He’d always had to be strong, people perceived him as weak just because of his dynamic, so he’d rejected the thought of being with an alpha, hoping for a beta or omega. Or you. You never made a big deal out of your dynamic, and always treated him as an equal. Then the dreams started. He loved you, he really did! But his whole reputation would go down the drain if he was claimed by an alpha, especially one with such a weak scent and mild presence. So…. he pretended to hate you in public because the two of you had your dreams, where nobody could judge him! Even if they did pale in comparison to real life. But lately… he couldn’t stop wondering… were you getting tired of waiting? With the way you were acting… the thought made his stomach turn and his canines come out. Especially since you had run out of blockers. Your scent getting stronger and stronger as the days went by. You were his alpha! You shouldn’t be scenting other people! Especially omegas! And you certainly shouldn’t be laying on them while you were ignoring him! You hadn’t even said hello to him! You were too busy getting high with those assholes like you didn't belong to him! You were his, it wasn’t fair!

Mina was the last out of the apartment. She kissed your cheek and winked at you as the door closed. The exhaustion set in as you leaned against the door.

“What the fuck was that?” Katsuki growled and made you startled when you saw him by the table. You only shrugged as you went to pack up the stuff on the couch.

“Denki got us some weed because the project was done-”

“Not that, dickhead! They were all over you!” He marched over to you, trying to ignore how good you smelled up close.

“And? We’re not-” You responded, and Katsuki was shoving you before he realized, ignoring the way you yelped as you fell on the couch. You sprawled on your back and glaring up at him.

“Katsuki! What the fuck!” Katsuki didn’t reply, eyes traveling over your vulnerable form. Flush rose to his face as he realized how provocative the position was, causing warmth to pool in his tummy. If kissing was so much better in reality, what would it be like to be inside you? Feel you clench around him and pull his hair when he hit your sweet spot? Would your thighs shake the same in real life when he just kept going? The omega didn’t even realize his scent had changed, he just licked his lips and stared at you with hooded eyes, fuck he wanted-

“Are you okay? You zoned out.” Fuck, when had you gotten up? You were so close now, your scent overwhelming. He never wanted you to go on blockers again.

“Fuck, Katsuki! Katsuki! Are you in heat?” It finally dawned on you. Katsuki’s scent had taken on a sweeter tone it didn’t usually have, and with the way he kept zoning out, it was obvious. Plus thoughts of him on top of you that wouldn’t leave your brain alone. Your question snapped him out of his daze, and the omega snarled at you, stepping back and stumbling when a jolt of pain went through him.

“Fuck off, like you could trigger-” His voice cut off as another wave of pain went through him, causing you to reached out to steady him without thinking. The omega was going to let out a growl but it quickly changed to a whine as it escaped his mouth. You pulled your hand back like it had burned, although your mate’s temperature was so high it wasn’t out of the question. You took two steps back and froze when a feral snarl ripped through the room, dark red eyes pinning you in your place.

“He-hey Katsuki…” Your voice stopped his growling, and it took every ounce of self-control you had to stay coherent as he advanced, your rut already trying to cloud your judgment. Your eyes darted around the room, maybe you could make it to the bathroom? Then Katsuki could ride out his heat and you could talk about it? yeah. Katsuki was only a foot away from you now, the grin he had on was somehow more unsettling than the snarl, and you shook your head to get some of your resolve back. Okay, three, two, one-

You made it maybe ten centimeters before Katuski caught you, and pushed you back down on the couch. He wasted no time sitting on your lap and tilting your face up to look into his eyes.

“You’re not getting away from me, Alpha. I know you want this. I should have done this months ago.” Sincerity shone through your omega’s lidded eyes, and you felt your small shred of resolve shrink away even more. Your hands flew to his chest to push him away.

“Ka-Katsuki it’s just- just your heat, you don’t mean-“

“Don’t tell me what I do and don’t mean, alpha.” Katsuki was back to growling at you. His hands grabbed your wrists, pinned them down, and used his knees to keep them in place. He went back to cupping your face, red eyes boring into yours as he thought of what to say and a growl leaving him whenever you dared to look away. You were so, so obnoxiously pretty, it made it even harder to focus. Katsuki kept getting distracted by little details, like how your eyes shone and you kept biting your lip.

“You’re so fuckin stupid, ya know that? Of course, I fuckin want you, you’re my alpha- I don’t… I don’t care what other people think anymore, I just want you.” Katsuki’s tone was softer than you expected, and you could only gape at him as a blush quickly rose to your face. You knew he didn’t hate you, but hearing him say that lifted a weight off your shoulders you’d been carrying for who knows how long. The moment passed, all the softness went away as Katsuki leaned down to kiss you, and this time you kissed him back without any reservations.

#bnha #Bakugo x reader #omegaverse #bnha omegaverse #bnha x reader #omega Bakugo #alpha reader #reader insert #omegaverse imagine #bnha imagine

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shurisneakers · 4 years ago

Text

harmless (ix)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, sex jokes, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, anxiety

Word count: 3.9k

A/N: a lot of requests came in last week, so cool and thank you for sending them in!! i’ll try my best to write them if they weren’t originally what i had planned for this series bc they’re so cute kfjdghdf. also hey shoutout to @i-reblog-fics-i-like for suggesting the backstory thing!

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Additional Scene || Previous Part || Series Masterlist

Hot single in your area! 😈 Find your solemate!

Somehow it bypasses Bucky’s spam folder and is in his primary email. SHIELD tech is too advanced to let fake mails like this reach him and this doesn’t make sense. Unless it was one of the stupid dating websites he signed up for.

Leaving aside the obvious typo in the subject, he clicks on it, hoping it doesn’t unleash a virus onto his computer.

He’s instead greeted with a poorly Photoshopped picture of you at a bar with a martini in your hand. He doesn’t have to look too hard to see that the martini is, in fact, an emoji. Off to a terrible start already.

Right beside it is an even worse image, an imitation of an early Internet chat box.

Harbinger of Doom just sent you a message!

Come to the empty lot near lair. Bring goggles. 😩💦

Decline/Accept

He wants to strangle you.

______

“Why did you curse my eyes so early in the morning?” He spots you at the top of the lair, speaking loudly so that it hopefully reached you.

“What?” you yell back down instead. “If you’re saying something, I can’t hear you.”

He rolls his eyes. He pulls his phone from his pocket and presses on your contact.

He watches the look of confusion morph into one of slight surprise when you reach into your pocket and pull out your call.

“Don’t ever send an image like that to me again,” he says directly.

“If that one image is too much for you, how will we ever make our sex tape?”

His mouth opens and shuts like goddamn fish.

He can hear your laughter even without the phone.

“First of all- stop laughing- first of all, a sex tape is never going to happen. Second of all, I have a debriefing to go to, we need to make this quick.”

He holds up a finger when he sees you begin to say something. By the look of trouble painted all over your face, he knows it’s going to be a dumb innuendo.

“Thirdly, why are you standing there?”

“I watched The Last Airbender,” you say once your cackling dies down.

“I like that show.” He did. Peter sometimes watched it when he came over and Bucky more often than not joined in.

“I know, you told me.”

Oh.

“Okay, what now?”

“Put your goggles on.” You take one step towards the ledge.

“What are you doing?” The goggles don’t do anything to shield him from the sun, considering that they’re not tinted. Maybe he could invest in those.

You send him a smile, taking a step further. His walk towards the building turns into a jog, then a sprint when you’re basically standing on the edge.

You spread your arms out like Jesus Christ himself before flinging yourself off the building. His stomach drops.

His phone falls to the ground, discarded to the side as he sprints to break your landing.

It never comes.

Instead, a gust of wind smacks him in the face, forcing him a few steps backwards.

“I am now an air bender.” your eyes shone. “Kind of.”

Just like that, the show was ruined.

He wipes the dust on from his glasses that he now understands why you made him wear. Considerate, for a person who nearly just gave him a heart attack.

“Why.” It’s not even a question, just a statement.

“You know how the Tower has a giant ‘A’ on the side?”

He stares at you.

“I‘m gonna spray paint ‘asshole’ on the side of it.”

Pepper would not like that.

“That’s not even evil.”

“Yeah, but it’d annoy your super friends,” You do a flip midair, testing out the repulsors that were tied around your palms, “and I’m the voice of the people.”

You’re too high for him to reach. He doesn’t have his tools, or anything useful on him considering that he never had to use them before. He couldn’t even launch himself at you from the side of the building because you’d just move out of the way. He could jump really high but it would just have the same consequence.

He could talk and keep you distracted but that worked once, it wouldn’t again. At least not for long.

Fuck, he really had only one option.

He leaves you to do your somersaults and turns, walking over to where he dropped his phone. It’s an upgrade from the brick he was using a while ago, but not a high end Stark model. A smartphone, but barely.

He sighs, punching in the number and holding it up to his ear.

“Who are you calling?” you yell from above him.

“Go back to your shitty aerobics,” he yells back.

You pause for a second. “Was that a fucking pun, James Bar-”

The dial tone ends when someone picks up. He diverts his attention back to the call.

“Hey man, I-

“No.”

“You didn’t even let me finish.”

“It’s probably something stupid,” Sam doesn’t even sound annoyed, just uninterested.

“I need your wings.”

“I was right. Bye.”

It was a long shot anyway.

“Fuckin’ hold on a second.” He sees you disintegrate a concrete block by having it drop from the air. “You come here and fix this, then. She’s air bending now.”

“...like Avatar?” Sam unsurprisingly got the reference.

Peter’s interests were usually shared by everyone in the Tower, just because they had to compensate for the teasing he had to endure. It led to a lot of geeky documentaries and occasional musicals. Bucky wouldn’t be caught dead humming songs from Thoroughly Modern Millie under his breath.

“Yeah.”

“You want me to come and fight your girlfriend,” he says slowly.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Bucky urges, “and yes, I need help. Can’t exactly reach her when she’s twenty feet above me.”

“We have a briefing in 30 minutes. Why did you even go there today?”

He doesn’t know how to answer that. Just looks up at you smacking one of the repulsors against your thigh when it sputters for a second. It’s tradition.

“Well?” Bucky ignores his question.

“Fine,” Sam’s voice is distant for a second as he agrees. “Clint’s asking if he can come too.”

“Fuck no.” One of them was more than enough and Sam was way better at negotiation.

He hears a faint profanity from who he assumed was Clint before the call cuts.

He takes a seat on the ground and waits.

“You’re not going to make any effort to stop me?” You have your arms pressed to your side, palms pointed downwards to keep you afloat.

“I could just throw things at you again.” He makes a mention towards the small pebbles.

“I will fuck you up if you even try,” you warn. He lifts his arms in surrender. “So that’s it. You’re just going to sit there.”

“To be honest, I couldn’t care less if you painted the building,” he says with the least amount of interest he could muster, not that that was very hard.

“Do you not like your team?”

“I do.” He isn’t lying. “But they’re little shits.”

“I can draw a couple of dicks on their window, no problem,” you say offhandedly.

He looks up at you through his fingers. “That won’t be required.”

Although it was appreciated.

“Cool, so then I’m gonna go.” You make a mention of the utility belt on your waist. He looks at the many spray cans that decorate it.

“What colour are you going with?” he interrupts quickly. Fuckin’ Sam. What was the point of wings if he couldn’t get here in 2 minutes?

“Red, probably.” You look down. “I got purple and white just in case.”

“Building’s dark, red is good.”

“You really don’t care, do you?” You lower yourself down to the ground, a few feet ahead of him. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” For fucks’ sake, Sam. “You really don’t like superheroes, do you?”

“I don’t have anything against them.”

“Then why do you do this every week?”

This was wading into personal territory and he did not like it.

“Well.” Your eyebrows knit together. “Because I want to. It’s fun.”

“No other reason?”

“Do I need to have another reason?” You push your palm downwards, sending you back up into the air. “Can’t I just be evil because I want to?”

“Sure,” he says. He’s heard worse reasons. “Why not?”

“Besides, if you think I don’t like superheroes then you should meet Jake.”

“Who’s Jake?” He hadn’t ever heard you mention him before because he’d remember if you had.

“My roommate.”

“I didn’t see him when I came over.”

“That’s because we’re not conjoined at the hip.” It takes you a second to stabilise. “Besides, he grabbed the water while I got the bracelet but he refused to come say hi.”

Bucky looked down at his wrist. It was still there. He found himself fidgeting with it more often than not.

“He hates superheroes?”

“He has a valid reason.” Your eyes widen in worry when your head suddenly dips.

“What is it?” He knows the height at which you’re at isn’t very dangerous but if need be, he’s close by.

“Come find out.” Your eyes shone mischievously. “But yeah, no reason for me to be evil.”

“Not even a tragic backstory?”

“None. But if you want it, I can give you one, Barnes.” You test the waters, seeing how long you can lie horizontally. “Can’t promise you’ll like it though.”

“Try me.” He has time to kill. He’s a good listener.

“Well, it all started with my family- a troop of gorillas.” You flip over to lie on your back. “They practically raised me, they did. Until my gorilla mother died and I was all but consumed by grief and-”

“Your mother was a gorilla?” He entertains the notion.

“Or was it my father?” you ask thoughtfully. “I don’t know, I don’t remember. Anyway, I met a-”

“Just to clarify, none of this is real, right?” he interjects.

You stare at him. He stares at you.

“Bucky, that’s the plot of Tarzan,” you say slowly, “or at least whatever I remember of it... which I’m beginning to realise isn’t much.”

“Just clarifying.” He leans back again.

“Anyway so then when my mother, the deer-”

“Gorilla.”

“Whatever. Was killed, I escaped to some place-”

“Where?”

“Somewhere. And I stayed with these seven men-”

“Why seven?” He actually remembers watching this movie with his sister when it came out. An early memory, a bit faded. He remembers how long he saved up for the ticket.

“Because character development. And then I realised the reason my life was so weird was because there was a rat controlling me by pulling on my hair-”

“What the fuc-”

“If you ask any more questions, I’m going to stop.”

Bucky blinks at you. “So that’s your backstory.”

“Raw and uncut, baby.”

“Just to get this straight, your mother, the gorilla deer-”

“Witch.”

“Huh?”

“She was a witch who stole my hair.”

“Wha-”

He’s interrupted by the giant shadow cast by something that flies overhead.

Fucking finally.

He doesn’t even have to look up. Sam does a small glide to the ground, landing gracefully beside him.

Bucky finds you speechless but straightened up from your earlier posture.

“Buck,” Sam greets him.

“Sam,” he says in return, getting up from his place.

A grin spreads across your face. “Mr. Sam Wilson. No way.”

“You’re Y/N, I’m assuming?” Sam offers, posture relaxed. He clearly wasn’t here to fight.

“The one and only.” You tear your eyes away from Sam to glare at Bucky. “Barnes, if you had told me we were expecting guests, I would have dressed better.”

Bucky furrows his eyebrows in suspicion at you. You’d dress up for Sam.

You dressed up like a suburban tourist dad for him. He was feeling the offence incoming.

“Can’t count on him to be useful in any situation.” Alright, he did not call Sam just to have the both of you team up against him.

“Normally I’d agree with you but he did just invite you here, so...” you trail off, looking at Sam expectantly.

What the shit.

Sam smirks. Bucky switches rapidly back and forth between the both of you.

“I see why Buck keeps coming back every week.” It doesn’t take long for him to catch on, enlisting a feeling of triumph from you.

“I can’t see why he doesn’t just stay at home everyday if this is the view.” You gesture to him.

This is not what Bucky wanted.

“Okay,” Bucky interrupts, “what is going on here?”

“Pure chemistry, I’d say.” You’re half tempted to bite your lip to seal the deal.

“I agree.” Sam just nods, completely and utterly serious.

You think that you’ll give him a gift basket just for playing along despite meeting you for the first time at that moment.

“Get a room.” Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Maybe we will.” You tap your finger against your lip in thought. “How do you feel about Indian food, Sam?”

“Very positively.”

Bucky grits his teeth. “If you’re not planning to spray paint the Tower, can you just hand over the repulsers so we can go home for the day?”

You let out a small tsk in disapproval. “See what I have to deal with?”

“Can’t imagine how you do it every weekend,” Sam says dryly, not wasting a second in replying.

“Hello?” Bucky waves his arm around. “She’s the villain here.”

“Your face is the villain here.” You tear your eyes away from Sam only to glare at him. “He won’t even wear a cape. Why am I the only one who brings their A-Game every week?”

“Sam just get the damn-”

“You should wear a cape, man.” Bucky’s absolutely sure that even Sam knows it’s a ridiculous idea.

“I’m not wearing a fuckin’ cape,” he grumbles.

“What are your thoughts on swords, then?” Your finger finds a place under your chin in deep contemplation. “You’d look great with a sword.”

Bucky buries his face in his palms. “Sam, for the love of God.”

“Okay, alright.” Sam finally gives in with a small chuckle. He runs a few steps to get a small head start before launching himself into the air, whizzing past your levitating figure. He does a neat little flip midair before matching your height.

Showoff.

“How difficult are you gonna make this, Wilson?” you ask, a smirk on your face.

“Jesus Christ.” Bucky exhales, looking at the both of you through his goggles.

“What’s your play here?” Sam calls out loudly.

“Was gonna spray paint ‘asshole’ on the side of the Tower.”

“After the ‘A’?”

“After the ‘A’,” you confirm.

“Now that’s too small,” Sam tutted. “You gotta think bigger. Paint the whole Tower.”

“Sam!” Bucky looks horrified.

“Hmm.” You look like you’re considering it. “Don’t have enough paint for that though.”

“You’re an evil genius, right?” Sam casts a small glance at Bucky. “At least that’s what he tells me.”

“You talk about me?” You grin at the disgruntled man on the ground.

“I don’t,” he mutters, shaking his head. A lie.

“Yeah, so build something,” Sam points out. “Get some more paint. I’ll even tell you the best vantage points to spill it.”

“No, he won’t,” Bucky shouts from below.

“He’s just cranky because he didn’t get his prune juice this morning, ignore him,” Sam dismisses him.

Prune juice? He was a young 100, not ancient.

“What’s your favourite colour, Falcon?”

“I like red.”

As annoyed as Bucky is right now, he stores that away in his memory for later. He also knows Sam loves seafood and a good pair of shoes.

“A couple of gallons of red paint it is, then.” You lower yourself to the ground, Sam slowly follows suit until he lands beside Bucky.

“You know we can’t let you go without taking those, right?” Bucky tilts his head towards your invention.

You narrow your eyes at him. He doesn’t budge.

“I’ll tell ya what,” Sam pipes in instead. “I’ll keep them until you finish getting the paint and once you’re done, we’ll make an evening out of vandalising the Tower.”

Bucky may not enjoy his company all that much but he admires Sam’s diplomacy. Of course, you would never make it this easy while reasoning with him.

“That a promise, Mr. Wilson?” You raise your eyebrow at him questioningly but are already in the process of removing the things from your hand.

“Wouldn’t ever lie to you, doll.” He holds up his hand in a mock swear.

You walk towards Bucky and him, rotating your wrists to get rid of the soreness. “Bold claim for a man who met me ten minutes ago.”

“Feels like it’s been longer.” He sends you a wink and you can’t stop the laugh the escapes from you finally.

Bucky holds his hand out for the gadgets. You shrink away from him with a click of your tongue.

“Technically, he takes this round.” You send a nod towards Sam, dropping off the repulsors into his hand. “So he gets it.”

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“You gonna keep ‘em safe?” you ask Sam, this time a little more earnestly.

“Guard it with my life,” he says seriously, pressing his lips together in a line to avoid smiling.

“You’re both ridiculous,” Bucky cuts in.

“You’re going to be late.” Sam tucks the devices into his pocket safely. “You know how Steve gets when people walk in on his speeches. Do you even have a ride?”

“Got the motorcycle.”

“See you there.” Sam nods.

“Save me a place,” Bucky says to him.

“No.” He doesn’t even hesitate. “Y/N. It was a pleasure.”

“Still holding you to that evening, Sam.” You send him a smile.

“I’m countin’ on it.” He gives you a small three finger salute before taking off, leaving you staring after his retracting figure.

When the dust settles, Bucky awkwardly clears his throat. “Right. So that was that.”

“Dude,” you let out an exhale. “he’s so hot.”

He murmurs something unintelligible. It vaguely sounds like a series of threats but mostly a list of complaints.

“Don’t you have a meeting to get to?” You turn your attention back to him.

“Yeah.”

“Aren’t you going to be late?” You glance at the clock on your phone.

“I’ll just tell them I was on a mission.” Well, sort of. “Besides, what are they gonna do? Kick me out?”

“Fair enough.” You shrug. “Have a safe ride back.”

From what he knows of you and Sam, the both of you were kidding around. But he could never be too sure. He can’t even ask if you were serious about the entire thing because it’s none of his business.

Were the implications of having his mortal nemesis and other mortal nemesis date important enough to overrule that?

“Are you planning to skip your meeting, or?” you ask when he remains freezes in his spot, eyes glazed over like he’s thinking about something. “Because if you are, I know this great Thai place-”

“Don’t do that again,” he says instead, shaking his head to jolt him out of his thoughts.

“What?”

“Flinging yourself off roofs like that.”

“Why?” Because it scared the hell out of him, for one.

“Just don’t.”

“Oh please, like you’ve never done dangerous shit like that before.” You narrow your eyes at him, reading his face. “Are you telling me you care about me?”

“No.” His nose twitches. “Just don’t throw yourself off buildings when I’m around.”

“What about when you’re not?”

“As long as I’m not there to witness it.” He shrugs, spinning on his heel to leave. Technically he preferred if you didn’t do things like that at all.

“Fine. I’ll just have my clone try out all the dangerous stuff for me.”

He stops in his tracks. “You have a clone?”

“Well,” You squint, “no. But I’m working on it.”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “Bye Y/N.”

“You know, it sounds an awful lot like you’re saying we’re friends.” Your whole demeanour changes and he already knows what’s coming.

“I never said that,” he argues vehemently. “All I said was that I can’t have your murder on my hands.”

“Thus implying that we’re friends. In a fucked up, enemies kind of way.” You positively beam at him. “Aw, Barnes, that’s adorable.”

Adorable? Adorable?

“I hate you.”

“I love you, too, bestie,” you gush, dumb grin on your face. “I’ll make us friendship rings next time. What are your thoughts on matching tattoos?”

He wants to cry.

______

By the time Sam walks into the meeting room, the session’s already begun. He shoots an apologetic look to a monologuing Steve before taking his place at the nearest chair available.

Something sharp pokes his thigh. His wings are off and in the backpack beside him, but then he remembers your little inventions that were still in his pocket.

He tries not to make much of a noise while he pulls them out, giving them a look over to make sure they’re not broken.

“Watcha got there, Big Bird?” Tony asks lowly from beside him.

“Something that Barnes’ enemy made.” Sam holds it up slightly.

“The one he’s been rendezvousing around town with every weekend?”

“That’s her.” He’s about to put it in his backpack when Tony stops him.

“Pass that here for a second.” He recognises it immediately for what it is, interest piqued.

Sam hands one of them over while he puts the other back in the bag. It’s a metallic circle, not bigger than Tony’s palm, with a thick leather strap to tie it around your palm.

“She made this?”

“Why don’t you ask him?” Sam mentions towards Bucky who silently slips into the conference room, standing in the corner near the potted plant since there were no more chairs left.

“The balance has gotta be off on this thing,” he mutters to himself, wholly ignoring the brooding man standing in the corner like a Christmas tree.

“She seemed to be manoeuvring it fine,” Sam catches the eye of a lower ranking agent who makes the mistake of glaring at him for talking while the meeting was going on. A few seconds later the agent hastily looks away and doesn’t turn around for the rest of the hour.

“Could be better.” He uses a much more intricate model for his suits, although this isn’t even half-bad for a homemade version. “Do you know how long she took to make this?”

“Buck says she comes up with a new one every week, so I’m guessing that long.”

It had a few glitches but it was incredibly refined for a week’s worth of work.

“Interesting.” He gives it a quick overlook before handing it back to Sam who drops it into the bag.

He casts a swift glance at Bucky, noting how he wasn’t even paying attention to the meeting but rather to whatever he had tied around his metal wrist, fidgeting with it with his thumb.

Tony has an idea.

And that was generally bad news.

Next part

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #harmless fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

1K notes · View notes

soleilsuhh · 4 years ago

Text

— the four times you almost said ‘i love you’ [and the one time he did].

pairing. jaehyun x gender neutral! reader.

genre. angst. fluff. best-friends-to-lovers. mutual pining. high-school/college au.

word count. 1.5k words.

i. the first time you almost said it — you were both fifteen, and you were at your friend’s birthday party.

the music was so loud that it made your skin tingle and you could feel your heart beat in accordance to the thump of the bass. you liked this song. you liked it because it wasn’t just any song — “our song,” he had called it the past few months when you first discovered it together at a small, local record store. and right now, he looked back at you with that knowing grin and before long, he was leading you towards the dance floor despite your unsure protests.

when you reached there, a distant, faded chatter could be heard as he pulled you closer. he dropped his head slightly, his voice raised to a slight yell over the music, “i asked the dj to play it!”

you feigned an offended look, “i thought it was our song!”

your best-friend flashed you that half-grin you hated and loved so much, “it still is,”

the music got louder, drawing you in. and soon, you were dancing with him. at one point, you asked him to spin you around and he did: he spun you round and round in circles until you almost stumbled against him and you would have fell over if it weren’t for his quick reflexes and hands that held you up.

the joyous sound of laughter rang in your ears — yours and his. what a beautiful sound, you thought, you liked it even more than the music. then as he helped you straighten up, both of you still lost in the moment, the words almost came out of your mouth: “i love —” you stopped yourself but he caught on.

“yeah?” he yelled over the music.

you gave him a smile, “i was gonna say i love this!”

a lie. the truth was you were going to say you loved him. you loved him; how could you not when he was smiling at you like that?

ii. the second time you almost said it — it was during the summer holidays; you were both sixteen. together with his mom and dad, he was over at your parent’s house for dinner. you were sitting across from each other at the dining table. your mom and his mom had been very close friends since high-school and it was an unspoken tradition they made up to have dinner at one another’s house every other weekend.

you were honestly losing interest as the adults continued their conversation. and so of course, your eyes found their way to him, with his plain black t-shirt and his hair neat except for that particular strand that fell across his eyebrows.

from across the table, he caught your eyes and as he smiled, your eyes drifted to the pair of dimples that appeared on his cheeks; seeing them, it made you smile, which in turn, made him smile even more. and soon you both sat there, forgetting about your surroundings and the food that was getting cold as you grinned at each other, trying to stifle the giggles that were threatening to tumble out of your mouths.

“okay, you two, stop making goo-goo eyes at each other and eat your food,” you heard your mom say beside you.

you were abruptly pulled back to reality and you averted your gaze, feeling the warmth spread on your cheeks. “mom, seriously,” you managed to mutter.

“the food is delicious as always, mrs. [y/l/n],” jaehyun said.

that made your mom smile affectionately at him like he was her own son, which again, made you smile as your heart filled with warmth. and just like that, you almost said it to him, but you swallowed the words by quickly gulping down a glass of water. it scared you how natural it felt to almost say it even in front of your family and his.

iii. the third time you almost said it — it happened a few weeks after your seventeenth birthday.

you were pressed against the couch, his hands on either side of your head. it started as a harmless play-fighting after bickering about which movie to watch but one thing led to another and now you were here.

heat rose from your stomach to your chest and then to your face. his lips were getting closer and your heart raced, the scent of him suddenly hyptonic. “erm — your lips are getting very close to mine,” you said, voice breathless and barely above whisper.

“i know,” he said quietly, pausing. “should i stop?”

you almost shook your head ‘no.’ don’t stop, you wanted to say. but you pushed him away slightly which was enough indication for him; he looked at you for a moment, his eyes held a look that resembled too much like hurt for a second but almost immediately, he gave you that half-smile again. he pulled away and instinctively rubbed the back of his neck. you also slowly sat up and both of you looked at anywhere else but each other.

you thought that maybe this was the time to tell him; if not now then when?

just as you were about to say those three words, he spoke cooly, “it’s alright, we don’t need to talk about it,” he had decided to revert his attention back to the movie catalogue on netflix, like nothing happened. “i guess we can watch the one that you wanted to...” he mumbled, casually.

your heart ached but you simply said, “yeah, sounds good,”

iv. the fourth time you almost said it — it was the year you were both moving away for college — yours was not that far from home but him...he was going abroad.

in the gloom of the moonless night, your fingers almost touch as you walked side-by-side. you knew this was a good-bye; he was leaving in the morning and although you had barely succeeded trying not to think about it while spending the whole day with him, everything felt too real right now and you couldn’t ignore the dull ache in your heart. heavy, the air seemed as the sight of your house got bigger with each step you took. you wanted to prolong this moment with him and yet you wanted it to be over soon.

as you reached in front of your house, you finally looked at him with a mask of contentment. you wished him well with a voice that sounded like you and yet it didn’t.

“you’re acting like we won’t ever see each other again,” he almost scoffed but you could see the sadness welling in his eyes behind that smile.

just say it, a voice inside your head told you. but instead, you just gave him a soft smile, “see you tomorrow at the airport,”

you couldn’t help but think about how this would be the last ‘see you tomorrow’ for a long time.

“okay,” he said.

you turned around to go but before you could take two steps, he grabbed your hand. you stared at each other for a long second.

“i, erm —” he paused then said, “don’t be late tomorrow,”

“i won’t be,”

another long second of just wordlessly looking at each other until he finally let go of your hand and you walked away.

v. the one time he did — it had been a little over a year since you last saw each other.

you were both back at your hometown for the summer holidays and for two months, you had been inseparable. your days blended together seamlessly and something between you felt more than just simple friendship. you were going on dates without calling them dates, you were sleeping over at each other’s places, making breakfast together, even something as little as grocery shopping, you did it together. you spent time with his family and he spent time with yours.

and right now, you were in his old bedroom, flipping through the photo albums with him, pointing out each embarrassing pose, expression, and making fun of each other. you loved how you were also there in the photographs and amidst the laughter, your eyes almost stung with a realization as you looked at him, sitting in front of you on the bed; this was the boy you had known for more than half your lives, the boy you you fell in love with since you were fifteen, the boy who was the cause of your many happy moments, the boy who was the reason for the sleepless nights —

you were in such a daze and so lost in your own thoughts that you weren’t sure if you dreamed this moment to life, but there was raw emotions in the way he looked at you and in the ways his fingers curled around yours as his face inched closer.

“erm, jae, your lips are getting a little too close...”

a rush of deja-vu hits you.

“Mm,” he said, “do you want me to stop?”

you looked at him for a long second, and this time around, you met his lips half-way. with a single kiss, you could feel the aches and the pains of all those years gradually lifting. you parted for a moment and you felt that all-too familiar feeling again, bubbling up inside you.

“i love you,”

the words hadn’t come out of your mouth but his. you tensed and stared at him before you felt your whole being soften from the look in his eyes. you could feel yourself letting go and for once, you didn’t stop yourself.

“i love you too,” you whispered, and you said it again louder, “i love you,”

he smiled. there it was again; the smile of his that made you smile.

he squeezed your hand, “i know, y/n,” he said, his voice was low and tender, “i know,”

597 notes · View notes

namjoonchronicles · 4 years ago

Text

impression | yg

↳ genre fluff, domestic, established relationship

↳ words 5.5k

↳ summary many forgot that when you marry someone, you marry their family too, at least that’s how Asian family is like

↳ warning that side of adulthood, lockdown because of pandemic, self-worth, over-sensitivity, pisces dude, married life conflicts

↳ song ariana grande ‘pov’

Just this morning you woke him up with ‘Daechwita’ blasting on his ear drums, dancing and prancing around the home gym in your spandex bra and sweatpants, rapping to every word he wrote, with more swag than ten Yoongis combined. Forehead glistened with sweat, rosy cheeks and more life in you than he ever had. He leaned by the door sill just watching in utter disbelief and renewed admiration to just how much you loved his music. It never gets old. But how the tables have turned, two minutes before midnight.

You’ve locked yourself in the bathroom, him leaning his back on the wall, speaking through the closed door, calling out for you.

“Talk to me. Please… Say something. Anything,” he puts his lips inches away from the door, covering his hand over his mouth to direct the sound towards you, hoping it would get through. Fat chance, but at least he tried.

Must be something in his drink last night for him to hear his own song even when he is sleeping, Yoongi thought. But he didn't drink last night? Yoongi pulled the duvet down his head, contorting his entire face and the blaring boom bass music, rippling through the miniature figure standees of famous baseball players he had lined up on the TV cabinet. The music was so loud, the pictures hung on the walls began rattling at each beat drop. Where is this music coming from??

Two seconds in, and the empty spot next to him spoke volumes. All answers were as clear as day.

Yoongi sat up on the bed, duvets pooled around his waist as he yawns loudly and his bed hair flopping on either side leans towards, some baby strands standing in all directions. He scratches his arms, neck and belly as he comes awake. Face puffy, eyes barely open, and cheeks as circle as they could be. He gathered the duvet to the side and pushed himself off to the edge of the bed while shoving his feet into his indoor slippers. He tried to fetch his phone from the bedside table and saw it vibrating on its own from the loud music.

"Better stop her before the neighbours come complaining…"

He waddles about the room lazily, dragging his feet, his arm reaching for the switch panel before he even arrives to have the curtain open and let the sun in. The automated curtain aligned and folded creases perfectly as it gathered itself to each designated side. The bed, the bed will be made up later after he advises his wife not to deafen the whole neighborhood with his albums and he could finally think.

The teal-colored walls that extended along the hallway of the house, decorated with wedding pictures, family pictures, his signed baseball jerseys, picture of his basketball days (the one he jumps for a slam dunk and especially proud of, you know the one), your graduation picture (with him professionally photoshopped in) and some lovely polaroids of your first unofficial date that he insists was official. More on that later. Yoongi walks pass this memory lane with a stern face, shooting glares ahead, marching in the direction of the music, which seems to be coming from the gym. What he saw was a petite figure, all hyped up, sweaty, holding up a water bottle to your lips like a microphone, mouthing his rap like it was your own. You saw him in the mirror reflection but instead of coiling away, shy, you spat his rap to his face with flaming confidence. Yoongi looks down with a shy smile, eyes turning small and polite, skin blushing pink with second hand embarrassment. His face is hot and your sweaty skin, hair plastered to your neck and forehead, in revealing spandex was not helping. Neither is your swag. He clamped his lips with his teeth while you pulled his arm so he would join you. He protested lazily but didn't resist as hard. He throws his head back, whining dejections but you couldn't care less.

"Are you making your own concert here? Plagiarising my songs?"

You heard him and grinned widely at the mirror. He folded his arms and watched you dance seductively and just as the rap got to the 'my tongue sends boys and girls to China' part, the music stops and he is no longer next to you but by the stereo and turning it off.

"Yoongi! I was working out!" "People are gonna come and complain…" "They know who you are…" "They know my name from you…"

Screaming underneath him, that's what he meant. You rolled your eyes at him. He passed you a face towel with a sheepish smile. Wiping your face with it, you watched Yoongi unplug your phone from the sockets. It reveals several missed calls from your mother in law, Yoongi's mom.

"Mom called…" "Really?"

You moved closer to him to see. Yoongi reads the message she sent you outloud and the colors drained down your face.

"What do I cook? What do I do? What does she usually have for lunch? OMG, I don’t know. Do we even have kimchis left? I hadn't restocked…" "She likes fried dumplings and soy garlic chicken stew… it'll be okay. She said she is coming around noon. It's just a little over 8 am… Go take a shower."

You scurried to the bathroom and did as told. Yoongi made the bed while he waited. He turns the cordless vacuum cleaner on but it beeped soullessly because it wasn't charged. He sighed. You always forget to charge them after using them. He opted for a broom and dustpan instead. Yoongi disappears into his home studio, to take the shampoo he had been using and after-shower lotion for you to use. He twisted the knob, knowing you wouldn't lock them when you shower. Knock on the glass door of the shower and told you to use them. You nodded, passing him a look over your shoulder but he was out as quickly as he entered. That cold, cold steely husband.

You stepped out of the shower wrapped in towels with your hair dripping wet, hurrying to the hairdryer to dry your hair. Yoongi walks in with nothing but a towel around his waist. He passes you a chaste kiss on the shoulder first, then your cheeks before he continues to unravel his briefs and showered as well. The water trickles down his face, neck and shoulders, cascading down his speckless back, over the bum of his ass and wetting his happy trails at the same time. He aggressively rubs water over his face, the tips of his hair appear darker as it gets wet. You dressed up in your oversized hoodie, a pair of jeans and red converse, hair tied up in a bun, grabbing your purse for a quick run to the store. If your mother in law is coming, the least you could do is cook an all korean cuisine, prep nicely on the table so she knows that her son was taken care of nicely. Giving her a lasting good impression was your core priority as of now. And Yoongi would have been more than happy to do the grocery for you but this time, just this once, you want to show him that you are dependable too.

If there is anything you learned from korean cuisine is that food is prepared meticulously like you would, a form of art. Everything is placed neatly on a plate, and wrapped tightly. Taste and looks must be perfect. Everything had a sequence. Tradition and culture shapes the good people of Korea to what it is today. And for Daegu native, Yoongi's deep accent and habits become one of the most significant traits that flags a Daegu representative. You are obsessed with getting it right. Although you mostly don't understand the heavy accents he tends to let slip out once in a while, you were expecting to guess the words as it comes. His accents are one of the things that you loved about him. Daegu dialects are strong, and oozing masculinity. They are often direct and unapologetic so it might be heard as harsh. You couldn't tell apart if he is cursing or if he is just plainly just talking about his day when his friends stop by. He caught you a few times, staring blankly at him when he blurted out dialects out of frustrations, and he laughed them off when you accuse him of lying to you about what the words actually mean.

With his mom stopping by, the dialects are going to be thick and you would probably stare blankly most of the time. Communications are limited and Yoongi had to come back and forth to translate some of them.

Korean cooking is not your forte. Let's put that out there, in the open for everyone to see and understand. You are not familiar with it, and although you love some of it, some just don't fit your taste buds. But Yoongi is a full blown Korean. You make adjustments here and there, but it's not like he is always around for you to cook them often. That's why your korean cooking skills deteriorated. Even simple things like choosing which mushrooms to cook with takes 10 minutes longer than it probably should. You went with your heart and took the one you saw first.

Yoongi came out from the baths to see an empty room. Your perfume wafts over his nostril and it tattles about your whereabouts. Just as he was about to investigate, his phone shrieked a calling tone. It was Jungkook. Asking for a chord. He sounds desperate and bored to death. Being a good friend, Yoongi speds to his home studio after clumsily putting on some white tee on top of a grey shorts, halfway through and sending him several chords the little guy could work with, then pulling the rest of the shirt down as it loads. He swore he didn't take long but he found you already changing your clothes and starting to chop things on the chopping board, sloppily. He knows that it was not you to do things sloppily so he offered to help sharpen the knives.

"Soy garlic stew?"

You chewed your lips at him as he asked and nodded. Anxiety was written all over you. Your hands were already so shaky, and that's why you couldn't hold the knife properly, aside from it being blunt. You turned to the sink and began chopping the scallions with another knife Yoongi handed you.

“There are some potatoes I bought in the paper bags, I brought the mushroom I am familiar with, I am not sure if it's the one used in the stew. What time is it already? Is this enough time to even cook the stew? The chicken hasn’t thaw has it? I am not going to have enough time… She is going to know that the dumpling is store bought and I am putting my pride on the line…” you spoke nonstop, didn’t even hear Yoongi if he was saying anything, which you assumed he was quiet, so you became annoyed and, “Why aren’t answering any questions I have??”

Yoongi stood there, with a blank expression, “You wouldn’t even let me talk…”

You answered your own questions, and he was here listening to everything, opening his mouth and closing it before any word could come out because you bulldozed him with words, as he dug out the potatoes you were talking about, as well as the mushrooms.

“I’m sorry, I watched the youtube video on making the stew on the way to the mart and it seems pretty complicated, but doable… I think that the ginger and garlic goes in first,” you paused and sighed, “It’s been awhile since I cooked a proper meal for myself. I don’t know if I had it in me to even do this anymore…”

That’s right. While Yoongi was always away from the last two years, his work trips extended from 3 months to a whole year, and while studying for your master’s degree, you opt for simpler food, just enough for you to get by the day with a filled stomach. Most of your time is dedicated to your studies and laundry. Stopping by Daegu was hardly done, and if anything, you would just send some gifts her way. It is pretty awkward between you and his mother; language barriers, interests, and principles. You didn’t notice when Yoongi was standing behind you, his hand was on top of yours, soothing over your knuckles and he hijacked the scissors from your hands gently.

And he whispered softly atop of your head, “I got this.”

Just like that, he took over kitchen duties and let you handle the simpler stuff like, putting the pot on the stove, fill water in it, skin the potatoes, chopped them into large cubes, unstub the capsicum, peel the skin off of the chicken, peel the garlic and ginger. Yoongi’s instructions are clear and easy to follow. After all the things are chopped and prepared, he hands the ladle to you.

Your eyes widen. And you shook your head. Stepping back. Yoongi clicked his tongue and chuckled through his nose. Coax you. But no, you stepped farther back. He then took your wrist gently and placed the ladle handle in your palm.

“Trust me?” “I trust you, it’s me I don’t trust.”

“I’ll help you every step. Let’s go. Have confidence!” “You’re the multi billionaire, I’m just the struggling degree student with a part time job.”

“You’re Min Yoongi’s wife.” “I find that hard to believe sometimes…”

With another scolding tut of his tongue, you conceded. With a heavy heart.

The chopped chicken pieces are placed in a boiling water pot, and when its reddish flesh turns white and is cooked, it is drained and washed underneath cold running water to remove impurities. You watched quietly as Yoongi cleans them with his capable hands. His veins protrude, extending well over his forearms. The tip of his fingers were pinker than the rest of his hands, and he smoothes over those nooks and crannies the chicken pieces have. As ridiculous as it may sound, you were quite envious of the fact that those chickens have his full attention now. Next, the carrots.

The carotene source is peeled and chopped in large size. Yoongi helped guide your hands over the handle of the knife, because he is pretty particular on how big he wanted those carrots to be.

“Isn’t that too large?” You asked him in a small voice. They are half the size of your thumb. “No, it’s just nice…” he replied in a low voice, his lips just behind your ear, “It has to be in the same size as the potatoes, so it will cook at the same time.”

Your bottom grazed over his front and he learns to just keep you sandwiched in between the counter and him, so it won’t turn to something else. He is just as anxious as you are with his mom coming. Therefore, the percentage of him turning frisky is zero to none. The onions come next. They are chopped in half and then into fours. Yoongi paused and braced himself for tear gas attacks only there was none. He asks where you bought those onions, and you replied, it was grown in your colleagues garden. They were given for free. And he comments,

“They should sell these, we will be their first loyal customer! It doesn’t sting!”

You laughed as you prepared the fruits you bought. It was rock melon and some papayas. You avoided buying tangerine because you know she will bring some from her hometown, knowing how much Yoongi loves them. Daegu’s tangerines are very sweet and plump. There is nothing like it. Yoongi sliced green onions for the stew and extra hot chili peppers because his mom likes them spicy. Then he prepares the mixture for the broth.

“Now watch,” he instructed you, “Soy sauce, rice wine, red chilli pepper powders, minced garlic, two cups of sugar, red pepper paste, sesame oil, pepper. Mix well.”

Yoongi prepared a pot and placed the cleaned chicken pieces in them, added potatoes, carrots and water with the mixture he made just prior. Then, boil. After the chicken is cooked thoroughly, he adds onions. Then the scallions. Then salt to taste. You prepared the oven and Yoongi carried the pot to it to keep it warm until his mom arrived. Dumplings were pan fried. That one was simple. His mom doesn’t like her beverages too sweet, a simple plain water is enough.

When all the food is done, you turn to him at the same time he did. Sweats rolling down his sideburns and his thin white shirt clinging on his skin like he ran a mile. You approached him with a huge smile, swept his hair back to reveal his forehead and dabbed your inner wrist to wipe away his sweat all around his face. He sniggers through his nose. Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, you can’t help but plant a kiss on them. Nuzzling your face on his neck, you draped your arm around his shoulder and mumbled, “Thank you…”

He leans his cheek on your head and kisses one side of your brain, before exclaiming that you both need another shower after cleaning up the kitchen and turning on the air humidifier to chase away the smell of cooking.

“How was the journey?” you chirped. “The weather is scorching hot, the sun is melting me away before I can meet my son,” Yoongi’s mom complained in a thick Daegu accent, and when she stepped in, she gave you a glance and straight away went looking for her precious son. As expected.

“He was just out of the shower, he will come soon, mother,” you said the last word awkwardly, it doesn’t really roll off your tongue as comfortably as it should. She replied to you with a dejected “Hmm.”

You blinked and cast your eyes downwards, then up again to change the topic, “...Let me take you some cold drink… it must have been a torture, to walk around in such hot weather,” you sped to the kitchen and grabbed her a cold water in a tall glass.

“Hello mom…” Yoongi revealed himself from the hallway, gave his mother a hug that you didn’t receive when she walked in. “It wasn’t torture when I’ve come to see my son!” She suddenly changed her words, now she is all bright and cheerful, and you disappeared from her sight completely unless Yoongi looks over to you and includes you in the conversation. That too, wasn’t permanent. Yoongi learned that his older brother’s wife is carrying a baby and Holly had been snuggling to her tummy at every chance she gets. The sight would have been adorable and they were able to take a picture of it so Yoongi’s mom excitedly showed them to Yoongi. They both are sitting on the sofa while you were in the kitchen scooping up cooked rice into bowls of three.

“This sofa is new isn’t it? I didn’t see it the last time I was here,” his mom asked. “Yes, yes… do you like it?” Yoongi said and said you chose them. Then her enthusiasm dissipates. “I like it better without one. Now it’s too westernized,” his mom’s lips turned lopsided, continuing, “Did you know that hanging your legs down will disrupt the blood flow up to your brain? We better sit down on the floor when we eat, too…”

Yoongi prepared a Japanese folded table and pushed aside the coffee table that was there. Everything you’ve prepared on the dining table was moved to the Japanese one. When everything is set, you and Yoongi wait for his mom to start eating before you both do. It’s tradition. Even between man and wife, the older one begins eating first. Yoongi sips the stew and then you begin scooping the stew into your bowl. You were the only one eating mostly with a spoon instead of chopstick since you aren’t too accustomed to it. Yoongi’s mother said in a joking tone that you should start using the training chopstick used by toddlers.

Why are you extra sensitive today? She was just joking, but smiling is so hard right now. Your cheeks feel heavy and your shoulders stiffened. Yoongi carried the rest of the conversation effortlessly. The deep Daegu accent is already shifting your attention towards the fried dumpling instead. It was just a little over 45 minutes since she arrived, why does it feel like days?

“Dumplings, mother?” You chirped, attempted to use the chopstick and successfully landed them in her bowl.

Then she puts them back where they were, and said, “I don’t eat store-bought dumpling, darling,” before resuming to tell Yoongi the story about her neighbour getting into a real estate feud. You hold your breath in your throat and try not to think about it too much. Although you’ve finished your bowl of rice, Yoongi still hasn’t. He was busy nodding away to what his mother was saying. She barely touched the stew. When she turned to her food, you tapped Yoongi’s knee underneath the table and he looked at you wide eyed, darting at the stew. And Yoongi’s lips turned to the shape of an “O”.

“How do you like the stew, mom?” He asked. “It’s okay…” “My wife made it…” Yoongi said with a smug smile.

You smiled, shyly.

“It tastes exactly how Yoongi would cook it. I thought you cooked it, I know how horrible her korean cooking is, Yoongi… You don’t have to lie to me,” his mom passed.

After bidding her farewell at the door, Yoongi accompanied her to his brother’s incoming vehicle that fetches her. His brother made a promise to stop by when the baby arrives and when the Covid cases reduce a bit. You watched from the window from your bedroom and when the car drove off with Yoongi waving goodbye to his mom, your heart thudded differently.

Your eyes stung, and tears impending to fall as it collected around the brims. As you heard the front door beeping open to Yoongi returning, your feet dashed to the bathroom door, pushing it open as your tears rolled down your face like a dam broke.

Sensitive? Too soft? Was I too emotional? Am I not trying hard enough to be enough?

Yoongi walks in, to an eerily silent house. Ridding his shirt by pulling it over his head as he walks down the dimly lit hallway. His heavy footsteps heard across the floorings and you covered your mouth with your hand to not make any sound. He noticed that the bathroom light was on unlike the rest of the room.

“You’re showering alone? Traitor…” he pouted and wriggled the door knob and noticed it was locked from the inside. “I have a stomach ache,” you hoped you sound convincing. Your voice didn’t sound as shaky and you hope he didn’t catch on. “Okay…” he said, after a long pause. You turned the shower on to reduce the sound of you crying, and went back to sitting on the floor by the door, dug the heels of your palm into your eyes socket, and hugged your knees, sniffling.

“Hey…” his voice muffled through the door. “Hmm?” you replied, through a broken smile.

“Are you okay?”

Another dam broke.

Shit, I’ve started crying again. Why can’t I stop crying?! He is going to find out now… Fuck.

“Talk to me. Please… Say something. Anything,” he puts his lips inches away from the door, covering his hand over his mouth to direct the sound towards you, hoping it would get through.

“Was it mom? She says something you don’t like? You know how mom is, right? She doesn’t mean any of it…” now it’s Yoongi’s turned to bulldoze you with questions he himself answered.

Unable to take it anymore, you had to speak out, even if it means behind closed doors.

“I know she doesn’t like me as a daughter-in-law…” you spoke in broken voices. “Nonsense…” Yoongi passed, nonchalantly.

“No, will you please just listen to me?!” you raised your voice a bit, “I am not like your brother’s wife who cooks great Korean food, who sends her nice homemade desserts to her likings, and now is bearing a grandchild for her. I can’t cook, and had to rely on you a lot. She came over and she didn’t give me a hug like she did you, and the whole she doesn’t even speak to me unless I speak to her first, and even then, she shuts me down so I couldn’t say another word. I can’t even use a damn chopstick or make homemade dumplings she’ll eat!”

It’s Yoongi’s turn to lean his back on the door and hug his knees, then hang his head low.

“Suddenly the sofa is too westernized. And the glass doors letting in too much sunlight when I renovated it the way she wanted. It seems like everything I do is wrong and I just have no place in the Min’s household no matter how hard I try,” you sniffed, and, “To make matters worse she brought up the girlfriends you had in high school and how they cook her favourite food! Girlfriends! Plural! Here I thought you only had one… Jokes on me, I guess… It’s fine, honestly.”

There's nothing more terrifying than the word ‘fine’ you threw when you’re sad and Yoongi knows it. It signifies so many things. It indicates that you’re done, and you’re ready to let go of it, by shoving it under the rug like many other things your mother in law did to you ever since you met her. Yoongi shot his head up when the door opened and his eyes followed you in silence, a little solemn. You dried your hair, sitting on the makeup chair table, running the cool air Dyson hairdryer over the lengths of your hair. Yoongi crawled on all four and knelt behind you to hug your waist, nuzzling his face on your lower back. Then the tears returned, and kept falling.

Your gaze is stuck on the reflection of you in the mirror. What have we become?

It was one of those moments where no words seemed to suffice. Regrets and guilt becomes almost the same thing. Pointing the blame is the last thing on your mind. Choosing sides is difficult when so much is at stake. You may have unclasped his arm from around your waist, heard his wordless gesture and refused to see his face, but so much of him is in you. The fact you held on for so long was because of that man you love and married. Is this going to happen everytime your mother in law stops by?

Even then, you didn't want him to go against his own mother, nor do you want him to side with her… It was such a confusing situation.

Yoongi needs to return to the studio. He packs a few toiletries and clothes for him to wear while he is there. You helped him pack leftover food so you are not burdened to finish everything alone. The conversation shifts to what matters now. You carry your duty as a wife, his partner. You make sure that he is able to provide for this family and even though your emotions are once again neglected for the time being, you were glad that it actually occupied your mind and heart.

At the door, his manager carried his things and instead of leaving along with his manager, Yoongi told him to go first. You already know what comes next. But you aren't sure if you had it in you. One look in your eyes and Yoongi knows that you will rather die than have that conversation all over again. He ran his finger through your hair, lowered his lips to your forehead and stayed like that for awhile, and you said,

“Take care of yourself,” you spoke to his chest, breathing in his musky cologne for the days ahead without him. He stepped back, thumbed your cheek and pinched your chin, tilting your head back. He glanced at your lips while biting his own then backed away, to leave. As the view of his back got smaller and smaller, he exclaimed, “I’m going.” Not once did he turn behind to have one last look. And it was something Yoongi would do. Doesn’t matter if it's at the airport, or at the backstage, he will never look at you after he leaves you, even when he knows you’re right there standing, and looking at him. He says that, if he saw you standing there waiting for him, he will not be able to fight the urge to run to you. So he never looks back. The one thing that he always does before a work trip, is to kiss your forehead. Dr. Laurel Steinberg says, a forehead kiss indicates strong emotional intimacy.

But Yoongi says that a forehead kiss to him signifies a bond that goes beyond lust and love, it was your soul. It is to say, “I might be too far away to hold you, but my soul is yours.” It sends butterflies and confettis your way when he does it. It always feels warm and you always feel protected with a stamp of Yoongi’s lips on your forehead. It feels like a talisman. That no matter what, Yoongi is here.

Recovery. The emotional turmoil, the rollercoaster. You fill your time organizing the photos Yoongi took. With your final exams finished a week ago, you’re given a month off before you begin your final year. Yoongi now lives in his studio office because the album recording session begins and he is in every process. He is in charge of doubling and finalizing the tracks, directing and whatnot. Yoongi sends you a 1 minute 23 seconds video. Scowling at it, your face softened at the sight of him, recording himself in the studio. Dark circles doubled in size and his cheeks sunken. Poor thing hadn't been eating well did he?

“Hey, sweetie…” his familiar guttural voice resonated with your heart strings, “Sorry I haven’t been able to properly give you a call. It’s too late when I’m free, and I’m asleep when you’re awake. So I figured I’ll just send you a damn video, to hell with it.” You chuckled softly as your visions turned blurry.

“I think I will be addressing the recent issue we tucked away for later day. It’s later. You have never been good at fighting for yourself. It was something I don’t really understand because I’ve seen you fight my fight for me,” he glanced to the side and smiled fondly. You were unclear what situation he was talking about but you kept listening.

“You told me that I shouldn’t side with you because that would mean I am against my mother. Here’s what I truly think…” he breathed in and sighed loudly, “I think I should side with you. I spoke to my mom a few days ago, asked her how she is, and I told her several things I don’t like, like bringing up my past ex girlfriend, or how you can’t use the chopstick yet, or how your korean cooking isn’t great yet… how upset it made you and me. She told me that she was just jealous. I left home when I was 16. Come back when I am 20, married at 25. I will always be her son, I let her know that. But I am now someone’s husband, and I happen to cherish this someone, her heart and her wellbeing is my responsibility. I am not stolen from my mom, I consciously chose this person to be with me, to be her husband and built a home with her. And if she can’t respect that, then she cannot return to our house…”

You had to set the phone down and wipe your tears with the back of your hand.

“I’m done being a referee,” Yoongi continued after a long pause, “You’re gonna cry again, and I won’t be able to pass you tissue or give you a hug, I hope you understand what I’m trying to say. I am proud of you and all the little things you do. Daegu dialect is difficult to understand ha? That’s alright. You’re getting your degree, and you help pack my things even though you’re sad as hell the day I left. I couldn’t… I couldn’t ask for a better wife, and I hardly think I deserve you. Until we meet again, soon. Your husband, Min Yoongi.”

The video cuts to him winking.

Another text from him,

[Yoongi, 1.03AM] Impression is never permanent. I hope you give mother another try…

Wife is typing...

[Wife, 1.04AM] Erm. [Wife, 1.04AM] Sends a pic.

[Wife, 1.05AM] How’s this for a lasting impression?

938 notes · View notes

parvuls · 4 years ago

Text

fic: need seek no further

Jack shrugs. “Eh. Bittle likes Cabot butter best.”

a disgustingly fluffy, plotless ficlet about how well jack knows bitty and how he perfected the skill of nonverbal communication through the force of sheer will. also, the frogs.

read on ao3

Dex called Bitty one evening in early May, let Bitty shower him with hellos, and then stated, “We won the NCAA championship.” He said it matter-of-factly, like maybe Jack and Bitty hadn’t been there when it happened, like Jack hadn’t watched him cling to Bitty for a full minute after the stands had spilled onto the ice.

“You did,” Bitty replied, raising his eyes to meet Jack’s with confusion wrinkling between his brows. His phone was set on the kitchen island between them, Dex’s voice filling their kitchen through speaker phone while Bitty’s floured hands were busy kneading dough. Jack was keeping him company on another last-minute testing session for his rhubarb pie recipe, even though the last proof of his book had been approved by his editors over two weeks before. Jack was running out of team members to send leftovers to.

“And Whiskey got voted captain,” Dex continued.

Jack watched as Bitty squinted down at his phone. Bitty had spent half an hour on the phone with Whiskey the night of the banquet; he hadn’t disclosed the details of their conversation to Jack, but his face when he’d returned to their room, had sat down next to Jack on the bed and had leaned his forehead on Jack’s bicep for a long while -- Jack had seen that face before. Had known that expression meant pride.

“So we were talking about it just now,” there was the sound of more people whispering furiously in the background, and Jack thought he could maybe hear Chowder’s unsteady voice calling out, hey Bitty!, and only then he began contemplating the solid possibility that Dex may have been a little drunk. “And -- so we won last year, with you, and now we won again, and we wanna keep winning, right? So we gotta make sure to keep doing everything that’s working.”

“Sure, sweetheart,” Bitty said agreeably, faintly amused. It was obvious to Jack from his tone that Bitty, at least, had already realized Dex was a little drunk, but was only too happy to play along.

“‘Swawesome,” Dex said fervently, like Bitty had agreed to something very important. “So you see why Whiskey’s gotta learn to make a pie.”

That stopped Bitty in his tracks. Jack blinked, watched Bitty’s long fingers halt their motions in the dough, the pressure of his fingerprints leaving crescent grooves behind. “William Joseph, that doesn’t make a lick of sense,” he said, and narrowed his eyes at the screen of his phone like Dex could feel their weight on him through the line. But then he seemed to think it over again, and the pitch of his voice rose as he demanded, “Wait, are you sayin’ Whiskey’s willing to learn how to bake?”

“He says he’ll do it for the win,” Dex said, and Bitty gaped at the phone, then gaped at Jack, and with his cheeks pink and his eyes wide he exclaimed, “Of course I’ll do it!”, like there’d ever been any other option to consider.

Jack kept it to himself, but he had no doubt in his mind that there hadn’t been.

Dex, Chowder and Nursey wait for them at the doorway of the Haus, broad shoulders wedged together in the narrow doorframe.

Bitty had said before they left home, “You don’t have to come, sweetpea,” and Jack had said, simply, “I want to,” and had meant it. It was only in the summer months that Jack had the privilege to see his friends whenever he wished to, and now that the Falconers were out of the playoffs -- well, Jack was feeling a little more withdrawn lately, even quieter than usual, but this felt like something he genuinely wanted to do with the time on his hands. There was also the fact that soon the frogs would graduate, and with them gone Jack would be too far removed to visit the Haus comfortably, even if Bitty still could.

Right now Jack could, and he wanted to, so Bitty and he got in Bitty’s car and drove the forty-five minutes down to Samwell, Bitty’s phone hooked through the aux and his hands tapping on the wheel to the beat. He was nervous, although Jack wasn’t sure exactly why -- only knew it was obvious in Bitty’s restless hands and the frequency he switched songs midway through. Jack reached out and placed his hand on Bitty’s thigh, squeezed, and let Bitty burn his nervous energy whatever way he deemed best.

“We did all the shopping!” Chowder announces as Jack and Bitty walk up the porch steps, and then immediately bounces forward and wraps Bitty in a hug. His long limbs envelope Bitty within them, and soon Jack’s dragged into their circle, too, feels Nursey’s arms fold around his shoulders and Dex’s tentative hand patting him on the back. It doesn’t overwhelm him like it could’ve, maybe, a year or two ago -- it just feels nice, familiar, welcoming. A display of affection he readily returns.

When the huddle breaks, the five of them shuffle through the door and head straight into the kitchen. It looks about the same as it has since Bitty took over it five years ago -- no longer just a room with a fridge full of beers and a broken down table, but a real kitchen, with Suzanne’s hand-sewn curtains and clear countertops and the oven that Jack is still irrationally fond of. Although it seems like it’s been revamped in the months since Jack has last seen it; the cupboards’ hinges are no longer busted, and there are actual shelves stacked along the walls. Jack assumes the likely suspect is Samwell Men’s Hockey current captain, and has to curb a revealing smile that would surely draw questions. It’s another unspoken team tradition, Jack thinks, recalling freshman Will Poindexter: no one leaves it entirely unchanged.

“Y’all are joining us for some baking lessons?” Bitty asks Nursey and Chowder, hand almost unconsciously drifting over the edge of the counters. He looks good there, really, looks right. He’s not the same as he was when he graduated and certainly not the same as when he first claimed this kitchen, but to Jack, Bitty would always look right in the sun streaming through the Haus’ dusty windows, puttering between pots and pans.

“Nah, C and I will get out of your hair for that, but Whiskey isn’t back yet so we’ve got some time. And anyway --” Nursey glances sideways at Dex and Chowder, fails at stifling a smile, “uh, the waffles heard you were coming today, Bits.”

“Going by their reaction, they’ve definitely missed you,” Dex says, arms crossed over his chest, his face serious but a single upwards quirk to the corner of his mouth. It could be a chirp at the waffles, maybe, but Jack is almost certain that it’s sincere nonetheless.

Bitty turns to the shopping bags spread across the counter and starts picking them apart, taking out the ingredients for inspection before setting them down with that same nervous energy, the one that rarely ever follows Bitty into his domain in the kitchen. Jack watches him smile at Dex, honest but jittery, and realizes what he should’ve already known -- how very important it is to Bitty that this goes perfectly.

“Oh, bless them, I’ve missed them too! I’ll tell them hello so we can get started right after,” Bitty says, setting down a bag of brown sugar and taking out a packet of butter from the bag. He looks -- momentarily disappointed, and Jack frowns, searches Bitty’s face. It’s probably only visible to Jack, who recognizes the subtle shift in Bitty’s jaw and the fleeting movement of his eyebrows, but still. He follows Bitty’s eyes down to his hands and to the butter in them, and surveys it for a moment, deep in thought.

“You’ve got two seconds to prepare yourself, bro,” Nursey warns, and then Bully, Hops and Louis descend loudly into the kitchen, flock around Bitty like ducklings. Bitty’s always had that effect on hockey players, on people, even before he got the C. It’s with intense fondness that Jack thinks it, knows the feeling intimately as someone who’s lucky enough to experience that affect every day. He can’t blame them for the way they beam down at Bitty, fight for his attention, laugh when he laughs at the rising volume of their clashing, simultaneous stories.

It’s a good opportunity if nothing else, though, so Jack shoulders his way between Bully and Louis, brushes two fingers over Bitty’s elbow to get his attention. When Bitty turns his head, Jack takes advantage of his height to lean in and say into Bitty’s ear, “Hey, bud, I’m stepping out for a moment.”

Bitty smiles at him, reaches up to stroke a hand down Jack’s cheek just warmly enough to be soothing, just quickly enough to be appropriate. “Yeah, of course. Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Jack says, and thinks, it will be. He pauses, looks down threateningly at the waffles, and leans in to kiss Bitty's temple swiftly, before someone he can’t intimidate as easily as these sophomores could try fining him for it. The space he leaves between Bully and Louis closes as soon as he leaves their side, Bitty disappearing from sight behind their tall forms, but the sound of his cheerful laughter rings after Jack as he walks out of the kitchen and exits through the front door.

When Jack comes back he has to open the door one-handed, the other one busy clutching the handles of a grocery bag. His cap is pulled down low, a protective measure from the crowd that swarmed the Stop and Shop on Pemberton, so it takes a few steps into the Haus’ hallway for him to notice Whiskey hovering in the kitchen doorway, apparently stopped right on his way out of it.

“Jack,” Whiskey looks surprised -- or maybe still mildly star-struck, Jack has always had trouble telling with his face. “You’re here. I haven’t seen you.”

“Got some stuff from the shop,” Jack raises the bag by way of explanation, adjusts his hat, and after a brief moment of stillness hunches his shoulders to bypass Whiskey into the kitchen.

Whiskey bends his neck to peer down into the bag as Jack passes. He looks somewhat horrified at what he finds, as much as Whiskey ever betrays his emotions -- a slight frown, a barely noticeable widening of his eyes. “We need more groceries for this thing?”

Jack shrugs, noncommittal. They don’t, really, but. “Eh. Bittle likes Cabot butter best.”

The frogs and waffles have moved to the den while Jack was out -- he can hear them now, Bully’s low voice and Chowder’s quick speech and Hops’ rolling laughter -- but Bitty must’ve heard Jack come in, because he appears next to Whiskey in the kitchen doorway. His gaze darts between the two of them before it lands on the bag hanging from Jack’s fingers, and Jack reaches in to pull out one stick of butter, holding it out so Bitty can see the brand. Bitty’s eyes light up when he realizes, go round and bright, and he declares, “Sweetpea, you shouldn’t have!”, in the tone that means he’s beyond pleased that Jack did.

“That's more butter,” Whiskey says, staring at Bitty and then at the butter already stacked on the counter from the frogs’ shopping trip, clearly bewildered.

Jack twists his body, turns his back to them to find an empty spot somewhere on the counter. “Cabot has a half percent more fat, and Bittle likes his crust flaky,” he explains absently while emptying the contents of the bag onto the spot he chose. It’s important to Bitty that this goes perfectly, and while Jack can’t control Whiskey's abilities in the kitchen, wouldn’t be able to fix baking mishaps if those occur, this is something he can do. Make sure Bitty has the best conditions to work in, grant him a little peace of mind.

When he turns back around Whiskey is gone, and it’s only Bitty standing behind him, his eyes twinkling and his lips parted slightly.

“What?” Jack asks, confused.

There’s a long stretch of silence while Bitty just looks at him. Jack’s rarely comfortable with intense scrutiny from others, but Bitty -- Bitty’s gaze is soft, and he looks at Jack like he’s something good, something to admire. It’s a look he gives Jack often, usually accompanied by the gentlest of kisses, the warmest of hugs, the kindest of words. Sometimes Jack’s mind is slow to catch up, too stubborn to be convinced of his own worthiness, but this is the look Bitty gets when his emotions are broadcasted so loudly that even Jack’s mind has to pipe down and listen.

Bitty takes a few steps closer, grabs Jack’s palm between both his hands. “Marry me?” he asks breathily, with a smile curling at his lips.

Warmth flutters in Jack’s stomach at the words, and an answering smile grows on his own lips. The ring glints on Bitty’s finger whenever he moves his hands, is glinting now, where his fingers are curled around Jack’s in the sunny kitchen. It’s been a distraction many times in the past year, but each time Jack sees it he’s reminded of what Bitty and he have promised to each other. The future that is still to come.

There’s no one in the kitchen but them, and the Haus residents sound busy enough in the other room that no one would notice if Jack stole a lone moment. “Sorry, I can’t,” Jack deadpans, grabs Bitty by his hips and gathers him into his arms. His fingers slide over the soft fabric of Bitty’s clothes and find the gap between his top and his shorts, dipping inside to rub against Bitty’s warm skin. “It’s a tempting offer, but I’m already engaged.”

“Leave him, then,” Bitty says without missing a beat. He tilts his head up to nudge Jack’s cheek with his nose, wraps his strong arms around Jack’s neck. His face is so close to Jack’s that Jack can count his pale eyelashes, can see the splotches of fading pink on his skin. He’s been spending a lot of time editing his cookbook on their balcony since springtime has arrived, and his body tans nicely but the bridge of his nose has been reddened and peeling for a while. “Run away with me.”

Jack can’t help the temptation, kisses Bitty’s right cheek and then his left one. “Sorry, bud.”

“Why ever not,” Bitty sighs, most dramatically, and uses his grip on Jack’s neck to lean his upper body backwards. “A man who knows his butters? You better believe I’m willing to fight for you, mister.”

It’s the sincerity in his voice that has heat prickling across Jack’s skin, raw pleasure squirming in his chest. It’s a futile battle, though, a battle Jack realized was lost when he dropped Bitty off at this very Haus after their very first summer together, longingly watched him skip up the stairs and thought, oh, I wanna marry him. “I can’t,” he tells Bitty quietly, pulls him closer so the words stay trapped between them, rough and intimate like a secret. “I love my fiancé too much.”

“Oh,” and Bitty flushes at this, red blossoming on the apples of his cheeks like he’s flattered -- like the ring around his finger hasn’t been there for a year, like Jack hasn’t taken to kissing it before kissing Bitty goodbye on nights he leaves for games; like Jack loving him too much to ever consider anyone else is still a novelty, a compliment, after all this time. “Well. Lucky him.”

Lucky me, Jack thinks, and bows his head to fit his mouth to Bitty’s in for a lingering sweet kiss.

#omgcp #omgcheckplease #zimbits #zimbits fic #you'd think one would want to capitalize one's frogs and waffles. but bitty's lack of capitalization on twitter claims otherwise #and who am i to argue #pavfics

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hansoulo · 4 years ago

Text

how will I know; walk slow

Pairing: Din Djarin/Reader (gender neutral, no Y/N)

Word Count: a humble 1.4k

Warnings: cursing, light angst, a kiss (sorta), spoilers for chapter 15 of the mandalorian

Gif Credit: (x) by @/bestintheparsec

A/N: hello bros and hoes it is me and i am back with another oneshot this time set right after chapter 15 with a title from this song by james blake

You bounded down the hangar ladder and stood toe-to-toe, heart stuck in your mouth and lodging up in your tonsils until the word came out thick and without eloquence. “Hi.”

“I’m sorry,” the Mandalorian offered. He didn’t really have anything to be sorry for. Sometimes the guy was just polite to a fault.

“It’s alright.” The words left your chest hushed, conscious of the footsteps up and around you that echoed tinny on the walls of Slave 1. Soft assurances. Gentle platitudes. “You’re here now, yeah?”

Mayfeld was “dead” doing Maker knows what. Fennec and Cara were both off in the ship somewhere, probably polishing blasters and trading war secrets with each other as intimidating Outer Rim women tended to do. That or in the communications monitor room below deck, doing far more risque things. Boba was piloting and making sure none of you died. And the Mandalorian was here. Standing in the cold metal cargo hold. In front of you.

His chest, in beskar now, not that shoddy Imperial shit, shook with a sigh. “Yeah,” the helmet rasped. It sounded like he was speaking more to himself. “Yeah.”

Why do you do that?

Do what?

You’re very… monosyllabic. It’s unsettling.

Unsettling.

You know you’re just continuing to prove my point, right?

Mhm.

Maker, you’re infuriating.

Yes, I am.

Hey that was three words! Progress.

Your throat tightened with a swallow when you realized you still stood only inches apart from him. Feet shuffled backwards in the small hangar until he was left at a larger, more friend-appropriate distance. “That’s good. I’m… I’m glad.”

The air in the ship was thick, with relief and with another heavy thing. Regret, maybe? But what did he have to regret?

“Mando,” you called out as he turned to step up the ladder. Names were sacred things. You didn’t want to use his here. To dirty it by sharing. “Hey,” your hand met the cold metal of his pauldron, urging him to face you again. He was still. Always so still. “Did something happen?”

I’m fine.

You’re hurt.

It’s nothing serious.

Let me help.

I’ll take care of it.

Or let the kid help. Somebody.

I said I’ll take care of it.

Let me take care of you. Please.

His words came almost too quick. He was like that when he tried to convince you of things. “No. No, we… we got the coordinates. Everything went-”

“According to plan,” you finished for him, though your brows were still furrowed.

What’s the plan?

We get the kid back.

So… what you’re saying is that there is no plan.

There is a plan.

What’re you gonna do?

Whatever it takes.

You’re so dramatic.

“Mayfeld wouldn’t tell me anything about what happened before he fucked off, though, which is weird because usually he never shuts up and I just...” you sighed, wiping a hand across your face and letting it drop unceremoniously beside your hip. “Are you sure you’re alright? You look,” and here your voice paused, waiting for the words to fill themselves in. “Rattled.”

You look like shit.

Thanks.

Welcome. You good?

You just said I look like shit.

Well yeah, but I’m trying to redeem myself. Throw me a bone.

Then yeah, I’m good.

You’re a horrible liar.

Hey, you asked.

Yeah, I guess so. Take it easy for a bit? Can’t have you falling asleep piloting.

Glad to know your only concern is for your transportation.

Don’t forget the paycheck.

That too.

Seriously, though. Go get some sleep. I’ll be here.

There was a pregnant pause, only filled in by your quiet expectance and the sounds of beskar shifting on fabric. He moved his weight from one foot to the other. Looked down, then up.

And then, before you could go to actually leave, not wanting to pry a thing open that the man wanted to keep shut and done with having to reach the words out of his mouth, you were picked up and turned around. Like a sack of ration flour.

In literally any other circumstance this would’ve made you seethe but Din’s hands, although surprising, weren’t unwelcome. The furthest thing from it, actually.

There were two warm palms on your sides and your feet stumbled on top of each other until they both left the floor again, suspended above the metal sheeting as you were lifted up and crushingly close to a man that smelled like blood and sweat and someone else’s clothes but who still held you until your ribs cried out for breathing.

You were set down after a moment, but not let go. Silent words seemed to fracture in the way his fingers dug into the skin of your hip, almost bruising in their insistence. He couldn’t tell you what happened, but something obviously did. Something ugly and beating loud in the two-inch gap between your chests and really, really bad.

There were only about two things in the galaxy that he was afraid of. Losing the kid was one of them. Breaking his Creed was the other.

So what’s with the helmet?

What about it?

You can never take it off?

No.

Like, never? In front of anyone?

Not unless it’s family.

And what happens if you do? Take it off in front of someone else, I mean.

You can’t ever put it back on.

Oh, right. Sorry.

It’s okay.

No, it’s not. I- I shouldn’t have asked. I dunno. It just seems…

Bad.

No, not bad! Not if it’s something you believe. Just… different.

And suddenly you knew why he was holding you the way he was.

The words were hitched, almost keening as your arms wound around his neck, over the thick fabric of his cape until his hands reached around the lower slope of your back to steady your ground. You could feel the indentations of his metal vambraces against your skin. You couldn’t have cared less about it. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. He only let out a breath, the sound so rattled and tremulous you could almost taste the salt dew gathering in his eyes. Eyes that someone else saw.

The muscles of his arms grew firmer around you still and your body sagged, heavy in its aching realizations. “I’m so sorry,” you repeated.

To someone else more ambitious this would probably be a good time to do… a gesture. Of the sentimental variety. Neither of you lacked courage in the traditional definition, but this kind of stuff was messy. Uncharted.

“Din,” you whispered. His helmet shot up at the monosyllable, nearly knocking you in the chin and you stumbled backwards, shaking off his apologies. So the charting of said uncharted stuff was going swell. “I,” you began, your eyes shifting around the walls and floor instead of meeting his visor. “I care about you. A lot. I hope you know that.”

There was a loud whirring overhead when the ship lurched forward, righting itself with an awkward turn and giving you a good excuse as to why you suddenly felt nauseous. Maybe you overstepped or he didn’t hear you because he hit his head? Holy shit, did he get a concussion? Was that why he was-

“I know.”

Oh.

So no concussion.

You only realized you’d been biting the bottom edge of your lip when a gloved thumb came up towards it, pressing against the soft flesh and pulling it gently out from between your teeth. A breath choked in the bottom of both your lungs. And you waited.

You couldn’t kiss him.

At least, not now. Not here. Not yet.

You were both thinking about it.

So you did something decidedly ambitious. You leaned forward and pressed your mouth to the crest of his helmet.

It wasn’t a kiss, not really. But he still tilted his helmet up to meet it with two broad hands and you still left a smudge of mouthmark where your lips were damp and tender and so somehow this imitation kiss, this substitute in between a moment that was over and a moment that was coming, was real.

Your bounty hunter echoed his reciprocation after you’d turned away, the rungs of the ship ladder icy in your palms. You always did like to one-up each other.

“I love you.”

#i spent like a half hour googling slave 1 diagram maps and the ship layout is still incomprehensible to me so pls dont hate i am Trying #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian oneshot #din djarin oneshot #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian/reader #din djarin/reader #the mandalorian spoilers #?

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txemrn · 3 years ago

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The Missionary's Daughter

Ch. 1: "Meant to Live"

Need to catch up? Prologue: "It's Over"

Chapter Song Inspo: "Meant to Live" by Switchfoot

Series Song Inspo: "Changed by You" by Between the Trees

Pairings: Drake Walker x OC (Margot Hughes); Liam Rys x Riley Brooks

Series Warning: 🛑 for mature audiences only (🔞); series contains angst, language, NSFW🍋 material; trigger warning: heavy discussion/depiction of drug and alcohol abuse, suicide, religion, mental health; please be advised and exercise discretion

A/N: When I say that this took a village, it would be the understatement of the century! Huuuuuuuuge thank you to all of my amazing sweet writing sisters that encouraged me and helped me pull this together, but especially to @charlotteg234 for brainstorming and mapping this out with me, @kat-tia801 for doing the same, but then having to deal with me incessantly asking, "Does this sound right?" and @chemist-ana FOR GIFITNG ME MY FREAKING AMAZING MOODBOARD! It's SO beautiful, and it literally puts me in the mood to write about my Druggy Drake and Margot! Thank you so, so much, friend! Most of the characters and some of the plot belong to our friends at Pixelberry.

A palpable crackle ignites the sterile air of the staff locker room. To say she was ‘nervous’ is a painfully severe understatement to the jitters that spark from her fingertips. But, rather than dance chaotically like cut wires on pavement, she is lightning, mesmerizing, lighting up the sky with excitement and power.

***

Dressing for another Monday morning at her weekly volunteer job at the prestigious Cordonia Family OB/GYN, Margot Hughes swiftly shimmies a monogrammed ceil blue scrub top down her curves. Pulling her brilliant strands of autumn harvest into a high bun, she slips on her work clogs while nudging her locker closed with her knee.

Before leaving the changing area, she catches her visage in the mirror, the unflattering fluorescent lights casting more shadows onto her worried features. She can feel the rumble of her rapid heartbeat echoing in her ears; her chest constricts tightly as her breathing becomes shallow. Her eyes begin to sting with fear as the whites burn red, threatening with a glaze of tears.

Today is the day her entire life will change; everything she has ever wanted, everything that she has ever worked for will suddenly determine the course of her future in a single moment. Seeing the all-too-familiar terror in her eyes, Margot flutters her eyelids shut. Her fingers nervously trace along a simple chain around her neck until they finally grasp tightly to a dainty sterling silver charm: a cross.

“Take my anxieties, Lord,” she whispers with prayerful conviction, her sparkling blue eyes gracefully opening to look at her necklace. She exhales deeply. “Your will be done.” Margot stares at her reflection for a few more moments, focusing on her breathing to calm her restless heart. “You are strong, Margot. You've got this,” she affirms herself in a hushed tone, a bright smile breaking across her face. “This is your day--" suddenly overwhelmed with peace, a joyous smile paints across her face. Chuckling to herself, she glances upwards: “I'm counting on You.” Taking a deep cleansing breath, she eagerly exits the stillness of her thoughts, and joins the bustle of the morning's clinic appointments. Today is her day.

***

Halos of blurred auras bleach his vision as Drake cautiously opens one blood-shot eye. His tongue sticks to the roof of his roughly parched mouth as he massages his pained forehead. Clueless of what day it is--much less what he did last night--he is greeted with a sudden glorious sensation: a supple wet mouth on his hardened morning length.

His body relaxes back onto the dampened, disheveled sheets of his bed; he releases a pleasurable exhale as he blindly reaches for the head behind the lips. He strains to focus his view, but can only make out a foggy shape of a nude woman with long, tousled brunette waves.

It’s her. His love.

Drake smiles; delicately tangling his grip in her strands, he admires how even the afternoon sun catches her beauty perfectly. He quietly smacks his lips. He can still smell her on his stubble; he can still taste her on his tongue.

Had she told Liam? Were they celebrating that they could finally be together?

As she takes in the head of his girth, he arches his back, relaxing his body into her hungry touch. Closing his eyes, he offers a guttural groan deep in his chest as she swirls her tongue around his firm thickness.

“God, you’re incredible, Riley--”

---

Pulling out a pen, Margot reaches across the counter to grab a patient’s clipboard--that is until Iris, the front desk manager grips her long, manicured nails to the other side of the particle wood. “Miss Mary-Margaret,” she leans in conspiratorially, lowering her voice, “do we know anything yet?” Margot chuckles, shaking her head. “Child, you better come find me the moment you know!”

“Only if you promise to start calling me ‘Margot’” the young blonde jests, opening her client’s chart.

“How about I start calling you what we’ll all be calling you in just a few short years: ‘doctor’?” Rosy pink swirls splash across Margot’s face, warming her cheeks to the touch. She bows her head coyly at the mention of her dream becoming a reality. The thought that she will soon find out if a medical career is in her future makes the twenty-one-year-old’s heart leap with unbridled excitement.

For as long as she can remember, Margot has had a strong desire to serve and help other people. Much of that selfless attitude was instilled into her heart by her own parents. They were called to be Christian missionaries when Margot was only eight years old. After much planning, church fund-raising, and prayer, Roy and Mary Hughes left their comfortable home of Lafayette, Louisiana, and settled in the small Mediterranean country of Cordonia.

Many of their friends and family were shocked that the church would send them to such a beautiful area of the world. Typically missionaries humble themselves to serve the needy, the homeless, the lonely and the sick. They sacrifice the luxuries of home for the sake of loving humanity. They help people in war-torn countries, third-world countries, countries that don’t have electricity or running water. But, this country?

Cordonia itself is a lavish nation, rich in heritage and traditions. And funds. Thanks to the ideal weather conditions, the fruitful soil produces bountiful harvests and exquisite supplies for fine textiles that remain in high demand throughout the world. The Cordonian government, a monarchy, discovered a new opportunity to expand their wealth in the late 19th century: costly tariffs to international investors. Within the first ten years of increasing the taxes on exports, the national treasury was not only in the black, but their funds had exponentially increased every year. Farms were flourishing as the working class became larger, stronger.

But, the treasury began to dwindle quickly due to the extravagant demands of the royals. For the first time in the country's history, commoners were wealthier than some of the nobility. Disdain from the upper class quickly ensued until finally, in the early 20th century under the rule of William I, a new tax law was implemented to all of Cordonia: anyone involved with international exchange would have to pay into the treasury to handle such business.

Unfortunately, there were no limitations to this new tax law, and many farms floundered, property ownership being seized by the government. Families were uprooted; jobs were lost, and worse, assets were sold for even more money, filling the pockets of the greedy leaders. The people that once had a plethora of goods at their fingertips were now starving and unsheltered. And vengeful. The Cordonians were outraged by the gouging, many of them forming violent riots, banding together with outside influencers in hopes of overthrowing the government.

On the cusp of a civil war, King William I decided to rezone the country, providing a place for the displaced working class to claim safety and sanctuary, a place that would offer shelter, education, and more affordable options for goods. To appease the people even more, he named the project ‘the Core,’ paying homage to their greatest export, the Cordonian Ruby. It was also a way for him to forever express his gratitude for such a fruitful nation: they were the core reason the nation was thriving so richly.

Like many government-assisted programs, it didn’t take long for the cracks to show in the infrastructure. And with funding cuts over the years, the Core began to crumble, striking a sharp contrast from the rest of Cordonia. The Core, now often referred to as ‘the slums’, have become a breeding ground for crime, drugs, and prostitution. It is the blemish of Cordonia, its existence often not acknowledged amongst the elite.

But, according to the Hughes, ‘God saw the need’. They were sent to serve in the slums of Cordonia, starting up several free programs, including a nightly soup kitchen, afterschool programs to keep children out of trouble, and trade classes to help adults out of poverty. The people accepted the help and adapted quickly to the missionaries; but even more importantly, they embraced these Americans as their own, many of them forming important and lasting relationships with the Hughes.

But, still there was something missing, something that burdened the missionary’s oldest daughter: healthcare. Having good health and access to a doctor is still treated as a privilege in Cordonia, and time and time again, the curable were disabled or buried. A change needed to take place. And Margot, although unsure of how, knew she would devote her life in making it happen for the Cordonian people.

As she makes a few notes on her clipboard, an olive-complected arm stealthily reaches around Margot, gracefully grazing her sun-kissed skin before gently placing a cup of piping hot black coffee in front of her. Staring at the hand, she instantly knows who it is. And she titters, playfully rolling her eyes. “Tadd! Another coffee?” She grabs the coffee, twirling on the ball of her foot to face the clinic’s young ultrasound technician. "My tab must be over a hundred euros by now!"

"Oh, don't you worry about that," he chuckles, rocking on his feet. “Plus, I figured with your new gig at Bríki--” he jovially shrugs his shoulders.

“You figured what?” Margot playfully punches his shoulder. “That I could sneak you free coffee?” She gives a mischievous smile, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t think Mr. Pavlis would appreciate me offering free drinks, especially since I haven’t even started yet--”

“That’s right!” Tadd eyes widen. “Today’s the day--!”

“As if I didn’t already have enough to be nervous about today,” Margot’s voice becomes shaky, as she clenches her teeth in a forced smile.

“Hey,” Tadd’s voice turns into an endearing whisper. He shifts his head until his piercing jade eyes meet Margot’s baby blues. “You have nothing to worry about. We both know you did well on that American doctor test--"

"The MCAT," Margot stifles a laugh, rolling her eyes into an appreciative grin.

"Whatever," a crooked smile grows across Tadd's handsome features. "And as far as the coffee shop, you're a fast learner. And a hard worker. Plus, if they see what we all see in you--" he sighs, his gaze never breaking free from hers, "-- they're going to love you."

Margot looks down at her feet, hugging her clipboard tightly to her chest. Feeling her palms begin to sweat, she coyly looks back up at her dear friend. "Thanks, Tadd."

After a few silent moments of staring at each other, Tadd clears his throat. "So, um--" he starts, "have you heard anything yet? About the test?" Tadd changes the subject. Margot shakes her head as she takes a pull from her coffee. "Well, when you do, um, maybe we could, I mean, I thought we could--"

Suddenly an intercom buzzes overhead. "Thaddeus to exam room four. Thaddeus to exam room four."

Tadd furrows his eyebrows, looking to the ceiling before resting a kind half-smile back on Margot. "Duty calls," he nervously sighs as he bounds down the hallway. Halfway down the corridor, he spins around to face Margot. "Hey, um, come find me! Before you leave at noon!" He finger-guns the air before returning to his pursuit.

Margot awkwardly finger-guns him back before smacking her forehead with the palm of her hand. "Seriously, Margot?" she mutters to herself, turning her attention back to the central desk of the clinic; however, she realizes quickly that the attention is all on her.

"When are you two going to make it official, Miss Mary-Margaret?" Iris chokes in the midst of her belly laughs, nodding with other scrub-adorned coworkers.

Biting her bottom lip feeling her heart flutter, Margot straightens out her demeanor, becoming stoic. "I--I don't know what you're talking about--"

"Margot, isn't it obvious?" Chimes in a jolly intake nurse. "That boy loves you--!"

"Who? Tadd?" Margot feigns innocence. She fixes her attention to the chart as she scribbles down more notes. "It's not like that--I mean, we're not, um--" she sighs. "We're just friends--" An instant roar of laughter abrupts from the reception desk, making it impossible for Margot to hide her toothy-smile paired with her scrunched up nose.

"You say that now, baby girl--"

"That's right," chimes in another giggling co-worker, "friends for now!"

An older plump nurse places a tender hand on Margot’s hand, a knowing smile spreading across her face. "Some of the best relationships come from friendships, moró. Give it time. Let the love grow," she winks at Margot.

Margot fidgets with her pen, delicately licking her bottom lip. She then tries to form words with her mouth, but no sound is heard. Her pink cheeks reveal she is flustered. She quickly closes up the chart, pushing loose hairs behind her ear. "Have a good day, ladies."

Hearing the squeals of her coworkers diminishing behind her, Margot quickly escapes into an empty exam room. Closing the door behind her, she leans against it, looking up at the textured ceiling tiles. She can feel the butterflies in her stomach bouncing through to her heart as her legs wiggle with weakness like gelatin.

The idea of 'falling in love' excites Margot, an idea she has dreamed about ever since she saw Baby meet Johnny. But, so far in her young life, she has never experienced it first hand, let alone a romantic hand- hold. Was this love? All she knew for sure was today was not the day to figure it out.

***

As soon as Riley’s name escapes his breathless moans of ecstasy, a searing sharp pain instantly ignites around his hardened girth. And Drake sees red.

"Fuck!" He lets out a guttural roar until no sound comes out of his mouth. He gnashes his teeth, trying to breathe through the agony, but only froths at the corners of his lips. The veins in his neck and his forehead protrude violently as streams of tears roll down his face. Petrified to move, his face turns a deep ruddy color. Before turning violet.

A sudden sensation of relief washes over him as the stabbing sensation fades to throbbing. Drake nervously looks down at his softening cock, relieved to see his member in one piece. "Goddamnit, Brooks," he pants furiously, "you fucking bit me--"

The brunette quickly tosses her curls out of her eyesight right before her fist meets Drake's jaw. "Oh, shit!" The cracking of the joints in his face echoes around the room. Drake starts to gently massage his chin. "You're not Riley--"

She climbs off of his body, standing her naked body in front of him. "No shit, Sherlock!" She slinks her short black spaghetti-strap dress over her dangerous curves before hastily grabbing her clear platform heels and racing out the door. "Fuck you, Drake Walker!"

***

A heartless, cocky laugh pours over the phone speaker. "Shit, Walker. Just--" the baritone voice trails back into a fit of laughter.

"It's not funny, Leo--" Drake warns, accidentally shifting his weight in bed, stirring a soreness to his recent injuries. "Ow!” he sucks air quickly between his gritted teeth, “fuck!" he whimpers to himself, adjusting the cold packs on his genitals.

"But you actually called her a different name, bro. A different name! With her mouth on your salami, your pocket rocket, on your--on your anaconda--" Leo's words fade back into cackles.

"As if you remember every goddamn hook-up’s name--"

"Dude," Leo interrupts, "if she's going to go all hungry, hungry hippo mid-blowie, I'm going to remember her name."

Drake scoffs. "Bullshit--"

"What? I'm serious, bro" Leo's voice becomes sincere. "All of these bitches we meet are looking for one thing--" he pauses dramatically for his wounded friend to finish his sentence; but the silence proves Drake is clueless as to where Leo was going with this. "A connection, Walker!" Leo's voice drips with conviction. "These women don't want to feel like they're disposable, even though--" he chuckles to himself, “let’s be honest: we’re doing them a favor--”

"--’A connection’, Leo" Drake interrupts, urging the conversation back on track.

"Right! ‘A connection," reaffirms Leo, circling back to his point. "Now, okay,” he knowingly titters, “I can’t remember all of these names--”

“Ha! See?” Drake barks.

“--Which is why--” Leo enunciates over Drake, “I use a single pet name. ‘Girl’.”

"'Girl'? That’s your trick? You call them 'girl'?" Drake raises an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Hear me out,” Leo continues. “If you call them something like ‘baby’ or ‘sweetie’, it can be seen as patronizing, that you’re clearly looking to smooth-talk your way into their pants--” Drake rolls his eyes, moving the phone to his other ear “--but now, calling them ‘girl’, I’m showing I want to be a friend, that I just simply want to connect. And then when you’re having your way with her, call her whatever the fuck you want as long as you finish the name with ‘girl’. Good girl. Dirty girl. Naughty girl. Sweet girl. Or in your case, hungry girl--”

Drake clears his throat, stifling a laugh. “--That is the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard--”

“Hey!” Leo interjects. “Who is wearing a bag of frozen peas on his one-eyed trouser snake?”

“Touché,” Drake sighs. “So, where are you right now?”

“With Jason up at his shop.”

“Who?” Drake lets out yawn, looking at his bedside alarm clock.

“Shit, Walker, you really were fucked up last night," Leo sighs. "Jason. You met him last night.” Leo’s voice lowers into a whisper. “He helped you get fucked up last night.”

“Oh! Right, right,” Drake rubs his head, “that was--wow, that shit was--”

“Good, right?” Leo finishes. “Hey, come join us at his shop. We’ve got coffee, and he’s got some new, um, product he’d love to show you--”

“Oh, Leo, I don’t know--” Drake removes the melting bag of vegetables from his lap. Gently lifting up on the waistband of his boxers, carefully inspecting his bruised parts.

“Does Liam have you working today?”

“No, no, it’s not that--” Drake hesitates.

“Oh!” Leo knowingly exclaims. “Does Riley have you working today?” He begins to chuckle. “You might need to let her know that you’re currently indisposed for --”

“Leo--” Drake warns.

“Then what's the hold up?"

Drake glances over at the mirror affixed to his antique dresser, but he doesn't recognize his own reflection. There's an emptiness in eyes, an inexplicable turmoil overcoming the man he once was. How did everything get so complicated? How did he get to such a place that it's better to be absent in life than to live it?

She was just a friend--at least that's what he convinced himself when Riley Brooks first caught his eye. Beautiful. Extremely witty with a fight he had never seen before. When they first kissed, he swore it was a mistake. Hormones. It had been so long since he had touched the delicate petals of a woman's lips.

But, this wasn't just any woman. It was her. And he soon would find himself wrapped up in her bedsheets, wrapped around her finger, wrapped in an awful web of lies.

And, all of his transgressions were against him, his very best friend, the man he regards as closer than a brother, his closest ally and confidant. Normally, Drake would turn to Liam in a heartbeat with any troubles, but this? How could he? How could he talk to Liam about his own devastation when the truth would devastate Liam?

It's been four days since that fateful night of Liam's coronation, four days since the love of Drake's life walked away from him, forcing his hand into harboring secrets from the crowned prince. It's been four days since Drake heard his own voice in his head, four days since he's been sober enough to even think. Even though he deemed the temporary escape necessary, the sudden twinge of discomfort in his groin makes him realize that taking another hit right now is the absolute last thing he needs.

"I think I better stay put," Drake answers, combing his fingers through his disheveled tresses.

"Suit yourself," Leo jovially retorts. "If you need any oxy for your boo-boo, hit me up--Oh, and Drake?"

“Hrmmm?”

"Her name is Whitney."

"What?"

"Jaws? You know, the bitch who chewed on your Moby Dick?" Drake sighs heavily, regretting that he ever told Leo what had happened. "Her name is Whitney."

Drake furrows his eyebrows. "Now, how do you remember her name--?"

"Oh, bro, you don't forget WAP Whitney--oh shit, you probably haven't gotten a good look at your sheets this morning, have you?"

With a grunt, Drake ends the call. “Fuck me,” he mutters under his breath. He carefully gets up, waddling to grab his clothes before heading to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

In the middle of splashing his face with cold, soapy water, Drake's phone rings. Grabbing a hand towel he carefully saunters back to his room, answering the call without hesitation. "Just let it go, Leo--”

"Drake?"

An icy chill shoots down Drake’s spine, freezing him in his steps. He knows that melodic voice anywhere, a voice that reminds him of early morning sunrises and late night silver moonlit paths. “H-hey, Riley,” he stutters, caught off guard. A brief awkward stillness falls over the conversation. “How are you--?”

“I miss you, Drake,” she interrupts.

Drake’s vision suddenly begins to spin as the air in the room becomes stagnant. Stiffening his bottom lip in anger, his breathing quickens as he reaches out carefully to brace himself against the wall.

“Drake?”

“I’m here,” he chokes out. “What do you want, Brooks?” He can hear the tears in her voice, but he wills himself not to care, he wills himself to not even ask.

“Drake, I think I made a mistake--”

“No,” Drake barks out, “no, you can’t do this to me--”

“Drake, please,” Riley sobs, “I’m on my way to the doctor--”

“The doctor?” Drake’s tone suddenly changes. “Are you okay? Is everything with--um, you know--” he slaps his forehead with the palm of his hand, “--okay?”

“Yes--” she sniffles, “--no. I just, I can’t do this alone, Drake. I can’t do this--”

“Riley--” he roughly says her name to grab her attention, “you made your decision: you chose Liam. You want to raise our baby--my baby with him--”

“Don’t you think I want to have this baby with you? That’s all I can even think about Drake,” she takes a moment to calm down her shaking voice. “I love you, Drake. I want a life with you. I want you to be there when this baby is born, when this baby needs his or her father--when this baby needs you--”

“Riley--” Drake exhales with frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose, “--but Liam--”

“I know, Drake. I know--” Riley takes a deep breath, “Can we just talk? In person? Just so we can figure this out? I can come over there--”

“Brooks, I--” Drake stumbles over his words as he runs his fingers over his coarse, overgrown stubble. Of course, he wants her to come over. And to stay. But, has anything changed? Liam just proposed, and she made it clear what her intentions were. But, still, it’s possible she had a change of heart, and this was a second chance he may never get again. He sighs heavily. “Sure. Okay."

After finishing his impromptu conversation with Riley, Drake realizes he needs to make another phone call. He scrolls through his call history, and clicks the green send button.

"Did you change your mind, Evander Holyfield?"

"Funny, Leo," Drake sarcastically responds. "So, yeah, um, what's the address to the shop?"

***

“Does that--does that say what I think it says?” Margot nervously stammers. "I think I saw my score--oh gosh!"

“Here. Let me look--”

Margot quickly covers the computer screen with her hands, "No, Mrs. Iris!” Margot squeals. “I’m not ready--I’m not ready for this!”

“Child, you have been ready for this for months. Now, if you don’t get your hands out of the way--"

"What's with all the commotion?" A few technicians and nurses pile into the room, each giving an endearing rub to Margot’s back. Everyone begins craning their necks to see the computer, covered by Margot's arms. "Is it time? Have they posted the scores?"

"They sure have!" answers Iris before turning to Margot. She tucks several blonde wisps behind Margot’s ear before putting her finger under her chin. "C'mon, baby," she smiles encouragingly, "it's more fun celebrating than worrying."

"I'm--" Margot takes a deep breath, biting back her tears, "--I'm so scared--"

"--and the Lord knew you would be, baby." Iris wrinkles her nose at Margot, her voice becoming stronger. "That's why He called you to be courageous. C'mon."

Margot bites her lip, slowly nodding her head. Feeling the storm brew in her eyes as the weight of the world sits on her chest, she carefully peels back her hands. Her eyes scale the black and white on the screen, but nothing seems to make sense. A burst of silence overwhelms her hearing, time standing perfectly still. Her only company is the beating of her heart.

Take my anxieties...

You have nothing to worry about…

Your will be done…

Be courageous...

Like suddenly breaking through the surface for air, an abrupt roar of cheers fill the room, shaking Margot from her trance. "Our baby girl got a 519!" screams a tearful Iris, pulling Margot from her seat and into a tight embrace. Other coworkers join in, creating a giant group hug.

Margot remains speechless, shocked by her score. She always knew she was an excellent student, studying hard all through school and excelling in her classes. When it came to the MCAT, she was confident she would score better than average, a score of 500. But, to even be noticed by top medical schools, she needed to score in the top 5%, a score 517 or greater.

News swept like wildfire through the clinic, and shortly thereafter, Tadd and some other technicians filed into the breakroom with a decorative chocolate cake and punch in tow. "I knew you could do it!" Tadd cheers victoriously, offering a chaste hug to Margot. "Dr. Hughes," he swipes his hand in the air as if to paint an imaginary portrait. "It has a nice ring to it."

"I still don't understand why you put yourself through all of that," mentions an older phlebotomist. "Cordonia has a medical school right down the road--"

"Because Margot wants to go to one of the best medical schools in the world," interrupts a deeply demanding, yet sincere voice. “To Harvard. Like me.”

"Dr. Ramirez," Margot smiles brightly, jumping up to greet her mentor with a hug.

"That is, you are still looking at my alma mater for medical school--"

"Yes ma'am!" Margot's eyes light up with the thought that her dream of going to Harvard Medical School is becoming her reality. "It would be such an honor to go there, let alone to follow in your footsteps."

Dr. Ramirez pulls Margot in for another tight hug. "My word, Mary-Margaret, 519?" she presses her cheek to Margot's, "I am so proud of you."

"Thank you, Dr. Ramirez," Margot warmly responds, "thank you for taking a chance on me and helping me so much with my studies and research--"

"You know I did that for selfish reasons, right?" The practitioner stifles a smile while Margot squints her eyes with suspicion. "Cordonia needs more female physicians, and more importantly, physicians that will make a difference in its healthcare," she grips tightly to Margot’s hand, "for everyone. I believe you will lead this country in a health care reformation."

"I don't know what to say," Margot clears her throat as she fights back the tears. "I hope I make you proud--"

"You already do." Dr. Ramirez gently touches Margot's cheek lovingly before turning to exit the room.

"Oh!" Margot quickly chases after the obstetrician, “can I talk to you? Privately?” With a nod, Dr. Ramirez leads Margot into a quiet corner. “I know my work-study ends in two weeks--”

“I know. Don’t remind me, Margot--”

“Well, I was wondering,” Margot chews on the side of her mouth, fidgeting with her fingers, “if by any chance I could possibly stay on?”

“Oh, Margot, I wish I could. Unfortunately with budget cuts--”

Margot shakes her head. “No, no, Dr. Ramirez, I meant if I could stay on, shadowing my usual Monday and Thursday mornings, I mean, if that’s alright. Learn more? Keep up my skills?”

“You want to continue volunteering with us?” The doctor gives an inquisitive look. “Don’t you want to get a job to earn money before you move to the states next year?”

“I already got that covered,” Margot assuredly answers. “I just got a job at Bríki, the coffee shop past the square--”

“Oh my gosh,” Dr. Ramirez’s eyes light up. “Does Aleksi still own that place?”

“Mr. Pavlis? Yes! Him and his son run it together, I believe--”

“They have the best coffee,” she energetically smiles, “now I have another reason to stop by.” She kindly places her hand on Margot’s shoulder. “Of course, you can stay on as a volunteer. Whenever you want, however much you want. It is a pleasure to have you around.” With a squeeze of her arm, Dr. Ramirez turns to go to her next appointment, but stops halfway down the hall. “Oh, Margot? My nurse stepped away to make an important phone call. Do you mind escorting my next patient to the exam room?”

Margot dutifully nods with a grin. She twirls around, bounding for the front desk to grab the chart of Dr. Ramirez’s next patient, a new patient. After making a few small notes, Margot opens the door to call her back.

“Brooks? Riley Brooks?”

*****

Tags: (this is my original tag list for this series; if you wanted to be added or removed, please let me know!) @alyssalauren @ao719 @bbrandy2002 @burnsoslow @charlotteg234 @chemist-ana @choiceskatie @forallthatitsworth @gkittylove99 @glaimtruelovealways @kat-tia801 @khoicesbyk @lovingchoices14 @lovelyladyk88 @lucy-268 @mainstreetreader @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @neotericthemis @nestledonthaveone @sfb123 @shannonwrote @shewillreadyou @sweatyrysconnoisseur @taniasethi @tessa-liam @texaskitten30 @thefrenchiemama @thegreentwin @twinkleallnight @yourmajesty09

#the royal romance #the royal romance au #the missionary’s daughter #drake walker x oc #choices fanfiction #trr fanfiction #liam x riley

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hirikka · 4 years ago

Text

twisted thrice about the tree

For @mikkeneko! Written for @thewitchersecretsanta

Rating: G Relationship: Geralt/Jaskier Summary: Jaskier finds Ciri just after a sorcerer from Nilfgaard has cursed Geralt—together they need to find a way to break the curse.

on AO3

Jaskier had been doing his best to avoid danger. It was a new thing for him, and he didn’t think he was a huge fan. He felt that he had to give it a fair shake, after his near-crippling incident with Reince—which had been particularly galling, as he hadn’t even sung any of the White Wolf cycle in months, but that was not the point. The point is that he is avoiding danger, so he should absolutely not run into the dark woods towards the sound of an explosion.

His legs do not seem to have gotten that memo. He curses under his breath but keeps running. It doesn’t take him long to find the source of the explosion—an area of flattened trees that stretched into the distance. Jaskier stops at the edge and thinks very hard about turning around. Until he sees a dragon lift off the ground from just over a ridge and take off into the sky with a flash of silver wings. The dragon circles high above and lets out an earth-shaking roar. A high pitched scream comes from over the hill and Jaskier runs in that direction. He crests the hill just in time to see a portal flash open—there is a man in Nilfgaardian armor holding the arm of a child, pulling them towards the portal. The dragon roars again and Jaskier feels a sudden chill as the creature's shadow blocks out the sun. He has only a moment to act so he springs forward and whispers a blessing on his dagger before he throws it. It flies straight and true—striking the Nilfgaardian in an eye. The man stumbles, releases his grip on the child, and falls. The portal blinks out as he lands. For a moment the clearing is silent. Then the dragon lets out a high keening noise and flaps upwards, the winds buffeting Jaskier and whipping up debris from the destroyed trees.

“No! Wait!” he hears the child scream.

When the dust settles enough that Jaskier can see again, the dragon is gone. A single silver scale lies by Jaskier’s feet. He picks it up and then moves down the slope towards the child. They’ve fallen to their knees in the dirt.

“Are you injured?” Jaskier asks when he is close enough. The child startles to her feet at his approach, watching him with wary green eyes.

“No,” she answers after a moment.

“Good,” Jaskier says. He moves over to the soldier to retrieve his dagger. “Are you traveling alone?” He can’t see any sign of other people—but the destruction around makes it impossible to tell for sure.

The girl hesitates. “I wasn’t.”

“Did he…” Jaskier trails off pointing at the soldier, hoping his point is clear.

The girl nods, a little tentative.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier says. She’s not the first orphan he’s seen in the first few months of the war, and she’s unlikely to be the last. “I would be happy to help you to wherever you were heading.” He can see the suspicion in her gaze at his offer. “My name is Jaskier.” He hopes that she’ll recognize the name at least, a famous bard will hopefully feel like a safer traveling companion than a strange man.

The girl’s eyes widen. “The bard? You traveled with”—she hesitates for a moment—“with the White Wolf?”

Jaskier is about to respond when he spots a flash of silver on the ground near their feet. He kneels to pick it up and it feels as though his heart stutters to a stop. It’s a wolf witcher medallion—the chain has been snapped but the sight is so familiar and it hums softly under his touch. He looks at the girl, she’s gone tense and still in front of him. “Yes, I traveled with the White Wolf,” he says. “What happened here?”

The girl gulps, glancing towards the sorcerer. “He cursed Geralt. He wanted to separate us, make it so Geralt wouldn’t be able to protect me.”

“Oh,” Jaskier gasps. “You’re Cirilla!”

“Ciri,” the girl corrects. “Or Fiona in public.”

Jaskier thinks of the silver scale in his pocket. “And he turned Geralt into a dragon?”

Ciri nods. “I don’t think he knew me, after he transformed, it didn’t seem… didn’t seem like him.”

Jaskier hums, considering what he knows about transformation magic. Wonders exactly how different the reality is from the songs. “Well, we ought to start by figuring out where he would have gone. Where were you heading?”

“The coast.”

Jaskier blinks. “The coast? Why?”

“He didn’t say exactly,” Ciri admits.

“I suppose that shouldn’t surprise me.” Jaskier sighs. “But I’m not sure if he would have carried on that way, or if he would have gone somewhere familiar…” he trails off, trying to think of any reason he could avoid going to the one person who might know where he was. Unfortunately— “I know someone who should be able to track him for us.”

Ciri brightens. “Who?”

“Yennefer.”

“I don’t want to get involved in whatever scheme you’ve gotten tangled up in.” Yennefer doesn’t even bother looking up from her book.

“Oh well, Ciri, let's go. We’ll have to see if there’s someone else who can help us.” Jaskier says.

Yennefer looks up at that, narrowing her eyes at Jaskier and Ciri. “Why do you have a child?” The disdain in her tone made Ciri press closer to Jaskier. “Nobody in their right mind would trust you with a child.”

Jaskier scoffs. “Please, I’m perfectly responsible.”

Yennefer just raises an eyebrow.

“Alright, fine.” Jaskier huffs. “You’re correct in a way, her true guardian is very much not in his right mind. That’s why we’re here.”

Yennefer sighs and then stands. “Alright, you better come in and sit down. I have a feeling I’m going to need a drink.”

As she leads them into her apartment behind the shop, Ciri tugs on Jaskier’s sleeve. “Will she be able to help us?”

“Of course, poppet,” Jaskier assures her. “She might not be my biggest fan, but she won’t turn you away.”

“Alright, explain,” Yennefer says. “And keep it simple, please, bard.”

“Right. Simple.” Jaskier has heard that before, fine, if she wants just the bare bones of the story: “Geralt’s been cursed into a dragon and we need to find him.”

Yennefer takes a moment to process that. She takes a long sip of her wine. “Why?”

“Why was he cursed, or why do we need to find him?” Jaskier asks. “Although, I suppose it's the same answer either way. This is Cirilla, Geralt’s child surprise.”

Yen’s eyes widen. “His child surprise is the lion cub of Cintra?”

“Yes, so you can see why he didn’t exactly feel like he could snatch her away at any time, the lioness was a bit touchy about the whole thing.” Jaskier’s voice is cool, remembering the words he had overheard on the mountain.

“He was cursed because he was trying to protect me.” Ciri cuts in. Her hand is clenched around the wolf medallion. “I need to help him.”

Yen turns her attention to the girl and softens. “I can create a tracking spell for you.” Ciri lets out a relieved breath but Yen continues. “That will be the easy part. Once you find him you’ll need to find a way to break the curse.”

“I have one of his scales,” Jaskier says. “Would that help in figuring out the details of the curse? How to break it?”

Yen nods, reaching out a hand. Jaskier reluctantly passes the silver scale to her. “The tracking spell will take a few hours to prepare, and I’ll need some time with this to see what I can find out. You can stay here for the night, I have a spare room.”

“Thank you, Yennefer,” Jaskier says, hoping she’ll sense how sincere he is.

She gives a curt nod before pointing down a hall. “And take a bath before you track any more filth into my house.”

“I have good news and bad news,” Yennefer announces over breakfast. “Geralt’s not far, you should be able to reach him in three days on horseback.” She pauses. “I’m not sure how to undo the curse. It’s a mess, they mucked something up rather badly and now it’s too twisted up to have an easy cure.”

“Fuck.” Jaskier and Ciri say at the same time.

Yen glances between them with a bemused look. “It’s not hopeless. The curse got twisted, you’ll need to remind him who he is first.”

“How?” Jaskier asks.

Yennefer gives him a pointed look. “You know him better than anyone, Jaskier, you’ll have to figure that out.” She softens slightly. “Three things. There’s a reason the tales always call for three things, three tasks. There’s a real magic there—three things that remind him who he is and then—”

“Then?” Jaskier prompts.

“Then, you should be able to break the curse,” Yennefer says. Jaskier can sense there is more to it than she’s saying.

“What if we choose the wrong things?” Ciri asks.

Yennefer frowns. “I’m not sure—you might be able to try again but it could also cause the spell to warp again. I wish I could give you a clearer answer.”

“You’ve given us enough,” Jaskier says, hoping to reassure Ciri even as he starts running through ideas, trying to figure out what options they have. “Ciri, can you go and get Roach ready?” Jaskier asks. Ciri gives him a look that makes it very clear she knows exactly what he’s trying to do but she does head outside. Once she’s gone, Jaskier turns to Yennefer. “Alright, what’s the rest of it?”

Yennefer sighs. “If the curse didn’t break when the caster was killed… then the only sure way to break it is the, well, traditional method.”

“Traditional method?” Jaskier asks. He has a feeling he knows what that is, but he needs to hear her say it.

“True love,” Yennefer says, as if it is such a simple thing.

Jaskier stares at her. “Will you—?”

Yennefer shakes her head. “The bond created by the djinn warped whatever Geralt and I have—could have had. I care for him, and I know he cares for me—but it’s not true in the way it would need to be to break the curse.”

Jaskier sighs. “Does true love have to go both ways?”

Yennefer gives him a look that, in another person, he might have mistaken for sympathy. “There’s only one way to find out.”

Jaskier nods in thanks and moves towards the door.

“Jaskier—” Yennefer calls. “Try to do it before the season changes or it may be too late.”

Jaskier grimaces—there are so many ways for this to go wrong and such a narrow path to save Geralt. “Thank you, Yennefer.”

“Good luck.” Yennefer says.

Jaskier steps outside and prepares to save his witcher.

“What are the three things?” Ciri asks once they’ve set out. Yennefer had given them a map, Geralt’s location marked with ink she had infused with a piece of the scale so that it would track Geralt if he moved. He is currently on a stretch of coast between Gors Velen and Oxenfurt—the cliffs of the area mean that it is mostly unpopulated which hopefully means they won’t have to contend with any dragon hunters.

Jaskier considers. “I’m guessing that just his swords and medallion won’t be enough for this. The medallion is certainly one of the things, though.” He runs his hand absently along Roach’s neck. “Unfortunately, he was never a big fan of sharing so I’m not completely sure what else we can use.”

“What about a song?” Ciri suggests. “One of the ones you wrote for him?”

Jaskier glances up at the princess—she looks so hopeful and he hates that he has to admit that he is probably not actually well-suited to help with this. She doesn’t have anyone else to turn to. “He wasn’t a fan of my music, to tell the truth.”

Ciri gives him a skeptical look. “He used to hum them, sometimes, when he was trying to help me sleep. He never sang the words but I recognized the tunes.”

“He did?” Jaskier can’t hide his surprise.

“Yes,” Ciri says, as if it should have been obvious. “He talked about you, about how you helped him.”

Jaskier snorts.

“I’m serious!” Ciri says with a huff. “You were the only person besides his brothers he ever really talked about.” She has an intense look. “I know you’ll be able to figure out what we need to bring him back.”

“Ah, well.” Jaskier is at a loss for words. He wishes he had as much faith that his knowledge of Geralt would be enough. “I’ll certainly do my best.”

“A song, the medallion…” He taps his quill against the page, trying to think. “Ciri, I think you might be the last thing we need.”

“What?”

“Material possessions have never been that important to him,” Jaskier says. “His medallion is a symbol of his profession, his purpose. The song to remind him that he’s more than the monster people claim he is, and you—you’re his destiny. His future.”

Ciri tilts her head. “Really? It's been such a short time… are you sure it wouldn’t be his swords?”

“No,” Jaskier says, he’s as certain that she is part of this as she is that his song will help. “The swords are just tools, he’s lost them before. Gotten replacements. They’re important to him, certainly, but not, I think, in the same way that you are.”

Ciri ducks her head to hide a pleased smile and Jaskier hopes to all the gods that he is right. That they both are. They’ll reach the coast and Geralt tomorrow and he needs this to work. Jaskier lets out a long breath as he watches the dragon disappear from sight. Tries to calm the racing of his heart. He’s so desperate for this to work, so scared that it won’t. He makes sure he is steady enough to pretend at confidence before he returns to where Ciri is waiting a little way back from the cliff edge.

They can smell the salt in the air long before they see the ocean. As Jaskier had suspected, the area the dragon has led them too is at least a day's walk from any villages. Remote enough that nobody is likely to stumble upon him. Of course, if he’s spotted in the air that’s another matter, but hopefully they’ll have Geralt cured before anyone decides to muster up another dragon hunting expedition. The cliffside they approach is empty except for a single great hawthorn tree. The dragon is resting underneath the tree. Jaskier stops their approach to study him. His scales are the color of a stormy sky, silver and grey with tinges of blue and black. He has several horns on his head but is otherwise sleek and sinuous.

He lifts his head and fixes them with a piercing look. His eyes are still golden but they seem so much colder than Geralt’s. “You shouldn’t be here.” The dragon rumbles.

“Geralt!” Ciri cries, taking a step towards the dragon but he lifts his head higher and bares his fangs.

The dragon’s tail lashes—the end seems almost feathered and it stirs up a cold wind as it moves. “Leave this place.”

Jaskier places his hand on Ciri’s shoulder and stares at the dragon’s huge golden eyes. “We need you to come back to yourself, Geralt.” He thanks his years of vocal training for allowing him to keep his voice steady.

The dragon says nothing.

Jaskier squeezes Ciri’s shoulder. “Wait here,” he whispers as he takes Geralt’s medallion out of his pocket and slowly walks towards the dragon. In response, the dragon bares his fangs.

Jaskier stands before the dragon and holds out the medallion. “Here is your medallion, the symbol of your trade, your life. While you wear it, you shall always have your purpose.”

The dragon extends his head towards Jaskier cautiously. “If you touch me, tail or fin, I swear my medallion your death shall be.” The dragon’s words are said in an almost song-like chant—it’s an odd touch, but the whole spell is odd. With the dragon this close, Jaskier can sense the magic; it feels ancient and he wonders exactly what the Nilfgaardians thought they were doing.

Jaskier places the medallion on the ground and steps back with his hand raised to show that he will not touch the dragon. He watches the dragon extend one clawed foot to pull the medallion in close, holding it close to his face. He is still for a long moment before he launches himself up into the air and over the edge of the cliff.

“Is he leaving?” Ciri asks, rushing to stand by Jaskier’s side.

“Hunting perhaps,” Jaskier suggests. “I imagine we’re meant to come back tomorrow, and the day after—three days and three items.”

Ciri makes a face. “Why does magic have to be so complicated?”

Jaskier huffs a laugh. “I’ve often wondered the same thing. Come on, let's see if we can find a decent spot to set up camp.

They had set up camp in a copse of trees far enough back from the cliff edge that the wind was not quite so biting. They eat a quick breakfast and then head back towards the hawthorn tree. When they arrive, Geralt has not returned. Ciri, needing something to burn off her nervous energy, starts running through her training drills. She practices with a sword that Geralt must have had made for her—it is finely made, well balanced, and she is clearly comfortable with it.

Jaskier watches for a while before he settles down with his lute, trying to figure out what song might work to bring Geralt back. It’s a daunting task whe he’s still not entirely sure that one of his songs will even help, but they hadn’t been able to come up with any better ideas, so he’ll have to hope that destiny is on their side.

The sun is high in the sky when they hear the rushing sound of the dragon’s wings. They watch as it lands lightly on the edge of the cliff, water slides off his scales, sparkling in the sunlight. He coils himself around the tree. He regards them with clear interest. The medallion hangs around his neck.

“You’ve come again.” The dragon observes. “To offer another trinket?”

“Ah, not an item this time but a song!” Jaskier says, walking as close to the dragon as he dares before he adjusts his lute. “The medallion was to remind you that you are a witcher,” Jaskier explains. “The reason you walk the path. The song is to show you how important that is, how despite the difficulties, you remain good. A hero.”

The dragon rumbles something that sounds vaguely like disagreement.

“You can’t argue that you aren’t a hero when you don’t remember who you are.” Jaskier snaps. He’s had this fight enough times with Geralt when he does know himself.

The dragon snorts but he doesn’t protest beyond that. He lays his head on the ground gestures for Jaskier to proceed with a flick of his tail.

Jaskier takes a deep breath and starts to play the familiar notes of ‘The stars above the path’. It is not quite as popular as ‘toss a coin’ but it has more truth to it, written after Jaskier and Geralt had traveled together for almost a decade. Geralt is still heroic, of course, but the story is more complex—not meant to merely please a crowd at a tavern. Jaskier had tried to show the truth of Geralt—his compassion and bravery, his humanity. It’s the closest to a love song that Jaskier has ever written so obviously about Geralt, not that the witcher noticed.

The dragon seems intrigued at least, his focus never wavering from Jaskier as he sings, and by the final chorus his tail is twitching in time with the music. When the song ends the dragon moves slightly closer.

“He is your friend? Geralt?”

“He is,” Jaskier says easily. It has been almost two years since he had left Geralt in the Kestrel Mountains, but he still considers the witcher his friend.

“Then I hope your plan works.” The dragon says before he takes off, flying out over the open water.

The third day dawns blustery and cool, the scent of frost in the air reminding them they do not have much time left. Jaskier tries to keep himself calm and steady, he can see how frightened Ciri is and doesn’t want to do anything that might make it worse.

They still don’t know exactly what will happen if they have chosen wrong and they are not able to restore Geralt to himself, but Jaskier cannot imagine they will be allowed a second chance. He fears that the dragon will turn on them, but cannot do more than pray that if that happens he will be strong enough to hold it off long enough for Ciri to flee.

They wait in silence for the dragon to return—watching as he crests the cliffside and curls through the air above them. He spirals down until he is once again on the cliffside facing them, the long line of his body looped around the tree.

“Ready?” Jaskier asks, rising to his feet and offering Ciri a hand up.

“What if it doesn’t work?” Ciri asks.

“Then we go back to Yennefer and see if she has any other ideas,” Jaskier says, hoping that will reassure Ciri.

Ciri doesn’t look convinced but she lifts her chin, shifting to stand at her full height. “Let’s go.”

Jaskier nods and together they walk towards the dragon. The dragon watches, tail twitching like a cat preparing to spring.

“You’ve returned.” The dragon rumbles. “What will you try today?”

Jaskier takes a deep breath. “Today, your destiny”—he steps back and Ciri steps forward to take his place—”Cirilla, your daughter.”

“Daughter?” The dragon rumbles the question, eyes narrowed.

“Fate brought us together,” Ciri says, voice fierce and determined. “You swore that we would always find each other, that you wouldn’t leave me!”

The dragon moves his head closer and Jaskier holds his breath.

“Geralt, I need you. Your destiny is more than this.” Ciri says.

The dragon withdraws rapidly, coiling tighter on himself until the tree within his coils creaks a protest. “Destiny is cruel, child.”

Jaskier steps closer, placing a hand on Ciri’s trembling shoulder. “Destiny may have taken much from you, Geralt, but it has given you a gift. A chance for happiness. To have a family.” He takes a deep breath. “Would you abandon your child the way you were abandoned? Do not let this curse turn you into a monster.”

“I am a monster.” the dragon growls.

“You aren’t,” Jaskier says. “You are a witcher, a hero, a protector, a father. You are so much more than they say you are. More than you think you are.”

The dragon darts forward until he is so close to Jaskier that his breath ruffles the bard’s clothing. Jaskier stands still, resisting the urge to push Ciri behind him as the dragon examines them. His golden eyes seem different, warmer than they had before and Jaskier holds his breath—hardly daring to hope.

“You are so sure?” the dragon asks. “Even after the Kestrel Mountains?”

Jaskier sucks in a breath, if the dragon can reference past events then perhaps Geralt’s mind is becoming his own again. “Even after that,” Jaskier says. “Anger doesn’t make you a monster.”

“I hurt you.” the dragon says.

“You did.” Jaskier agrees. “That doesn’t change who you are. You are still a good man, Geralt. You’ve made mistakes but that doesn’t make you a monster. It makes you human.”

The dragon, Geralt, gives a slow blink. He doesn’t speak but he doesn’t move away either.

“What now?” Ciri whispers.

Jaskier gives her what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “Classic curse-breaking,” he says. “The traditional ways always work best. Hopefully.” He takes a step closer to the dragon who is still not moving—just watching with an intense focus.

“Gods, please let this work,” Jaskier whispers, and then he leans in and presses a kiss to the dragon’s snout.

For a long breathless moment, absolutely nothing happens. Then everything goes white.

Jaskier comes back to awareness slowly. His ears are ringing. He feels a small hand holding his own. With a great deal of effort, he opens his eyes, blinking away bright white spots. For a moment he is staring up at the empty sky and then Geralt is there, warm golden eyes scanning his face. Jaskier reaches his free hand up and touches the loose hair falling around Geralt’s face.

“It worked.” Jaskier hears himself say, voice breathless and awed. He touches Geralt’s cheek and marvels at the way Geralt presses into his hand.

“It did.” Geralt agrees. “Thank you, Jaskier.”

“Oh, well. It was no trouble.” Jaskier lies cheerfully. He’s not certain how to act, how to deal with the fact that Geralt is his true love. “I ju—”

The rest of what he was going to say is silenced and then forgotten completely as Geralt leans in and kisses him. It is soft, gentle and so tender Jaskier almost wants to scream. After a long moment, Geralt pulls back, just slightly, so that he can press his forehead against Jaskier’s.

“I missed you.” Geralt says.

“Oh,” Jaskier murmurs, at a loss for words. Any anger he felt fades away in the face of Geralt’s little smile. He looks radiant with happiness.

“Um. I hate to interrupt,” Ciri says. “But we should probably find somewhere to spend the night?”

Geralt moves away with a great deal of reluctance. He rises fluidly to his feet, looking no worse for his time as a dragon. He reaches out a hand to Jaskier and pulls him to his feet. He doesn’t drop Jaskier’s hand.

“What now?” Jaskier asks, trying not to appear as nervous as he feels.

“We’ll find a place to camp tonight.” Geralt says. “And then… would you come with us?”

“What?” Jaskier asks. “Where?”

“We’re going to Kaer Morhen for the winter. Will you come?” Geralt actually looks nervous as if the answer isn’t blatantly obvious.

“Geralt,” Jaskier says softly. “I’d follow you anywhere. All you had to do was ask.”

“Hm.” Geralt’s mouth tilts into a tiny smile. “Good.”

#geraskier #geralt #jaskier #geraskier fic #fairy tale inspired #my writing #my fics #mine #txp

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dat-town · 4 years ago

Text

colour the world with you

Characters: Yeonjun & You

Genre: fluff

Setting: witch shop au

Summary: The crazy hair coloured guy working at the witch shop where your grandma has you run errands for her keeps getting on your nerves.

Words: 3.7k

Author’s note: title is from TXT’s Your Light

For @restlessmaknae to fill your holidays with colours, smiles and happiness.

You told yourself you weren't a believer. People talked about magic as if they had seen it happen but you were doubtful, even when your weak grandma asked you to get a potion for her. When doctors couldn't help, she always turned to alternative methods even though you thought just taking her pills could have helped her. But no, she insisted, put the money into your hands and told you to ask for Han halmeoni's usual. You gritted your teeth but despite not saying it, you were upset how people out there could take advantage of naive elders with their expensive fake herb drinks. Though, you knew better than anyone that arguing with your grandma wouldn't have led anywhere since she was just as stubborn as you. So you agreed with a smile and promised you would get the potion the next day.

Finding the shop called Magic Island – what an obnoxious name for real – was easier than you thought. Witchcraft wasn't hunted or looked down upon as it used to be but you really didn't expect to find it between a coffee shop and a bookstore. From outside it seemed like any other store with its glass windows though it was more colourful and lively than most due to the flowers by the door and the dreamcatcher on the door. You double checked the name and the address then tentatively pressed down on the handle.

As soon as you crossed the threshold, the smell of herbs and spices, burning candle scents and warmth hit you in waves. The whole place gave off a very soothing and welcoming vibe and while the interior was even more colourful than the outside, nothing stood out as much as the vivid blue hair of the guy behind the counter.

"Hello, how can I help you?" he inquired, voice mellow and smile kind. The thin, light blue sweater he wore showed a bit of one of his collarbones and the dangling earring he had in one ear had small blue stones in it. You felt like you had never seen anybody like him.

"I came to pick up something for my grandma, Han halmeoni's usual potion," you recited the rehearsed speech before you could have blurted out something rude. At the mention of your granny, the cashier boy's eyes lit up and he smiled wider.

"Ah, just a minute," he excused himself and leaned down, opening small cabinets full of folies and cans under the counter until he found the glass of the thick green liquid. "Is halmeoni alright though? Has her knee been acting up again?" he asked while he rang up the product and you shouldn't have been surprised that your grandma probably told him about all her life.

"It's her waist this time," you said curtly, wanting to get over the payment as soon as possible. But even after the machine beeped accepting your credit card, the boy with his crazy hair switched on his employee of the mouth smile and kept you there with his rambling:

"It seems like you're quite stressed and anxious recently. Wouldn't you like some chamomile-lavender tea? Or we have a peppermint-citrus cream for headaches, too or–"

"I'm fine," you cut him off not too nicely. Argh... you hated when cashiers were so noisy and he even acted like he knew you just because you weren't in a good mood today but that had nothing to do with your usual exam stress. He couldn't have known about that anyway. And as if some cream would have helped!

The next time you saw the boy he had yellow locks. The unnatural, bright yellow like the fermented radish you liked so much with your traditional Korean dishes. Of course, you didn't go to his shop out of boredom or happiness but for your grandmother's sake you didn't want her to travel across half the city just to get her favourite tea leaves for better digestion. It had been about two months since you had visited the colourful shop, so the changes shouldn't have taken you so aback – after all every shop was usually decorated according to the season – and yet, for a moment you just stood there in the bright warmth of the sunlit room full of buttercups and sunflowers. It almost seemed like the same cashier guy as last time had a hair colour to fit the enterieur but that sounded a bit too ridiculous. Who would have dyed their hair because of their workplace's new decoration? Though who worked at a witch shop in the first place?

"Hi! How can I help you today?" the boy, Yeonjun according to his name tag, flashed a beaming smile at you. He seemed really giddy all the time, maybe being surrounded by all these herbs all day long did something to his brain… or maybe got him high.

"I would like to have a packet of Island of Calm tea," you told him straight, wanting to make it a real quick in and out.

"Ah, for your grandma? I'm glad it helps her," the boy smiled at you sweetly and started humming an annoyingly cheerful song while preparing the packet neatly. He wrapped it up, put on a sticker with good wishes before he would have turned to the cashier machine.

You had already prepared with your wallet but instead of letting you know the price, this Yeonjun guy decided to play with your nerves.

"Sorry about the other day if I came off too strong. We have amulets too if you prefer…"

You slammed down the money on the counter, grabbed the tea and turned to walk out on him before he could have finished that. But...

"It will rain today. Take an umbrella," he shouted after you which only made you snicker.

Hah, who was this guy? He should have minded his own business! The weather forecast didn't say anything about rain anyways.

"I'm fine," you bit at him and walked out.

It didn't even take 10 minutes though for you to get soaking wet in a sudden summer downpour. Under your breath you kept cursing the guy from the magic shop although he had nothing to do with the rain. He just had a good guess.

You really didn't want to go back to the shop. It gave you the chills, like that uneasiness in the stomach that made you want to throw up. You didn't want to go back because you didn't want to hear that crazy hair coloured guy's unwanted preaching about your stress level. You might have been a bit on the edge these days but you were okay, you could handle it. Even if you wished your group partners to Hell sometimes because they couldn't even answer your questions about the schedule and the presentation in your KKT group chat, even if your teacher was a pain in the ass moving the classes as he pleased as if you had nothing better to do. Even if an upcoming family gathering was unnerving you because you didn't want to hear them comparing you to your relatives. It was just a bad time, it would pass, you told yourself, nothing to whine about.

So you took a deep breath, list in hand and you raised your chin before you stepped inside the so-called magic shop. You planned ahead: going to the counter, handing over the list, pretending to get a phone call and leave. Easy and interaction-free. But the moment you stepped inside, the sight this time took your breath away. You really didn't understand how and why the store changed its interior so drastically and so frequently but this look was even more breathtaking than the ones before.

The whole place had a pink hue, it even smelled like cotton candy and everything had this rosy colour from afar. The ceiling looked like a pink sky with white cloud decorations made of cotton. The dreamcatchers and amulets hanging down all sparkled in the shade of blue hour and you forgot why you came for a moment.

"Pretty, isn't it?" A voice spoke up from beside you and only then you realised that the cashier boy wasn't behind the counter like usual but instead he was walking between the shelves in the book section, holding a few volumes in his arms. You jumped at his sudden closeness, blinking up at him surprised and it took you a moment too long to process what you had been seeing.

The guy had bright pink hair.

And it looked strangely good on him.

"Are you okay?" he asked, concerned and only then you realised that you had been staring. At the way his locks looked against his tanned forehead. At the way he pulled his mouth into a gentle smile and suddenly you felt like the air was getting sucked out of your lungs. What the hell were you doing? Why did he suddenly have such an effect on you?

"Yeah, I'm fine," you muttered, clearing your throat, stepping away.

You walked up to the counter confidently and the boy didn't try to stop you. He didn't say anything, not even as he followed you and took your paper with the list your grandma suddenly needed after you complained to her about the nosy guy in the shop. He prepared the small box with different herbs, creams and lucky charms wordlessly which was a bit unsettling. You only met him twice before yet it seemed like it was out of character for him. But you tried not to think too much into it and just watched him work.

When Yeonjun read your total out loud for you and you handed your card to him there was something knowing in his eyes that you couldn't quite put a finger on.

"You know you should really stop saying you're fine when you aren't," he spoke up finally when he gave you back the plastic but instead of letting it go, he looked down on your hand intently. Not understanding the reason behind it you followed his gaze and saw that you managed to cut your finger earlier with the paper when you got startled. You didn't even feel it up until then even though it drew a bit of blood, a few drops drying on your index finger.

"Let me," the boy muttered as he let go and looked around on a shelf not far from the counter.

"It's nothing really," you protested but you felt bad because he shouldn't have been worried about you just because it was him who got you scared. You should have paid more attention.

"It could get infected," he reasoned as he got back with some lotion in a small capsule. He took your hand, gentle and you realised that his hands were soft despite the calluses on his fingertips. Not to mention, it was endearing how attentive he was, even sticking out his tongue a bit in concentration as he put a plaster over the oil-coated wound.

"Thanks," you breathed not really knowing what else you could say and you couldn't even anymore, not with the way he smiled at you, warm like the Sun and soothing like spring breezes.

As you were leaving you couldn't help but think that the way he said those words about you pretending to be okay was about more than just your scar. Maybe he had a great sense for such things.

It was not until you got home that you noticed the extra object in the packet you bought at the shop. You even double-checked with your grandma's list but a scent bag of herbs for better sleeping weren't on that and you didn't even pay for that, so how?

The answer was ridiculously easy: the cashier guy must have sneaked it into your bag, yet you didn't get his reason and why he always tried to have a say in your life but then you looked down on the cute pink plaster on your finger and decided to accept the gift. Even though you didn't believe in it, you put it under your pillow for the night like you were instructed. You almost forgot about it because by the time it was bedtime for you your head was full of unnecessary drama and thoughts that were driving you crazy. On nights like this it was hard to fall asleep because you had too many what ifs going on inside of your head. But this time, even before you could have realised it, you were already drifting off to sleep, tense shoulders relaxing, head empty. You didn't remember when you last slept so well.

So maybe it was confusion, gratitude or the mix of those two that led you back to the Magic Island only a few days later, this time without your grandma having to make you. This time you were expecting the change of interior, so the universe-like violet colours and planets flying around (must be some kind of trick) didn't take you that aback. Yeonjun was nowhere to be seen even though the bells rang prettily above the door when you arrived.

For once, you decided to take a look around, so tentatively you wandered deeper into the store, into parts you hadn't been before. You had seen tarot cards in one corner and Ouija boards in another, there were books about ghosts and other dimensions. There was a whole section about curses and a closed off one for potions. You were reading some of the ridiculously long tea names (and why does The night when the world has burned, we are… has chilli in it anyways?) when you heard someone clear their throat. You turned around to face them but your hello died on the tip of your tongue.

Now Yeonjun's hair was purple, that dark but warm kind, like nights on which the sky seemed to embrace you.

"Does halmeoni need something else?" he looked up at you with a genuine, kind smile.

"No, I... Actually I just wanted to thank you for the scent bag," you muttered under your nose, a bit embarrassed but determined to be a bigger person and not act petty over an act of kindness.

"Did it help?" Yeonjun's eyes lit up immediately, straight up happily when you nodded. The smile on his face widened. "Then you're welcome."

You just stood there, uncertain, not knowing what to say or do because apparently he was well aware that he gifted you that and it seemed like he didn't expect anything in return. Not to mention that he figured out that you barely had any sleep lately and cinnamon was one of your favourite scents. Was it just a coincidence? Or did the bags under your eyes betray you like that? Was cinnamon just a lucky guess?

"How did you know?" you blurted out eventually, not getting over your internal struggle. For a moment Yeonjun just looked at you, really looked as if he tried to figure you out and he was rather tentative when he spoke up:

"You don't believe in magic, do you?"

You raised an eyebrow as if asking: seriously? at which he let out a chuckle. His laughter made such a pleasant sound!

"Well, then you could say it was just a good hunch," he shrugged and his carefree attitude made you even more curious, throwing you more recklessly into the unknown.

"And if I said I believe in it?" you wondered out loud and the cashier guy looked back at you as if it was a challenge. Maybe it was since you were interested in how he would try to convince you about magic being real.

"It's your aura," he said simply, looking at you and at the same time around you and started explaining: "It has a different energy based on your mood and well-being. It wasn't that hard to figure out based on that."

You hummed, trying to see whether your rational mind could take it as an answer but even auras and halos and such seemed too... intangible for you. Yeonjun must have sensed your hesitance because a moment later he straightened his back and tilted his head.

"It's easier to show you," he offered, waiting, patient. He must have learned that being pushy with you didn't work because the more he insisted, the more you resisted. But putting it this way: him offering a chance for you to see and believe but with no pressure, it made you halt. Because all your life you had liked certain things. You liked plans, schedules, believing in things you saw or experienced. Maybe that's why magic had always been obnoxious for you: you had met with too many liars and fakes.

You slowly, tentatively nodded.

"Close your eyes," Yeonjun smiled at you encouragingly and albeit not liking the idea of becoming vulnerable even this much, you obeyed. About five seconds passed before the boy called your name. "You can open them."

Not expecting any big change, you were at a loss of words when Yeonjun stood in front of you with silver grey hair. And not just that! The shop's interior changed in a blink of a minute, too. It was no longer purple but rather monochrome, serious, angular.

"How?" you gasped in awe.

"Magic," Yeonjun smiled and laughed at you before explaining that his mother was a witch, so he's partly one too and that the shop is enchanted, changing based on his mood or will, similarly as his hair colour. It was still unbelievable but you couldn't deny the obvious, so instead of protesting against it anymore, you threw your dozen questions at the boy to which he answered very enthusiastically.

After that afternoon, you slowly started to become a regular at Magic Island. Not only when your grandma had an errand to run but you visited the shop even when you got tired of your scent bag's type or due to another excuse. It was easy to come up with those when you had so many questions. With Yeonjun by your side guiding you through a whole new world opened up in front of you. After your uni classes, you sometimes dropped by to read a book between the shelves about auras and the harmony with nature or potions that actually worked until Yeonjun found you there. Sometimes he called you out on never buying the books but it was only a friendly, teasing banter that ended up with him inviting you over for some herb tea matching your mood (a lot of sweet strawberry and rose mint lately). On other occasions, he joined you on the floor, leaning his back onto the bookshelf too, his arm almost brushing yours as he asked about what you were currently reading about.

He also told you a lot of fun stories and while chuckling over his jokes your stomach didn't ache only due to laughter. You hated to call this feeling as 'butterflies in your stomach' but you had no better word for it and being so good at reading your aura, Yeonjun must have known, too. Yet, he didn't say anything, so you decided to take matters into your hands.

When you opened the door of the magic store on that chilly December afternoon after finally finishing with your exams before winter break, the first thing that hit you was the cinnamon and plum scent. You inhaled deeply and smiled at the Christmassy atmosphere inside the store with the festive decoration. Yeonjun must have had the holiday spirit these days, you thought and it seemed like right because the boy walked out of the storage room in a cute snowman sweater and with faded lavender coloured hair.

"Heya, how was the exam?" he turned to you with a bright smile which you couldn't help but mimic as you walked up to the other side of the counter.

"Manageable," you shrugged, happy that you were finally done with it. Then before you could have chickened out during your conversation, you blurted out: "Do you perhaps have the opposite of love potions?"

"Like an antiserum? Did someone give you a love potion?" Yeonjun wiggled his eyebrows but his tone was kind of worried. Cute, you noted.

"No but I'd like this stupid crush gone," you sighed and even grimaced for impact, watching the boy's reaction closely but he seemed more curious and a bit confused than anything.

"Why?"

"I just..." You vaguely threw your hands up and pouted which Yeonjun must have found endearing because the mischievousness was back in his glittering dark eyes and the smirk was on his lips again as he leaned provocatively closer.

"And if I like you back?" he raised an eyebrow and the confidence in his voice made your jaw drop.

The audacity!

"I'm not talking about you!" you retorted right away but more out of pride and teasing than honesty. You couldn't hide that too well from the witch boy either as his grin only widened seeing your blushed cheeks.

"Too bad," he snickered playfully, his lower lip jutting out in a sulky pout. Then he pulled back in an instant, brushing his lavender hair out of his eyes with an overdramatic sigh. "And I was about to suggest a hot chocolate date..."

"A date you say?" you breathed with a hopeful smile and rested your palms on the counter while this time it was you who leaned closer. Not that it meant a lot because with Yeonjun's height, you just had to angle your neck even more sharply. At least until he decided to scrunch down to your level, dark orbs glimmering in the colourful lights of the shop.

"That I say," he nodded and briefly looked up prompting you to do the same only to see a white mistletoe slowly growing and hanging down above you.

"Don't get too ahead of yourself, mister," you flicked his forehead but giggled anyway knowing all too well that your aura must have been just as pink as your cheeks. But you didn't mind one bit, not until it was Yeonjun who made your world so colourful.

#txt scenarios #txt x reader #yeonjun x reader #yeonjun scenarios #yeonjun fluff #txt fluff #stories

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all-the-love-harold · 4 years ago

Text

Fine Line

Chapter 2 - I don’t want to be alone

December 20th 2019

“Hey Bowie?” Clara said in her high pitched dog voice and watched as Bowie titled his head to listen to her “Do you want to wake up uncle Harry?”

Bowie jumped down off the bed and ran straight to Clara’s bedroom door waiting for her to open it.

“Ok let’s go big dog, go jump on uncle Harry!” she opened the door and let Bowie out to the living room where a very hungover Harry was snoring on the couch. Now the thing that Clara had learnt best about Bowie over the last few days was that he had absolutely no understanding of personal space so as soon as he saw Harry on the couch, he jumped up and Harry groaned as he landed on his belly.

“Noooo” he moaned “Too early”

“It’s 8am Harold” Clara chimed “Time to drive home for christmas”

Christmas was Clara's favorite time of year and as a result she unusually started preparing in october and she had a ready made playlist of christmas songs to play at any given moment. So she pulled her phone from the pocket of her hoodie and pressed play on “I’ll be home for Christmas” and turned it up as loud as she possibly could.

Harry rolled over and squeezed his eyes shut, “ 5 more minutes”

“Big night then?” she said, sitting herself down at the end of the couch where Harry’s legs were tucked up and Bowie crawled over to snuggle up to his new mum.

“Mmmhmm” he sighed “got back at 4 am”

“So I guess I’m driving then?”

“You’re amazing” he smiled, without opening his eyes again.

The morning was slow, Clara made Harry some eggs on toast and then found the biggest travel mug she could for his coffee and one that was only slightly smaller for her own. She packed Bowie's bag of toys and training treats and by the time they packed the car, double and triple checked that they had everything including the presents and the ingredients for the pudding that Clara was going to make, it was 10am and Harry was starting to feel a little more alive albeit a little tired.

“There are shops in holmes chapel Ra” Harry said as he shut the boot to the car “if it turns out that we’ve forgotten the custard I will go out and get it”

“Right let’s go then” clara smiled “and you can face Anne when there’s no custard because they’re sold out”

“I’ll make the fucking custard” he laughed as he pulled the door open and hopped in the car.

"Hi Bowie" he chimed as the dog who was sitting on the back seat of the car rested his head on the shoulder of the passenger seat "you're pretty cute little dude"

Clara's heart swelled, she had grown to love Bowie more than anything else and it was nice to see that she wasn't alone.

The journey was slow. Traffic was almost at a standstill on the highway that would take them out of London and into the countryside, but that was to be expected this close to christmas. Clara imagined what it would be like christmas eve and became very thankful that herself and Harry had the kinds of jobs they could take extra time off from.

“I’m dreaming of a white christmas” Harry sang, turning the stereo up as they came to a stand still once again

“Just like the ones I used to know” Clara sang, horribly out of tune

“Where the treetops glisten '' Harry giggled his way through the next few lines as Clara continued to sing out of time and tune.

“It’s a good thing you’re a lawyer” He said when the song ended

“You’re saying I couldn’t make it as a singer?” Clara said, pretending to sound offended

“On no, I think you’d be great” Harry laughed “With a lot of autotune and lip sync”

“I’ve learnt to lip sync your entire album, so I’ll take your next tour off your hands”

“Yeah great” Harry nodded “You do that, I’ll write the next album and you can tour that”

“We make a great team” Clara laughed “Too bad you look like a troll and you can’t tour for yourself”

Harry shrugged “Hey, I’m just keeping you in a job”

Clara laughed “Alright” she said steering the conversation in a more serious direction “Tell me about Shelly”

Harry shrugged and sighed at the same time, running his hands through his hair “there’s not much to say really, unless you want details about all the sex we’ve had”

“Nope” Clara said definitely “There’s got to be more to it than that H, she was at the show last night, I know you, you don’t invite your fuck buddies to things like that”

“She didn’t stay long though, did she?” Harry was blushing mostly because Clara was right, there was more to it than that, he just wasn’t ready to admit it to himself yet.

“No, I think she was gone before the end of the first song”

“Exactly” Harry nodded

“And you’re not just downplaying this because I’m sad and single now?”

“No” he shook his head “you never downplayed your happiness when I was sad and single”

“Fair pont” she said keep her eyes fixed on the road “Just be careful H, I only spoke to her for a minute so take what I say as a grain of salt, but she seemed like the type to collect trophies”

“What do you mean?” he asked

“Well you’re not exactly some unknown, undiscovered musician, gigging around London, sleeping with you gains serious bragging rights, she seems like the type to want them”

“I actually thought the opposite” he pondered, looking out the window and playing with his lips. A habit that he’s picked up over years

Clara’s heart sank, she hated that he couldn’t see what she and Gemma had thought was so obvious “Like I said, grain of salt, and if you’re happy, I’m happy, just be careful”

He smiled “Don’t tell Mum? Yeah”

“I’m not making any promises, Anne knows how to get me talking”

“Well I might just tell Jenny about …… “

“About what Styles? Jenny and I have no secrets”

He sighed “Maybe you should”

“So what kept you out until 4am if Shelly left the show so early?”Clara decided to turn the subject back around to Shelly so that he wouldn’t ask how she was feeling about the break up, because if she was honest, she didn’t know how she was feeling.

“Mostly stupidity” he rubbed his eyes “But I also went back to her place at about midnight”

“So you’re saying you slept on my couch right after you had sex with her?”

“Yep” he nodded

“Did you shower first?”

“Kinda” he smirked

��How do you “kinda”” Clara said using her hands to make air quotes “have a shower”

“Well we had sex in the shower”

Clara laughed “Of course. Oh God” she sighed dropping her head a little without taking her eyes off the road “I miss having a sex life”

“You’ve only been single for like a week” Harry said, trying to make her feel better without saying too much about Will

“Yeah but I haven’t had sex in months, I knew the break up was coming” she said honestly

“Well you certainly weren’t” Harry giggled tentatively

Claral laughed and playfully slapped his knee “Fuck you Styles”

He shrugged “You can if you want”

“Excuse me” Clara had to fight the urge to slam her foot on the breaks and avoid a collision the the motorway

“I’m joking Ra” Harry laughed, although he wasn’t entirely sure that he was. Somewhere in the back of his mind he’d always had the idea that he and Clara would end up together.

“Good” Clara giggled nervously “Because I know where that’s been” she gestured towards his crotch

“And I know where that’s been,” he said, doing the same movements towards her, a smile etched on his face so that she knew he was joking “and it’s looking a bit dusty”

Clara laughed “I won’t take this abuse” she said jokingly “Keep going and I’ll pull over right here and you can walk back to holmes chapel”

Harry reached out and turned the music back up to almost full volume

“It’s beginning to look a lot like christmas” he sang along with michael buble

“Everywhere you go” Clara joined in and that was that for the rest of the trip. They sang as loud as they could and laughed at each other singing out of tune. They made up stories about the cars passing by and spoke about just about anything, relishing in the time they got to spend together, enjoying each other's company because they knew that in just a few weeks, Harry would be off again, and they would be a part for most of the new year. Or so they thought.

***

December 25th, 2019.

It was 6am. It was still dark outside but Clara and Bowie were wide awake. Like little kids on christmas morning, they were excited. Well at least Clara was. Bowie just knew that he’d get some kibble as soon as Clara got out of bed. But Clara had so much to do this morning, she was responsible for christmas lunch this year and she hadn’t even made so much as a dessert. But christmas was here and there was no way that she was going to allow the day to be anything less than festive.

“Right then Bowie,” she yawned “let’s get this show on the road”

The dog lifted his head, looked at Clara as she spoke and flopped back down again when she was done, as if to tell her that it was far too early for an adult to be getting up on Christmas morning. And it was clearly too early for him to be having any breakfast.

Clara laughed and swung her legs out of the bed, “You can stay in bed if you then, but I will be cooking a chicken later, you might want to get up for that”

Bowie groaned and Clara laughed as she put on her dressing gown and walked out of the room. It was a cold morning, but the house was so well heated she would never have guessed that there was frost outside.

The thing about Christmas in Holmes Chapel was that it was full of chosen family. Clara and Harry’s parents had both split up when they were really little, Clara’s when she was four and Harry’s when he was seven and ever since then, their mums had banded together to make sure that christmas was as festive and magical as possible. And Harry and Clara had always wanted to carry on the tradition now that they were all grown up and usually only home for christmas.

Clara walked into the kitchen and switched the kettle on, still feeling a little sleepy, she didn’t turn the light on and walked straight into Harry, who was standing in front of the pantry.

“Morning” he said sounding as if he was still half asleep

“What are you doing up so early?” Clara questioned “And why are you just standing there”

“I just got off the phone with Shelly”

“Oh gross” Clara sighed “well could you move so I can get to the tea”

Harry took an over exaggerated step to the left “It wasn’t that kind of phone call”

“Why else would she be calling you before 6am on christmas day - you want one?” She held up a tea bag.

He nodded “To wish me a Merry Christmas” all of a sudden all of the colour drained from his face and he gulped before he could finish his sentence “and to tell me that she’s pregnant”

Clara paused as she reached for the kettle and looked up at Harry “She’s what now?”

“She’s having my baby” he huffed and threw his hands up in the air

“And how are we feeling about that? Clara stepped lightly, she didn’t want to say anything that might offend him right at this moment in time.

“Confused” he shrugged “I was so careful, I used condoms every time and she told me she was on the pill, I can’t be a dad right now, I’ll be on tour when it’s born”

“Did you tell her that?”

“Yeah” he nodded “she told me to cancel, she wants to keep it” he ran his hands through his hair “I don’t know what to do Ra? Tell me what to do?”

She gestured towards the bar stool that sat at the kitchen bench and put his cup of tea down next to him “do you want a baby?”

He sighed “I mean, yeah, one day, but fuck not right now”

“And more importantly” Clara looked at him sternly “Do you want one with Shelly?”

He took a sip of his tea “No” he said plainly

“Well there’s your answer”

“But she wants to keep it Ra, I can’t just ghost her now and it’s not like I’m not going to love the kid, but it’s just horrible timing”

“I think you need to talk to shelly in person”

“Yeah” he nodded “I do….” he paused “Can you come with me? Might be handy to have a family lawyer right there”

“Might be a bit intimidating right at the beginning H” Clara admitted “I’ll get you through the custody and child support battles if that’s what you want, but you need to sit down with her and get all your feelings out on the table first - and then if she doesn’t cooperate, call me and I’ll go full lawyer on her”

“Lawyer on who?” Anne said, walking into the kitchen wrapping her dressing gown tight around her to keep her body heat in.

“Oh no one” Harry smiled his charming smile “Merry Christmas Mum”

“Oh Merry Christmas my boy” she wrapped her arms around him “It’s so nice to have you home”

His head sank into Anne’s shoulder and suddenly everything didn’t seem so urgent or stressful

“Good to be here mum” he sighed happily

“Now Clara” she said pulling away from Harry “Merry Christmas Dear”

“Merry Christmas Anne” she smiled “Thanks for having us all in your house”

“Oh it’s no trouble, you’re doing most of the work love, I’ve just got spare rooms. Now,” she clapped her hands “How can I help?”

Clara smiled “You can’t, make yourself a cup of tea and relax Anne, you deserve it”

“Relax this year before you have a grandchild to dote on next year” Harry thought to himself before smiling at his mother and handing her a teabag, butterflies filling his stomach, the thought of being a father still sinking in.

“If you insist” Anne shrugged, “I’ll be in the living room if you need anything”

Harry waited until Anne was as far away as possible and then whispered “I think I have to go back to London tomorrow, talk to shelly”

Clara shook her head “No” she said “you need a few days to get your head around it all. Work out what you want and have a clear head when you talk to her”

“Breaking up with someone are we H?” Ben, Clara's brother said walking into the kitchen.

“No” he laughed nervously “One of the PR managers at my label is trying to get me to get caught by the paparazzi while I’m home” This wasn’t a lie. They’d been bugging him about that for a while now, but right now it was the least of his worries.

“Maybe your job isn’t as great as it looks” Ben shrugged “anyway, Merry Christmas” he smiled “What kind of feast are we having Ra?”

“Well you’re having a roast chicken and Harry and Gemma are having a nut roast”

“Sounds delicious, what can I do?”

“Nothing yet” Clara smiled wishing he would go away so she could finish her conversation with Harry “Go sit down and get warm by the fire, I can see the goosebumps on your arms”

Ben nodded and left the room, feeling a little awkward for not helping and Clara turned to Harry.

“You need to get your head around this pretty fast H, because if she’s already saying she’s going to keep it, I can almost guarantee you she won’t be changing her mind. And I know you, you won’t just be a child support dad, so when we get a chance after lunch has happened, we’re going for a walk, and were going to talk this through until you know what you really want from this”

Harry’s face had turned a ghostly white “Ok” he nodded

“And until then” clara smiled “I’m going to distract you, see those carrots over there?”

He nodded again

“Peel them” Clara said “and the boil them in that pot”

“I can do that” he sighed “But then what”

“Well then you can chop the nuts” Clara took a sip of her tea and tried to empty her head of the idea that Harry was going to be a father and work out where the hell she needed to start for this christmas lunch, which she had refused help with.

***

Holmes Chapel was really beautiful in winter. The trees glistened with frost that had never melted from that morning and paths looked like something straight out of a fairy tale. Harry and Clara had managed to escape their families for a little while, using Bowie as the perfect excuse to go for a walk in the cold. It had been almost eight hours since Shelly had told Harry that she’s pregnant but the information had barely sunken in.

“What are your thoughts H?” Clara asked after five minutes of walking in silence

“I don't have any” Harry admitted “I don’t want a baby right now Ra, but I’ve got one and I don’t know what to do”

Clara nodded, “I think the first thing you need to think about is what you want your relationship with Shelly to look like.”

“I don’t know” he said firmly “I really like her but this makes it very serious very fast”

“It does” Clara nodded “But I’m not sure you’re in a position to be picky about that right”

“I guess we’re better off working out that we don’t work together before the baby arrives”

“That’s one way to look at it…” Bowie spotted something and launched himself forward “Bowie” Clara said firmly “with me”

“Or it could work and I’d have a ready made happy family before I thought I would”

“Yeah” Clara sighed, little apprehensively, “This could be great for you”

“What do I do if it’s a disaster”

“You call me” Clara said “and we do everything we legally can to get the custody agreement that suits you”

“I’d want all of it” He admitted

“I know” Clara smiled “But I wanted you to say that, so that you’d realise that this is not such a disaster”

“I hate it when you do that” Harry smiled down at clara

“Do what?” she smirked

“Know what I’m thinking before I’m thinking it”

“Oh that” Clara blushed “I’ve been doing that since we were 5”

He nodded and sighed “I guess I’m going to be a dad next year then”

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bangtanoneshotsx · 4 years ago

Text

Rain-Jungkook

I don’t really know what this is tbh. I’m not really back but this was just written one night at 2am

Somehow you didn’t hear the rain pounding against your office window. So as you looked up from your phone, finally seeing the outside from the small lobby of the office building you worked at, you silently cursed.

“Looks like there’s going to be a storm Miss.” The security guard spoke from his post, the small wrinkles in the corner of his eyes deepened with the gentle smile. With a sigh, you nodded, thanking him. Your bus stop was only a few minutes away, but still, in weather like this, it would feel like miles.

If the security guard was right, and there would be a storm, you couldn’t really chance it and wait in the lobby until the rain stopped. With the older man’s predictions you could be waiting all night. With another grumble, you zipped up your black bag, pulling your camel coat tighter around you. It was your one jacket without a zip, just flimsy buttons that wouldn’t do much. With another moment to brace yourself, you wished the security guard a goodnight before heading out. Instantly, you were drenched, the heels of your boots splashing the puddles, bringing up small droplets to the back of your legs. In the distance you could see your bus stop and the small shelter it provided. With your head down, and against the wind, you made your way to the stop.

Finally, you made it to the glass shelter, though the rain still pounded on the roof above you. You winced as you moved your soaked hair, the drops sliding down your back. Landing on the small bench, you let your back fall against the glass wall, your top sticking to your skin.

“I hear there’s a storm.” A deep voice brought your head up. A man, equally drenched as you stood just under the bus shelter. You noticed he wore a white blouse, that had turned slightly see-through, his sleeves rolled up, showing his tattoo covered arm

“So I’ve heard. Start of the season I suppose.” You murmured, glancing at the electronic sign telling you how far away the next bus was. The man grinned, sitting next to you. With a groan, he stretched, his head hitting the glass behind him.

“Is this the point where we stop pretending we don’t know each other?” You gave a burst of laughter, rolling your eyes. With your head to the side, you noticed him looking at you.

“How was work Jungkook?” You finally asked. Jungkook gave a gentle sigh.

“Yoongi was stressed, the client wanted the next four songs at the end of the week.”

“What does that mean for you?” Jungkook’s neutral expression quickly turned into a proud grin.

“It means I get to help produce and edit the songs.”

“Jungkook that’s great!” Jungkook’s cheeks were tinted red, though you could still see the pride in his expression.

“You think so?”

“Of course! This is what you’ve been waiting for.” Jungkook hummed, the smile on his face content.

“What about you? How was your boss?” With a groan, you slumped. Jungkook sat quietly as words tumbled out of you, all the stress from that day leaving you.

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

“I checked the weather. I swear it said sunny all day.” You could only laugh as Jungkook panicked, jumping to his feet as he tried to stuff everything into the picnic basket he had brought. It was your first date. Finally, after months of meeting at the bus stop Jungkook had plucked up the courage.

“Jungkook it’s okay! Don’t worry.” Jungkook’s eyebrows were furrowed, his shoulders tense as he panicked more. Bending down, you picked up the last few items, a couple of wine glasses, and a small plastic box that contained some homemade food that apparently his friend had made for him.

“The car’s too far!” You shouted over the rain and the howling wind that had just started. You could see Jungkook scan the park before he grabbed your wrist. With a shout to follow him, he pulled you under a big oak tree. Jungkook’s wide eyes were focused on you as he dropped the basket, the plates inside clinking as he did so.

“I can’t believed it rained.” You laughed, tilting your head up. The only sound you could hear for the next few minutes was the rain hitting the leaves of the tree, enclosing you in a mystical bubble. Jungkook hadn’t spoke, instead he just watched, his lips in a small, twitchy smile.

“You okay Jungkook?” You asked softly. You knew he could be a perfectionist sometimes. And you weren’t so sure if the sudden change in weather had ruined his plans. “Jungkook.” Without a word, Jungkook stepped forward, resting his right, tattooed hand on your cheek. You could feel your breath hitch in your throat, your heart pounding in your ears. With a slight moment of hesitance, almost nerves, Jungkook pressed his lips softly against yours. His confidence grew quickly as his hand on your waist tightened.

After a few seconds, he stepped back, his forehead resting against yours.

“I always found kissing in the rain romantic.” He spoke, almost breathless. A deep chuckle escaped him as you rolled your eyes, hitting him playfully.

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

You held a flute of champagne in your right hand. A grin on your face as you spoke with his mother, and now since four hours ago, your mother-in-law. You wore a sparkling white dress, the thin spaghetti straps that held it up, digging slightly into your shoulders. He stood to the side, his six closest friends next to him. You could see his eyes crinkle as he gave a certain type of smile that told you he was embarrassed. Jin was laughing, his hand slapping Jungkook’s back. With your conversation with your mother-in-law falling to a natural ending, you took a sip of your champagne.

“I better go save him.” You joked, thanking your mother-in-law once more. As soon as you got within hearing distance of the group of men, Hoseok grinned, nodding at you.

“Y/N, you look beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you.” Smiling, you felt Jungkook’s arm wrap around your waist, his head resting on your shoulder. You could feel your cheeks heating up as you noticed the boys watching the two of you, pride in their eyes as they looked at their youngest. You knew at that moment they had realised how much he had grown up.

“So does anyone know what the weather is like in….” You trailed off, waiting for someone to fill in the blank. With a chuckle, Jungkook held you tighter, placing a kiss on the side of your head.

“Nice try. But even they don’t know.” Quickly, you tried to find any hint of deceit in their faces. Finding none, your eyebrows rose in shock.

“Really?” You exclaimed, a huff leaving you. Namjoon shook his head, an apologetic smile on his face.

“Sorry Y/N, he doesn’t trust us.” You sighed, defeated to the fact that you wouldn’t know where your honeymoon was until you were at the gate waiting to go on the plane. The honeymoon was the one thing Jungkook wanted to be in charge of, he wanted to keep it a surprise. Why, you had no idea. Before you could interrogate them anymore the DJ started to play a familiar tune. With his hand away from your waist and now held out to you, Jungkook grinned.

“May I have this dance?”

You were only a couple seconds into your first dance, your guests now surrounding you, the occasional click of a camera interrupting the soft beat. Although you had practically tuned everything else out, you still heard it. The first few raindrops were soft against the fabric of the marquee. Until suddenly, harsh raindrops fell, almost covering the song. You burst out with laughter, looking up to notice Jungkook was grinning.

“I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything else.” You grinned, your voice soft. Jungkook hummed, placing a quick peck on your lips as he brought you into a twirl.

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

“Can you bring his jacket down too please!” You shouted up the stairs to Jungkook, who was currently on the search for his raincoat. With a shout to let you know he heard, you focused back on your son. He sat at the bottom of the staircase, his eyes wide and resembling Jungkook’s as he wore one red rain boot, his scarf and beanie already on. He was only four, but already he looked so much like Jungkook. He sat patiently as you helped him slip on the other boot.

“Is it red?” Jungkook shouted after a few minutes of silence. You winced as you could already imagine the mess he had created by pulling everything out of the closet.

“Yeah! It should be on the right side.” Softly you smiled at your son, fixing his scarf so it kept him warm.

“You know where your jacket is don’t you?” Your son nodded, agreeing with you. “Great, why don’t you go help your dad?” With a jump, your son raced up the stairs. You could tell when he found Jungkook, by your husband’s exclamation, his cheerful voice straining as he probably picked up your son. You took the few minutes of silence to get yourself ready. Slipping on your boots and your raincoat, you pulled up your hood just in time to see Jungkook holding your son’s hand as he jumped down each step. With the last one, you caught him as he jumped, bringing him onto your hip. He giggled as you tickled him, grinning.

“Did you show your dad where your jacket was? Did you go save the day?” Your son lit up with the mention of ‘saving the day’. He was currently into superheroes, so much that you were surprised that there wasn’t an argument about not wearing his cape outside.

“You ready?” It may seem like you were going on a big adventure, but really you were just going out into your driveway and garden. It was raining, and per tradition, you were getting ready to go out to jump in the puddles.

You swung open the front door to reveal the rain pounding the stone driveway, the front yard already becoming muddy and covered with puddles. With Jungkook’s permission, your son raced out, jumping as high as he could and landing in a puddle. The muddy water that had gathered covered his rain boots and splashed his jeans.

You yelped as Jungkook pulled you out of the house. With a flash, he pushed down your hood, grinning.

“Jungkook!” You exclaimed, though you were quickly cut off by his lips on yours.

Rain had somehow become a constant in your relationship with Jungkook. Something that often changed your plans. You weren’t sure how it happened. All you knew, as you jumped in the puddles, holding Jungkook’s hand tightly and watching your son play with your small white dog that had escaped outside, was that the rain created the best memories.

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bad-bitch-beauchamp · 4 years ago

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Songs About Me

Alright, here we gooooooooo! My very first fic! I have the first three chapters written out. This will definitely be drawn out, so stick with it! Lots of fluff, lots of angst! Inspired by Driver’s License by Olivia Rodrigo. You can also catch me over on Twitter @ tessaactually.

READ ON AO3

“What do I even wear to something like this? Jeans? A sweater? Fuck, Geillis, I can’t believe you talked me into doing this.” Claire tossed her phone to the middle of the bed. With her hands on her hips, she stood in her closet staring at all the clothes that wouldn’t work for tonight. Things were strewn from the doorway of her bedroom across the floor, up onto the bed, hanging off the dresser from hangers, and into the closet that led to her bathroom. Geillis Duncan, one of Claire’s best friends, had started a tradition of going on Friday nights. Geillis was always the life of the party with her outgoing personality, uncanny ability to read just about anyone, her fiery red hair swinging as she danced regardless of what song was playing. In Geillis, Claire found a soulmate. Someone to dance with, someone to laugh with, someone to drink with, someone to be truly best friends with. Sometimes, though, their ideas of a good time differed. Tonight just happened to be one of those times.

“Stop thinking sae hard. Maybe after a few drinks, ye’ll have a little more fun, aye?” Geillis responded hopefully through the speakerphone. Having more fun is indeed what she promised herself she would do, so she’d go out with Geillis -- damn her -- and try her best to have a good time tonight. It sounded like a nightmare, but she’d try. She’d try to have fun. Memories of the days when she made that vow to herself came flooding back unbidden, and she sat in the middle of her bedroom floor next to a discarded cardigan as she slipped into an unwanted reverie.

When Claire left Oxford College five years ago and gave up studying medicine, nearly everyone she knew tried to convince her she was making the biggest mistake of her life. Classmates staged interventions, friends tried to reason with her, and her professors pleaded with her to not waste her talent. No one was quite as angry as her boyfriend at the time. Claire expected frustration, sadness, maybe a little resentment, but never anger.

“I don’t think I can keep doing this, Frank. I really don’t.” Tears pooled in her eyes as she sat slumped on the floor against their bed. Raindrops ran down the windowpanes, thunder cracked the sky.

“I truly don’t understand how you could be so selfish! You have the talent for the coursework and the money to go here and you’re just, what? Going to through it all away?!” Frank stood across from her, forearm braced on the wall above his head. It was going on two hours since he had looked her in the eye. Claire sniffled in the background. Frank’s fist came to the wall with a sound rivaling the storm raging outside. His storm was not over.

“Don’t you think I’ve thought this through? I have a plan. I’m going to take the rest of my savings, maybe move back to the states and…” Her voice started to break then. Frank spun around on his heel to finally look at her, to really look at her. His chest was heaving,

“And what, Claire? And do what with your life? What about the life we planned together?” He stomped toward her, shaking the floorboards under her body as she clung to her knees. When she looked up, tears starting to fall from her lashes, he dropped to his knees in front of her, grasping for her hands. Claire finally saw more than anger. She finally saw the fear he was trying to reign in but quickly losing control of.

“I’m figuring it out, Frank. I’ll figure it out. We can figure it out. Maybe… maybe I’ll finally open up a greenhouse. You know how much I’ve always wanted to do that. Please, I… I can’t keep going on like this here. I’m so worn down and I can’t -- I know that I can’t -- survive it here another year.” The tears fell. She had been bottling up these thoughts for three years, and couldn’t hold back any longer. “Please, say you understand. Say you love me. Say you support me.” The teardrops turned into rivers. “Say you love me.”

For a few moments, Claire wondered if he had heard her pleas through her wrecking sobs. Finally, Frank let out the breath he was holding, letting his shoulders slump. He dropped her hands without ceremony. He ran a hand through his ordinarily perfect hair. He sat back on the floor, one knee bent up and the other outstretched. His arms reached behind him to hold him up. He just, stared at her.

She was jolted. She had expected outrage. She studied him as best she could through her swollen eyes and water-stained glasses. Everything was silent. The room they had shared for the past three years, was silent. Absently, she noticed the thunder and lightning and pounding rain had stopped, leaving only an occasional trail of water down the old glass windows. With every second the sky turned brighter shades of purple and pink and orange with the impending sunset. On a different day, maybe in a different place, she might have appreciated their beauty. Instead, she noted the silence.

Looking back at Frank then placing her face in her hands once more, she pleaded one last time: “Please say you love me.”

Frank blinked.

In one swift motion he was off the floor and moving toward her. She heard the old floorboard creak. She felt the air whoosh around the room with his movement. She waited for him to reach her.

“Claire. Look at me.”

Ah. Not moving toward her after all. Standing in the doorway with an air of having concluded a business dealing, Frank was watching her with not a single trace of emotion. Claire’s head rose. She wiped her nose on her sleeve and glanced his way with a smile, until she saw where he stood.

“I have never been so disappointed in you. Goodbye, Claire.”

Frank took a breath and looked her up and down, from wild curls to curled up toes. Claire opened her mouth to speak. Frank closed the door behind him as he left. Everything was silent.

Claire shook her head, making her curls bounce like springs. Geillis was still talking but hadn’t seemed to notice the lack of responses coming from the other end. Claire pulled herself up and tried to figure out what Geillis had been talking about.

“... They’re really sweet and kind and they’re really great about buying ye more than a few drinks, plus they’re fellow Scots and just the nicest! I mean, sometimes they’re a little rowdy, ye ken, but I think that’s what ye get when ye go out with Scots --” Geillis was rambling, and Claire didn’t have the foggiest idea who she was referencing.

“Hold on a sec,” Claire tugged an oversized oxblood sweater over her head. “Okay, fill me in again, please. Who did you invite tonight? I thought this was a girl’s night out after a long week!” She tugged on a pair of black faux-leather leggings, bracing on the dresser for balance and she began to tip over.

When Claire left Oxford, she moved back to Boston into her uncle’s old brownstone. Although her Uncle Lamb died during her freshman year at school, he had left her a hefty inheritance. Claire and her uncle were each other’s only family and when he died, he left her everything he had. In his will, he left Claire a note that simply read, “These things are only things, my dear. Use them to follow your dreams, however you may see fit. Love you always, Lamb.” Everything he left her gave her a home in the states far away from everything she wanted to leave behind in England, and the means to start her own little greenhouse in a tiny historic shop in Beacon Hill. After her two closes friends from Oxford graduated, they both ended up in Boston with her. Joe Abernathy was going his residency as Mass Gen, and Geillis had come to do the same until she saw Claire’s shop and declared, “Fuck it, this is way more fun.” She helped in the shop with supplying a small zero-waste shopping section for patrons interested in doing more to protect to earth.

Geillis giggled like a school girl when she started describing the friends she had invited out with them that night. “Weel first there’s Angus. Remember him? I went on a date with him two weeks ago to Seven Ales, ken?”

“Oof, wasn’t that the one you got blackout drunk with?”

“That’s the one, dearie! And a braw time it was! I mean, I assume it was because I don’t really remember the wee hours of it if I’m being honest.”

“Shocker. Who’s next?” Claire kept Geilliss on speakerphone as she rummaged through a pile of shoes in the corner of the bedroom.

“Och, that’d be Rupert. I went out a week ago to Cheers and met the guy who made me laugh until I fell off the barstool?” She giggled to herself at the memory.

“Oh yes, I remember that one. He actually sounded pretty decent.”

“He’s a right sweetheart! Angus is as wheel, just a wee bit more crass, aye?” Claire could practically hear her winking through the phone.

“Alright, that’s not too bad. I can handle two more besides you and me and Joe. I’m actually getting excited for tonight! This week at the shop has been a lot.”

“Agreed, babe. I’ve got tae go, but I’ll meet ye there? Eight o’clock sharp, I want to get our names put in for karaoke!”

#i'm very nervous but very excited #damn actually exactly chidi rn #okay so i know the song is angsty but this fic has a lot of both angst and fluff #just stick with it okay?#you'll love it (hopefully)#i sure do #thanks love you bye #outlander fanfiction #outlander fan fic #in which tessaactually tries fan fic #ope here we go again #outlanderpromptexchange #songs about me fic

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wlntrsldler · 4 years ago

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unrequited (draco malfoy/ cedric diggory series)

PROMPT: You and Cedric grew up together. After the tragedy of the Triwizard Tournament, you’re left feeling empty without your best friend. Draco Malfoy steps into the picture. Will the feelings be reciprocated? Or will it be unrequited?

WARNINGS: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, angst, fluff, sadness???

PAIRING: draco malfoy x reader and cedric diggory x reader; hufflepuff reader

WC: 2.2K+

UNREQUITED MASTERLIST

PART 4

“Happy Birthday, Y/N!” Hermione yelled, running towards you with her arms outstretched. She engulfed you in an embrace, her infectious laugh ringing in your ears. “I hope you enjoyed your day.”

The twins stood behind her, grinning with an assortment of sweets in their arms. “We got you a few sweets from our own making.”

You playfully refused, “I’d rather not die, thanks.”

George laughed at your little joke, “Come on, now, Y/N. We would never give you anything we haven’t tried ourselves.”

“Or made Ron try at least.” Fred added.

Ron hit the both of them on the back of the arm, huffing about how his brothers care so little about his well being. Harry watched them a few inches away, unable to hide the smile on his face. You looked around and felt happy for the first time in a long time. The people in your life pulled you out of the darkness that you surrounded yourself in. But right now, with the sounds of the twins’ corny jokes and the laughter that followed it, everything seems like it would be okay.

You took a bite out of one of the sweets that you were given, almost moaning at the delicious taste of it. You leaned your head on Fred’s shoulder as a silent “thank you” for always being around and knowing exactly what it is you needed. You watched as the students walked past your groups, a bit annoyed that you all took over the space of the entire hallway. People would mumble irritated, “Excuse me’s” or even some rude, “Move it’s.” George and Fred would mock them, resulting in all of you to erupt in a roar of laughter.

Your eyes drifted towards the end of the hall, eyes softening when you saw Draco staring at you. Crabbe and Goyle stood behind him, unsure of why their friend decided to stop walking. They followed Draco’s eyes and saw you as his object of focus. You offered a warm smile, even going so far as waving in his direction. Draco gave you a slight nod in return, the corner of his lip quirking upwards for a brief moment.

“What’s got your attention?” Ron asked. He turned around to see Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle, staring intently at you all. His eyebrows knitted together, eyes narrowing, “What does Malfoy want?”

“Why don’t you ask him?” Harry pointed out. “He’s coming this way.”

The three boys made their way towards you, feet tapping loudly on the floor. You took in Draco’s appearance. All black, as usual, but his ring was still missing. His tie was undone, hanging loosely around his neck. His eyes were rimmed with a red color and his lips looked overly bitten. He looked almost messy and unorganized, something unheard from Draco. He didn’t look like himself.

“Malfoy.” Ron acknowledged, eyes still narrowed. “What do you want?”

“Not here for you, Weasley.” Draco responded, not giving anyone else the time of day. He turned towards you, “Dumbledore wants to see you.”

“For what?” You asked, confused as to why Dumbledore would want to see you. Were you in trouble?

“How should I know?” He replied, motioning for you to follow him. Crabbe and Goyle took it as their sign to leave you and Draco alone, walking the opposite way. “He just sent me to come get you.”

You nodded, waving goodbye to your friends, and followed Draco to meet Dumbledore. You walked in silence, awkwardly holding your strides so you wouldn’t end up close to Draco. The walk seemed to last forever, the silence too much for you to handle. “Did he tell you what he needed to see me for?”

He sighed, shooting you an annoyed look. “I just said I didn’t know.”

“Well, sorry.” You mumbled. It seemed like you were always apologizing to Draco for merely trying to have a conversation. You rolled your eyes, jogging a bit to catch up to him. Now that you’ve broken the ice, and also annoyed him, you figured silence would be worse than a conversation. “I just thought that you’d have some new information you’d like to share with me now that it’s just us two.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Y/L/N.” He pushed the door open, letting himself in before you. You had to push the door yourself as it started to close as soon as you walked in. Draco scoffed making his way to the corner of the room. “He should be coming in soon. He had to step out for a moment.”

“Are you staying here to keep me company?” You questioned, a bit of a hopeful tone to your voice.

“No.” He replied. “I got myself detention with Dumbledore. I’m just waiting for him to tell me what I need to do next.”

“And here I thought you just didn’t want me to be lonely.” You teased, trying to break his hard persona. He stared at you blankly, eyes shifting to you as you walked around the room. You looked through the various items, intrigued by some and disgusted by others. Dumbledore was always an odd man, you thought. You stopped in front of the sorting hat, a friend you haven’t talked to in what seemed like forever. “Hello.”

“Ah, Y/N Y/L/N.” It started, scrunching itself as if it was looking down at you. “How are you enjoying Hufflepuff?”

You stiffened at the question, knowing that it would be able to sense any apprehensions in your voice. “It’s alright, I suppose.”

“Hmm,” It continued, speaking quite loudly. Draco looked up at the sound, fascinated by the conversation taking place. “I was kind enough to place you there. Although we both know where you truly belong.”

“Maybe I should’ve listened to you.” You confessed. “We both know why I begged for Hufflepuff.”

“Love makes us do foolish things.”

Draco cleared his throat, uncomfortable with where the conversation was going. He shuffled towards you and the sorting hat, wanting to remind you both that he was still in the room. “What does the hat mean?”

“Nothing.” You brushed it off, not wanting to fully accept your true fate. You and Harry once spoke about it, briefly since neither of you wanted to believe fate. You thought that the hat could be easily persuaded but now you understand that it places you there for a reason, even if you don’t necessarily belong there. You knew you didn’t belong in Hufflepuff, especially given your lineage.

“Were you not meant to be a Hufflepuff?”

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

“I’m just curious.”

“Frankly,” You snapped. “I don’t think it’s any of your business, Malfoy.”

His face hardened, nostrils flaring. “Watch your mouth, Hufflepuff.”

“Why are you so weird?”

Draco stumbled back after you asked him the question. His exterior faltered for a moment before he looked even more angry than he originally did. He paced towards you, face a mere few inches away from you by the time he stopped. “I said, watch your mouth.”

“No,” You hissed. “You act so weird with me Malfoy. One second, you’re being vulnerable, like saving me from Umbridge and telling me about the songs your mother used to sing to you. The next, you’re being so ridiculous and uncivilized. Like I just wanted to have a conversation, for Merlin’s sake.”

He stepped away. “I don’t owe you a conversation.”

“Just like I don’t owe you an explanation regarding what house I’m supposed to be in.”

Draco smirked, his teeth almost shining behind his lips. However, his smile didn’t reach his eyes. His look was vacant. “If I didn’t know any better, I would say you spoke like a true Slytherin there.”

You ran towards him, backing him up against a wall. You placed your arm on his neck, wand in your grasp. You pressed down his throat, making him groan in pain. Tears started to collect in your eyes, anger bubbling up inside of you. “Don’t you dare say that to me ever again.”

Draco struggled under your touch, not wanting to push you off in fear that he might hurt you. He glared at you, unable to form any coherent words to say back. You pushed him into the corner of the desk before letting him go. He scrambled away from you, rubbing his throat to soothe it.

“Y/N.”

You gasped at the familiar voice, anger automatically subsiding. You turned around and saw Mr. Diggory standing beside Dumbledore. He held a white box with a yellow bow in his arms. Dumbledore smiled sadly at you as your eyes flickered between the two men. “Mr. Diggory. It’s so nice to see you.”

“You too,” He replied, taking a step towards you. “I figured your birthday would be a better time than any.”

“Draco, you’re dismissed.” Dumbledore stated, allowing him to leave the room for your privacy.

You heard Draco mutter a “thank you” before making his way out. You watched him walk away, still massaging the area where you hurt him. Before he disappeared into the halls, he sent you one last look, but this time it wasn’t a look of anger. This time it was like he felt sorry for you. And that was the last thing you wanted from anyone. Especially not from Draco Malfoy.

“What are you doing here?” You asked Mr. Diggory, leaning over to give him a hug. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, things have gotten better.” He said, smiling at you. He looked better. He looked like he was getting sleep now and is taking care of himself. “I actually got you a present. I know we usually spend it together each year. Or at least do something nice. I didn’t want to break tradition, so here.”

You accepted the box he handed to you, slowly undoing the ribbon on top. There laid a book all about constellations and stars. “Thank you, Mr. Diggory. I love it.”

“I was a bit stuck on what to get you this year. Cedric usually helps me.” He let out a wet chuckle, eyes brimming with tears. “But I remembered how you two had a tradition of watching the stars at night for your birthday. I just wanted to give you something to remind you of him.”

You laughed, clutching the book close to your heart, “Thank you.”

“Of course,” He started, then he dug through the bag he had with him. He moved things around before pulling out a tattered journal, smiling down at it fondly. “I found this in his things. It’s his journal. It seems private and I don’t want to intrude in his thoughts but I figured you’d want it. I assume he told you everything anyway.”

You gladly accepted the book, placing it right on top of the other. “I’ll keep it safe.”

You stayed with Mr. Diggory for a few hours, even past dinner. You two laughed and reminisced about Cedric and the things you two used to do together. Before he left, he assured you that he’ll stay in touch. You didn’t know how truthful he’d been when he said that but oddly enough, you were okay with it. These talks with him, even if they were not frequent, meant the world to you.

Instead of going back to the dormitories, you walked towards the garden, wanting to indulge in your space with Cedric. You quietly creeped down the passageway and made your way to the spot that you used to love. It seemed so different without him. It was almost scary.

You looked around, suddenly more aware of the odd noises coming from the bushes and the sounds of the winds that seemed to caution you from being here alone. You don’t remember them being there. But then again, Cedric’s laughter drowned out any other noise.

You laid there for some time, eyes closed, letting the stars and the moon illuminate the tears rolling down your face. Life seemed so wrong without him. You began to remember your birthday from the previous year, how Cedric surprised you with flowers on your desk in your first class of the day. You always wondered how he managed to sneak that in despite not being in the class but he was the Golden Boy, everyone loved him. He greeted you outside the door of your class, with a smile so wide, it almost looked like it hurt. He picked you up from the ground and spun you three times, making you squeal in delight. He mumbled “happy birthday” and wishes into your hair. He snuck you down to the passageway that night, even smuggling a piece of cake he stole from the kitchen that you two indulged together under the glow of the moon. Cedric told you he loved you a million times over and you didn’t once get tired of hearing it.

Your eyes opened when you heard a twig snap in the distance. You sat up, quickly looking in every direction. You heard some movement to your left, getting up to inspect it. You had your wand in your hand, ready in case you were in danger. After a while of looking and not seeing anything, you gave up your search. As you were about to sit back down, you could’ve sworn you saw a head of blonde hair fading away in the distance. But it could’ve just easily been your eyes playing tricks on you.

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