#and then have one 'master' playlist that I shove everything from all of my playlists into | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

7s3ven · 10 months ago

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DRIVING LESSONS. luke (pjo)

Normal! Au

( master list )

IN WHICH… Luke attempts to teach Percy how to drive and, in the process, almost crashes into Luke’s long time crush. But maybe he can spin it in his favor.

—

Luke was like an older brother to many. He had warm and comforting aura that people seemed to gravitate towards.

“Don’t get hurt, seaweed brain.” Annabeth warned Percy, pointing a stern finger at him. Luke chuckled as he leaned against the hood of his shiny car. Percy needed driving lessons and Luke was more than happy to help. Though, he knew he was going to regret it. Annabeth and Sally were both too terrified to teach Percy but Luke was up for the challenge.

“Turn on your blinker, Percy.” Luke reminded the teenage boy for the fifth time.

“My what?” Percy only stared at Luke in utter confusion.

“Your turn signal. And keep your eyes in the road!” Luke exclaimed as another car whizzed past, narrowly avoiding crashing into them. Percy immediately glued his eyes back to the view in front of him, sheepishly smiling.

"Sorry." He whispered.

“Turn slowly here.” Luke instructed, nodding when Percy finally remembered to press his blinker. Percy turned painfully slow, matching the speed of a sloth, and Luke held back an annoyed groan.

“So, when did you start driving?” Percy asked. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Luke shrug.

“I’m not sure. Around your age or a little older.” Luke was in his twenties now, already having secured a well-paying job which helped pay for half of Annabeth’s tuitions. The other half was paid by a scholarship she earned.

“Have you met any cute girls?”

Luke lightly snorted, grinning in amusement. “Why are you asking me that, Percy? You know I can see how you look at Annabeth. I should be asking you how it’s going with her.”

Percy and Annabeth had always been stuck between friends and lovers and it was driving Luke insane. He wanted to shove the two of them together and demand they admit their feelings.

“Okay, but have you met any cute girls?” Percy was persistent, which suited his given name. Luke scoffed, tilting his head back. He had but he didn’t want to admit it to Percy. How was he supposed to tell Percy that he was still in love with the same girl from high school?

He thought he was over his feelings but he saw her in a coffee shop one day and everything came flooding back. Their playful flirting, their late night rants as they lay in each other’s arms while listening to Luke’s playlist, and that kiss they shared in their last year. Annabeth was already calling Luke a loser for liking her again, he didn’t need Percy doing the same.

“I guess.” Luke finally answered. “I’m not really attached to any of them, though.” Because his mind was always on Y/N, his high school sweetheart.

“Are you gay?” Percy asked out of the blue, causing Luke to choke in surprise.

“Am I- No! I’m not gay, Percy! I like girls but I wouldn’t date any of the girls I meet!”

“Is it because you’re still obsessed with her?”

Luke knew who he was talking about. He clicked his tongue, giving Percy the indirect answer that he needed. Percy wasn’t so clueless after all.

In all Luke’s years of babysitting Annabeth and Percy, he had only brought one girl over, who happened to be Y/N. They were working on a school project but Annabeth still liked to tease him about the way he gazed at Y/N.

Percy made the mistake of tearing his eyes away from the road again. “Percy!” Luke shouted as soon as he spotted someone walking across the pedestrian crossing, “Eyes on the road!” Percy, in a panic, slammed his foot against the break. The car screeched to an abrupt halt and both boys were sent flying forward. If it weren't for their seat belts, they would've crashed through the windshield.

There was a soft knock on Luke’s window and he turned his head, mortified to see the very girl he was just thinking about. The brunette slowly rolled the window down, thickly gulping.

“Hey.” Y/N greeted him, resting her arms on the sill, “You know, people usually stop at the crossing. They don’t almost run someone over.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. It’s his first time and he’s still pretty nervous.” Luke jabbed a thumb in Percy’s direction. The blond boy was sweating, gripping the steering wheel tightly. He sent Y/N an apologetic smile.

“Oh, Percy. I haven’t seen you in a while.” Y/N grinned at him, “You’ve grown up so fast. Last time I saw you, you were smashing into walls.” Percy’s cheeks heated up at the memory. “Glad to see you still have that habit. Though, instead of walls now, it seems you like to crash into people. You weren't thinking of committing a hit and run, right?"

“How have you been, Y/N?” Luke changed the subject to spare Percy from the embarrassment of Y/N’s teasing remarks. “You disappeared after high school. And the last time I saw you was in a cafe. I barely had time to ask.”

“I went to university in Europe.”

“And you got your law degree, I assume?”

“Conjoint, actually. I majored in law with a minor in psychology.”

Luke whistled, impressed. He barely passed university. “So, what are you doing now?”

“Well, I was taking a calming walk before I almost got killed.” She chuckled, an amused glimmer flashing in her eyes. Percy sank deeper into Luke’s leather car seat. “If you need help with teaching Percy to drive, I’d be happy to help. You look like you need it.” She fished out a card from her purse, handing it over to Luke. “I changed my number, by the way. That’s my personal one. Feel free to contact me, Luke.”

She bid the pair farewell and once she was out of earshot, Percy and Luke turned to face each other.

“Oh my gosh, she gave you her number!”

“Bro, I got her number!”

It was safe to say that Luke spent the rest of the terrifying car ride feeling elated despite being tossed around in the vehicle with Percy and almost throwing up once or twice.

Luke was dreading the next day with Percy because the young boy was not a good driver. At all. Not only had Percy narrowly avoided crashing into a pole and took off one of Luke’s mirrors in the process, but they also got chased by the cops for going over the speeding limit. Twice. And he couldn't forget how they almost killed Y/N.

Luke was thinking of ditching Percy but he was technically Annabeth’s boyfriend, even if she didn’t want to admit it.

His phone buzzed and his eyes darted to the screen for a split second. He looked back at the road, quickly stomping his foot onto the break. His heart sank for the second time this week. This was not how he wanted to meet Y/N again.

Y/N was teasingly grinning as she made her way over to his window. She knocked on it, bending down to match his height. “Hey, Luke.” She uttered, clicking her tongue. She playfully pursed her lips as she watched Luke sigh, his head resting against the wheel. “You and Percy seem to have one thing in common. Almost crashing into me.”

Luke’s cheeks flushed bright pink. “I didn’t mean to… I swear.” He uttered.

“It’s fine, Luke. As long as you don’t actually hit me. Because if you do, I will run you over too.” Y/N smiled, acting as if she didn’t just whisper a threat in Luke’s ear.

“I’m actually going to pick up Percy right now. Do you want to, uh, join me? I might throw up less with you around. Partly in fear of embarrassing myself.” Luke chuckled to himself while Y/N huffed in amusement.

“As long as I don’t land in hospital, I’m up for it.”

“No promises.”

Y/N climbed into the passenger seat, shutting the door behind her. She tilted her head to the side as she picked up a Lancôme lipstick. “I never took you as lipstick person, Luke.” She joked, holding up the tube.

“It’s Clarisse’s.” He said. Despite their differences, the two were quite close in high school. And they still were.

“You two dating already? Everybody shipped you two.” Y/N chuckled, turning her head to look at Luke.

“We’re just friends.” Luke said.

“Oh, come on. You must like a girl. Who’s the lucky one, huh?”

You, Luke almost said.

“I’m not interested in any girls right now.” He said instead. Y/N quirked an eyebrow.

“Are you gay? Wait, I kissed you while you were gay?!” Y/N gasped while Luke wildly shook his head.

“Why does everyone think I’m gay?!” He exclaimed.

"You've never dated anyone, Luke. It makes people think things." Y/N chuckled as leaned back in her seat. "I remember when everybody thought you and Chris were an item. Your fangirls were devastated. It was hilarious."

"What about you?" Luke asked, "How did... you feel?" Y/N faltered. She slowly turned her head to look at Luke before shyly diverting her gaze.

"I was more preoccupied with laughing over the sad girls with my friends." She uttered, "But I had a feeling you weren't gay. Your fashion sense back then was a dead give away that you were straight."

Luke clicked his tongue, "Was that meant to be an insult or a compliment?"

Y/N silently shrugged, flashing him a small grin. "A bit of both, I think."

Silence eventually settled between the pair. The car engine quietly hummed and Y/N glanced out the window as the radio played a soft melody. She thickly gulped as Luke pulled into Percy's driveway, a little disappointed they'd no longer be alone.

"Y/N." Luke quickly turned to her as soon as he pulled the keys out of his car. She met his gaze, confused as she gestured for him to continue. She watched as Luke took a deep breath. "Do you remember when I asked you if you had a partner for prom?"

"Of course. I went with Jake."

"I know that. But do you remember when you told me about Jake and I looked a little sad?" Luke was usually straight-forward with his sentences but he couldn't find the right words in this moment. Y/N slightly tilted her head.

"Yeah... you looked crushed." She said in a joking tone, causing Luke to gently chuckle.

"I looked sad because... I wanted to ask you out. Because I liked you. And I didn't ask anyone else out or accept any other offers because you were the only person I wanted to go with. And when you kissed me in our senior year, I couldn't feel happier, even if it was only because you wanted to feel a teen romance. And when you left... I didn't leave my room for ages. Annabeth had to drag me out. I was scared that you would find another person and I didn't want you to leave me behind."

Y/N gazed at him in silence. Luke cleared his throat, nodding his face. "I shouldn't have said anything... sorry. All those things were ancient history. I don't even know why I brought it up."

"What about you?" Y/N breathed, "Is there anyone else in your life?"

Luke pressed his lips into a thin line. "No... To be honest, I still haven't moved on from you." He turned his head to face Y/N, taken aback when she pressed her lips against his.

"I didn't find anyone else, Luke. I wanted to come back from university and run into your arms again, like old times." Y/N uttered as she pulled away. Luke cracked an ecstatic grin, pulling her back.

"Are you guys seriously making out in front of my house?"

Y/N and Luke jumped apart at the sound of Percy's voice. The younger boy was staring at them through the tinted window, face wrinkled up in disgust.

"I'll, um, get in the backseat." Y/N said, smiling before she switched seats, allowing Luke to sit beside Percy. The brunette gave the boy a subtle glare.

"Can I turn on some music?" Percy asked as he drove down an empty road. Luke had switched off the radio to allow the blond to concentrate.

"Only for a little while. Keep your eyes on the road so you don't almost kill anybody else." Luke snapped. From the backseat, Y/N lightly laughed.

Percy pushed a button and with a quiet click, Olivia Rodrigo started playing. "Really, Luke? Your sad playlist?"

"It's the only other tape in my car."

"I got my driver's license last week"- Percy sang along but he was cut off by Luke's stern tone.

"Percy, you won't be getting your license for ages if you don't focus on the road." The brunette warned. Percy frowned, going silent for a few moments before he parted his lips again.

"He used to listen to this playlist in his car while it rained. He was probably thinking about you." Percy said to Y/N, looking at her through the mirror, "I think he even cried at some point. Annabeth and I saw him one night, just sitting in the car and banging his head against the wheel."

"Percy!" Luke hissed, trying to shush the boy. But the damage was already done as Y/N diverted her eyes to look at Luke.

"Really?" There was an amused edge to her voice.

"Stop the car." Luke demanded, glowering at Percy. The young blond nonchalantly pulled over and stopped the engine. "You're dead, Percy. I'm going to tell Annabeth how you still drool in your sleep." Luke pulled out his phone, causing Percy to panic.

"I told her I stopped!" Percy reached for Luke's device but the brunette quickly stepped out of the car. He held the phone up high, away from Percy's grasp. Y/N watched as Percy chased after Luke, desperate to hide his drooling problem from Annabeth.

Luke turned his head to scowl at Percy. "It's your payback for telling Y/N that!"

idea from @emiliehornby !!

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jisungsdaydreamer · 2 years ago

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Love Playlist #1: HOME (Han)

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME»

"For a really smart person, Jisung can be so dumb sometimes."

Pairing: Han x Fem!reader Genre: college au, friends to lovers, roommates to lovers, fluff, mutual pining Warnings: mild swearing Word Count: 7k

P.S. ♡ If you like my work, please consider giving me feedback in the form of reblogs, comments, and asks! ♡

You have three strict rules that you must follow. One, no going out after eleven. Two, never leave the house without your cell phone. And three, never, ever, fall in love with Han Jisung.

Unfortunately, you’ve broken that third rule already. In fact, you’re still breaking it, charring it to a crisp, and throwing it out like the trash you both begrudgingly take turns with. But how can you not? Because when it comes to your doe-eyed best friend who is serenely sitting in front of you, the whole rulebook is torn up.

Jisung quietly flips through his growing stack of manga, blissfully unaware of the way your heart accelerates whenever he reads a particularly entertaining segment and his eyes light up in amusement.You should remind him to stay on track, but you can’t bear to stop him because of how cute he looks, his legs unconsciously swinging under the table and his fifth banana lollipop of the day shoved into his mouth.

You’re both sitting together in the library at your special table beside the big window, the place that is always secluded no matter what, as if some higher power knows to keep it aside for you and Jisung for whenever you desire. Both of you are supposed to be studying for your finals, the objectively worst part of the entire year. You’re both seniors, so the slew of exams coming up should be a piece of cake for you, except both of you have grad school next year— you’ll be starting on your PhD, while Jisung, a computer engineering major, will be working towards a master’s degree— so you still have to worry about all of your final grades.

“I hate this.” Jisung looks up from the book in his hands, closing it shut. “I wish I didn’t have to do this.”

“It’s almost over. Then we’ll finally graduate and get to enjoy our summer,” you reply. “And then our lives begin.”

And the elation building in your chest is real, because although you have a tough couple of days ahead of you, the end of this year will be a testament to everything you have accomplished. You have your summer mapped out already; you’re going to be completing groundbreaking cancer research at an esteemed biologist’s lab, days filled with productivity along with exciting nights exploring adulthood and freedom with your friends. Even though you’ll still have school, you’ll only have to be doing what you’re passionate about, leaving behind the mandatory literature and calculus courses that brought you so many tears over the duration of college.

“Not for me.” Jisung sighs, leaning back in his chair and staring aimlessly at the ceiling. “It’ll never end.”

Lately, Jisung has become increasingly stressed about graduation. He doesn’t come from a wealthy background, with his mother being a grocery store cashier and his father out of the picture. You’re aware he’s under immense pressure to do well in school and then get a good job that will take care of both him and his mother, when she’s unable to provide for herself. Worst of all, Jisung had to ditch his dream of becoming a musician and instead focus on something more practical, which ended up being a profession in computers. Of course, like anything else he puts his effort into, Jisung excels in computer engineering, and he’s come to terms with giving up his passion, but you know it doesn’t hurt any less.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask softly, reaching for his hand. He accepts it, but he turns his head to gaze at the street beyond the window.

“It’s okay.”

You don’t press any further, because you know that it will just break him down, and neither of you can afford that right now at such a crucial time. Instead, you resolve to brighten his mood, like he does with you anytime you’re down. “Let’s just hope we don’t get food poisoning tomorrow.”

Your attempt works, because Jisung meets your eyes, a smile permeating his solemn expression and before widening into a full grin, at the memory of the time you both first met. Remembrance comes like the summer breeze you look so forward to, washing over you both like a tidal wave. And just like that, it’s freshman year and you’re standing at the bus stop near your old dormitory building.

You anxiously devoured the notebook pages in your hands, alternating between cramming the tiny text and scanning the road for the bus that was supposed to be here ten minutes ago. Your stomach ached from the food poisoning you contracted earlier that morning, an unwelcome byproduct of the dubious cauliflower and tuna tacos served at the dining hall the night before.

This was horrible timing too, especially because you had your first test of the academic year that day. When you should have been bent over your statistics notes, you were cooped up in the bathroom for the previous few hours, clutching the toilet bowl as you watched the clock above you tick menacingly.

You bounced on your toes anxiously, before a strange, squeaking sound met your ears. You whirled around to see a boy approaching you while struggling to pull a large, bulging suitcase along with him. He finally succeeded, collapsing onto the bus stop bench while coughing and wheezing up a storm that rivaled the ominous clouds in the sky. You reached into the side pocket of your backpack, pulling out your unopened plastic water bottle and handing it over to him.

He looked at your offering hand in surprise, before gratefully accepting. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes while he gulped down the cool water. You watched him finish the entire bottle with a dizzying speed and then recycle it in the bin next to the bus stop. The boy was lanky, sporting an oversized Pokémon t-shirt and battered sneakers, and overdue for a haircut, the locks flopping over his sweaty forehead.

“Thank you so much.” He said.

“Of course. What’s in the suitcase?”

The boy fondly ran a hand over the worn-out seams of the object of your curiosity. “I promised my roommate that I would give him all of my old books for his class project. I have no idea why he wants them, but then again, art students are weird.”

He looked up at you not even a second later, alarm in his eyes. “Unless you’re an art student! In that case, I didn’t mean what I said.”

You giggled, shaking your head. “No, I’m a biology major. And yes, I agree.”

He beamed. “I’m Han Jisung. First year, computer engineering. Anime and cheesecake lover. Spicy food hater.”

“Y/N. I’m a freshman, too, and I also love anime and cheesecake. Chocolate cheesecake, to be specific. And I can’t stand spicy food.”

“Chocolate supremacy!” Jisung gasped, clamping a palm over his mouth. “This is meant to be.”

You let out a hearty laugh at his theatrics. “Exactly.”

At that moment, the bus finally arrived, rolling to a stop next to you both. You helped Jisung push his suitcase full of storybooks up the steps of the bus and into the aisle. You sat on one of the seats in the back, and Jisung followed suit, plopping down right next to you. As he did, you noticed him wince, clutching his stomach. Concern bloomed in you for this precious stranger that you just met.

“Are you okay?”

He clutches his stomach once more, smiling embarrassedly. “I got food poisoning. I should have known better than to trust the dining hall food.”

You pause, as the ironic delight of the situation sets in, allowing the pain to fade away and leaving you to wonder about the odds of meeting Jisung. “No way! Me too!”

Jisung’s eyes widen in surprise. “That’s destiny. Mutual food poisoning. Now we definitely have to be friends.”

Later, after you had exchanged numbers and plenty of laughs, parting ways at your respective bus stops, you would meet again at the university hospital. Both of you had contracted a salmonella infection.

Unbeknownst to you and Jisung, that delayed bus and salmonella would determine the trajectory of the rest of your lives. Over time, you both emerged from the shackles of a hesitant acquaintance to the kind of bond that never breaks, even with time, distance, or the grievances of being young. You witnessed each other grow up, fall in love and out of love, and get drunk on piña coladas at the bar next to the college gym you both pretended to go to regularly.

Somewhere along the way, after Loser Boyfriend Number Three, as Jisung tried to cheer you up with his horrible jokes and the burned brownies that he nuked in the residence hall kitchen microwave, you realized that you were wasting your time on people who weren’t worth it. Because the only person who was worth it was the one who had been by your side all the time. Jisung.

Betrayed by your treacherous heart, you began to see Jisung— your person, your study buddy, your fake fiancé when you both were trying to score free dessert with a restaurant proposal— as more than just a friend. In fear of your feelings potentially ruining your friendship, something more dear to you than any form of romance, as you so believed they would, you swore to never speak to Jisung of it. But you couldn’t lie to yourself anymore about the worst. You fell in love with your best friend.

“What did the farmer say after he lost his tractor?”

“I have no idea, Jisung.”

“‘Hey, where’s my tractor?’ Get it?” Jisung bursts out laughing, slapping his thigh. He doubles over, his whole body shaking with laughter at the unimpressed look on your face, which makes everything funnier for him.

“That doesn’t even make sense!” You exclaim, trying to push him. Jisung just keeps giggling, dodging you masterfully.

You both have given up on your library study session, resolving to take a break at your favorite coffee shop and meet up with the rest of your friends in your circle. The setting sun has streaked the blue sky with its golden rays and puffy pink clouds, enveloping the entire campus in a hazy glow. It’s a pleasant May evening, with the scent of your college’s famed peonies along with the excitement of Spring lingering in the air. The street lights that line the sidewalk are already turned on, but not many people are outside enjoying the weather, except for a few students playing a game of Frisbee on the athletic field. Everyone else is locked away in their rooms or the library, grinding for their upcoming exams.

“Well, I have a better one anyway.” Jisung states, clearing his throat dramatically.

You roll your eyes as you near your destination, an unassuming red-brick building tucked away in a larger complex of stores. Purple morningstar blossoms border the door of the small shop in clumps of dainty vines, no doubt the namesake of Morningstar Coffee House. Fairy lights are strung around the glass block windows, which offer a glimpse of the inviting warmth inside.

“Let’s hear it.”

Jisung jogs ahead of you and opens the door for you, gallantly gesturing for you to go first. “What did Y/N say to Jisung when they went to the coffee shop together?”

The comforting smell of pastries and dark roast coffee engulfs you as you step into Morningstar. The strung lanterns and groovy jazz music playing in the background welcome you like a hug from a long-distance friend. You can’t believe it’s been so long since you’ve gone anywhere other than the library, the lecture halls, or the tiny apartment you and Jisung share.

“I don’t know.” You humor Jisung, still playing along and waiting for his ridiculous punchline.

He smirks at you. “I love you a latte!”

You feign disgust, but secretly, you are elated because of how genuinely touching his words are to you. Jisung hugs you like a baby panda, trying to get you to applaud him for his clever joke, as Jisung is naturally a very physically affectionate person, always wanting to snuggle up to the people around him. But your heart can’t help but jump a little every time you feel his arms snug around you.

“Well, I love you a latte more, Hannie,” you respond nonchalantly, but you mean it. You do love Jisung for everything that he is, even the cringeworthy SoundCloud rapper phase that dominated his sophomore year.

“You guys are weird,” your friend Seungmin says from behind the counter, where he’s busy working as the barista, while his co-worker, Soobin, a timid Psychology student, clumsily handles orders at the cash register. Seungmin’s parents own Morningstar, and he plans to take over it next year.

Jisung sticks his tongue out at Seungmin in defiance, before linking arms with you and dragging you to the back, where the rest of your friends are seated. There is Chan, or more famously known as Chris among his many admirers across his campus, clad in his signature black jacket. Besides him, the turquoise-haired baby of your group, Jeongin, and then Hyunjin, who as usual, is lost in his sketchbook.

“Hey guys. What are you up to?” You slide in next to Hyunjin, trying to peek at what he’s drawing. You catch a glimpse of a very pretty girl you vaguely recognize from around campus, before he protectively snaps his journal closed, narrowing his eyes at you.

“Eyes on your coffee, Y/N,” Hyunjin says, handing you the mug that they ordered for you ahead of time. Magically, it’s still hot.

You accept the coffee and drink it, letting the rich liquid warm your insides as you swallow it gratefully. “Alright, alright.”

Jisung tries to steal a bite of Jeongin’s apple danish, earning him a swat on his wandering palms. Chan looks over at you with a grin. “We’re just listening to Jeongin rant about his crush.”

Jeongin groans before continuing. “And I keep asking her out, but every time, she rejects me, bro! What am I supposed to do? Give up?"

“Yes,” Hyunjin says in his signature straightforward manner, prompting everyone but Jeongin to snicker.

“Whatever. I'll figure out a way.” Jeongin sits back in his seat, resorting to aggressively typing on his keyboard to deal with his frustration.

You look around your little corner in the shop, which is filled with textbooks and miscellaneous notebook sheets. “Where are the others?”

“Minho is studying with his girlfriend, and Changbin and Felix are apparently also working, but they’re probably gaming instead.”

Hyunjin bites down on the edge of his straw, glancing between you and Jisung thoughtfully. “Speaking of girlfriend, when are you both going to get together?”

You freeze up in your seat, tensing like you always do whenever someone jokes about your relationship with Jisung, but he’s unfazed, shooting Hyunjin a mischievous smile. “When you tell us about that girl you’re obsessed with.”

Hyunjin immediately forgets about teasing you, glaring at Jisung contempfully. “Shut up, Han. You don’t know anything.”

“Guys, let’s calm down,” you say while patting Hyunjin’s back, happy for the distraction but still cautious about him and Jisung. While those two love each other very much now, they used to fight like crazy when they roomed together in freshman year, and no one needs a repeat of bad history right now.

Jisung catches your eye, and although he doesn’t smile at you, you can see the appreciation in his eyes. You nod slightly at him, before getting out your own computer. Words do not have to be exchanged between you two for you to understand each other.

You all settle into a comfortable silence as you finish your coffee and resume studying, only looking up occasionally to ask each other questions about the material or an assignment. Soon, the evening begins to fade away, and you start packing up your belongings before closing time.

“Hey, Y/N! Can you come over here for a second?” Seungmin calls out, capturing your attention.

You put down your backpack and walk over to the counter, where he’s washing his blender. “Yes?”

“So what’s going on with you and Jisung?” Before you can interrupt him and deny anything, Seungmin wipes his hands and gives you a meaningful look. “I know you have feelings for him.”

You feel your face heat up, and you avoid his piercing eyes. “How would you know?”

“Look, it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. From the way you look at him, it’s a marvel how he hasn’t figured it out yet. For a really smart person, Jisung can be so dumb sometimes.”

You exhale, seeing no point in lying anymore. Besides, it feels good to get it off of your chest. “Well, why are you bringing this up anyway?”

Seungmin sets down his utensil caddy and rests his elbows on the edge of the sink. “Soobin likes you and asked me if you’re single. But, you know, I wasn’t sure if you are available. Emotionally, I mean.”

You glance over at Soobin, observing him counting all of the day’s revenue. The blonde cashier catches your eye, flashing you a shy smile before quickly looking away, turning a shade of tomato red. He’s handsome, good-hearted, and not to mention, very tall. Just your type. But he’s no Jisung.

“It’s been a while since I’ve dated anyone.” And this is true— over a year, to be precise. “I guess, I’m still hung up over Jisung.”

“Do you plan on making a move?”

“No way. I’m just going to wait for the feelings to dissipate. I would never risk our friendship like that,” you mumble.

“You could get to know Soobin, maybe he’ll help you move on,” Seungmin suggests, crossing his arms.

You consider your options before piping up. Jisung had gotten pretty serious with his last girlfriend by the end of your junior year, but he broke up with her a month later, telling you that she just wasn’t the one for him. He hasn’t dated anyone since, claiming that it’s not the right time. But for you, it is, and you realize that you can’t keep waiting for him.

“Maybe I will,” you say, toying with your jacket zipper.

Seungmin tips his head towards Soobin, but before you move, he leans in closer to you. “But personally, I think you should just tell Jisung. If he’s really your best friend, your friendship will stay the same no matter what.”

You nod. “Yeah, okay.”

You know Seungmin is right, but the truth is, it’s not just about losing your friendship with Jisung. Regardless of whether he reciprocates your feelings or not, you know that he would never walk away from you. It’s truly you who you are concerned about. You’re uncertain if you could bear to go back being your normal self around Jisung if you confess and get rejected. You don’t know if your heart could handle it.

You touch Seungmin’s hand in a quiet gratitude and approach Soobin, who immediately notices your presence and accidentally slams the cash register drawer closed, nearly shutting it on his finger. “H-hi Y/N.”

Watching Soobin get endearingly flustered, you can’t help but smile. “Hey Soobin. How are you?”

“I’m good, thank you.” Soobin bites down on his lip, wrapping his arms around himself. He looks so cute in his brown bib apron and converse shoes. “You look really pretty in that dress.”

Your cheeks warm, but you look him directly in his eyes. “That’s so kind of you to say. Actually, I was hoping you'd want to go out on a date sometime? Maybe after finals?”

Although you’re very reserved about your feelings for Jisung, in every other case, you can be quite forward with romance. Soobin’s eyes widen. “Wait, really?”

You laugh, getting out your phone. “Yes, really. What do you say?”

“Yes! I would love to. Could I please get your number?” Soobin stretches out his phone, which is covered in teddy bear stickers.

You think of Jisung’s phone, which has a clear case and a polaroid of you two at the beach inside. You shake the thought of him away. You type your number into Soobin’s phone, before wishing him good luck on his finals and then rejoining your friend group in the darkening outdoors, which has moved outside the shop while you were talking to Seungmin. As soon as he spies you walking out of the door, Hyunjin forgets his conversation with Jeongin and immediately launches into interrogating you.

“What were you talking to Soobin about?”

You shrug, trying to play it off, but can’t help the rosy blush that creeps up your neck. “Nothing, really.”

Now the others look interested as well, and Jeongin smirks knowingly at you. “You asked him out, didn’t you?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you think you see Jisung’s smile falter, but you chalk it up to your own imagination and affirm Jeongin’s prediction. “Yes, but it’s pretty casual. So not a big deal.”

Chan and Jeongin both high-five you like seventh grade boys, while Hyunjin just cackles at your sudden agitation. Jisung, however, looks annoyed, a very new color on him.

“I didn’t know you were interested in Soobin,” he says, shutting Hyunjin up. “Why didn’t you tell me? You always tell me when you like someone.”

You know the answer to his question. But you can’t tell Jisung that the only reason why you asked Soobin on a date out of the blue is because you are in love with him and trying to move on. “Seungmin just told me that he had a crush on me. So I went for it.”

“Yeah, everyone knows Soobin likes you. But you could have told me first before making a move.” Jisung’s tone is slightly harsh, suspicious. You recoil in surprise, because he has never spoken to you like this, unlike the boy you know and love.

“Why are you getting so mad?” You ask him, hurt.

“It’s just that we tell each other everything, and this is pretty big.” Jisung crosses his arms stubbornly. “Unless you didn’t want me to know.”

Your skin prickles with a strange feeling, because while you two have bickered over stupid things in the past, it wasn’t anything serious like the look on Jisung’s face now. “What’s your problem, Jisung? What did I do to you?”

Your voice is raised, and boys instantly sense the tension in the air, stepping in to mediate. Chan, the eldest in the group, places a hand on Jisung’s shoulder, mutely imploring him to stay calm. Hyunjin, however, gets defensive on your behalf.

“Why should she have to tell you? Calm down,” Hyunjin says, frowning at Jisung.

“It’s okay, Hyunjin. We should get going.” Without waiting for an answer from the others, you grasp Jisung’s hand and pull him with you, while he comes along without saying anything at all.

The walk back to your apartment, which is seven minutes long from campus, is filled with an uneasy silence, a dreadful change from the playfulness earlier in the day. The air is charged, full of everything you both want to say to each other, but nevertheless, you keep your mouth closed. More than anything, you’re confused.

It’s been a long time since either of you were with anyone romantically, so maybe it is surprising to Jisung that you randomly asked Soobin out. However, you don’t understand his anger, especially because Jisung has always supported you in your dating life, even setting you up sometimes with people he knew. But you don’t think the problem is the fact that it is Soobin either, because Soobin is one of the most beloved people on campus due to his sweet personality. You don’t know what’s wrong, and that’s what bothers you the most.

Neither of you speak even when you reach your neighborhood, a suburban oasis in a big city. When there’s good weather, you and Jisung love to come outside and either take long walks around the block or pack picnics to share on the perpetually green lawn in front of your apartment building. Today, you head straight up to your flat, an indifferent pair of strangers standing in the elevator.

After unlocking the door to your apartment, you finally decide to break the silence, turning to look at Jisung, who trails a few feet behind you. “I’ll be in my room, studying.”

You want him to say something, anything, but he just nods, keeping his eyes trained on the grey hardwood flooring. Sighing, you pad across the apartment and enter your room, shutting the door you always keep open.

You and Jisung had signed a lease on your place last year, partially because you couldn’t afford off-campus housing on your own, but also because you couldn’t imagine a better roommate than him. People made plenty of comments about how you both— two people of the opposite gender— renting an apartment together would be a recipe for disaster.

While Jisung had assured you that everything would be alright, the weeks leading up to move-in day were filled with apprehension for you. But unlike what he believed, it wasn’t because of what others said. The thought of you and Jisung living together made you worry if proximity could potentially make it easier for him to realize your feelings for him.

However, when the big day rolled in, you couldn’t remember any of your fears as you and Jisung sat in your new apartment, leaned against a pile of half-opened luggage. Exhausted from dealing with delayed furniture shipments and sorting through the endless boxes of belongings, both of you had given up. Resolving to lay on the barren floor and play Go-Fish, you both laughed for hours about the annoyed look on the grumpy mover’s face when Jisung kept asking him questions. Before Jisung subsequently fell asleep on your lap, he promised you that you both would make a lot of good memories here. And you did.

Last Christmas, you both spent it together, huddled on the couch while gossiping and drinking hot chocolate, because both of your flights got canceled due to snow. Then there was the time Jisung forced you to stay awake with him all night because he was scared after watching some bad slasher film, but you told him Disney bedtime stories that eventually made his fear go away.

You can’t help but feel a small pang thinking of whenever he brings you strawberry shortcake from the bakery you like, or all of the times he spam calls you when you’re out late and haven’t informed him. You’ve never fought with Jisung like this, not without him immediately coming after you and begging you to forgive him, even if he wasn’t in the wrong. Being distant with Jisung is a new feeling, and you don’t get how you could ever accomplish that with your best friend in the whole world.

Shaking off your incessant thoughts about Jisung, you turn on your computer, hunching over on your desk in the artificial glow of the screen. You still have a few chapters of reading to get through, and then you have to solve ten long practice problem sets for Chemistry. For now, you’ll have to put off the deliberations that pull at you.

“Y/N.”

You feel someone shaking you awake, gentle hands coaxing you out of an uneasy nap. You lift your head from where it rests on your arms, blearily looking up from where you are slumped over your desk. Your laptop has fallen asleep, the dim glow of your lamp lighting up the room instead. And the blaring, unwelcome red of your digital clock signals an unfortunate time well past twelve. Rubbing your eyes, you finally notice Jisung hovering beside you hesitantly.

“I thought you’d want me to wake you up,” Jisung says, his hands shoved into the pockets of his pajama pants. “I’m sorry.”

He’s wearing a black sweatshirt with the hood pulled up snugly over his head, a few soft pieces of hair messily sticking out from underneath. He looks so cute you want to hug him, but then you remember the events that transpired before you accidentally fell asleep.

“It’s okay. I need to finish working, thanks,” you say dully, both tired from studying and being stuck in this bad day with Jisung.

He shakes his head. “No, I mean, I’m sorry for earlier. At the coffee shop.”

You bite your lip, melting at the regret and sadness in his eyes. Your best friend misses you too. “Can we talk?”

Jisung stays quiet before speaking, and you swear he can probably hear your anticipating heartbeat filling the room. “Are you hungry? We didn’t have dinner.”

He doesn’t answer your question, but you still fold at the thought of how he didn’t eat without you. “Yeah, I am hungry.”

“I’ll make us something.” He turns and heads into the kitchen, and after a second thought, you hurry after him.

Jisung takes off his hood and brings out a metal pot out of one of the cupboards. You watch as he rummages hastily through the fridge, before he shuts it with empty hands. He turns to you with a sheepish look on his face. “So we don’t actually have any food.”

Realization passes between the both of you: in the past few weeks, you both were so immersed in your preparation for your exams that you had completely neglected buying groceries, opting instead for easy pre-cooked meals or food deliveries. Your stomach rumbles loudly, and you rub it, embarrassed, but at least it breaks the tension, as Jisung snorts, an amused look on his face.

“We could go to the store and get something,” he suggests, from where he stands behind the kitchen island.

He fidgets nervously, a reminder of how any other time, you would have jumped at the opportunity to ditch your books and buy cheap junk food with Jisung. But now? You don’t want to go out. You want to stay here, you want to talk to your best friend, you want things to go back to how they were before your fight with Jisung. And yet, you nod your head in agreement, grabbing your apartment keys and wallet from the counter before following Jisung out of the apartment.

The hallways of the building are tainted a vivid yellow from the incandescent lighting, a sharp contrast to the gloomy night outside. The moon is high up in the sky, shrouding the sleepy apartment complex in a silvery glow. There’s no one outside except for a homeless man dozing on one of the benches lining the walkways. But the distant city lights tell you that not everyone slumbers, that outside of your bubble, people have their own lives and stories. The only story that matters to you, however, is the one with the beautiful boy who walks beside you, his step heavy and eyes downcast.

In a matter of wordless minutes, you and Jisung have arrived at your go-to place for midnight runs, a sketchy little convenience store peeking out from behind a cluster of drab office buildings. The neon lighting of the store glows in the dark and reflects in the pools of water left by a mild rain that had graced the land while you were sleeping.

Jisung quickly walks ahead of you and opens the door for you, a blast of air conditioning granting you solace from the humidity. The familiar sight of the plentiful arrays of colorful aisles and the broken fan hopelessly creaking by the entrance pulls you in. You scour the shelves of mouthwatering foodstuffs, before settling in front of one of the sections.

“I don’t know if it’s a noodles or sandwich kind of night,” you wonder out loud, picking up a pack of ramen. You don’t notice Jisung standing behind you, as you assume he’s already zeroed in on the ice cream freezer like he always does.

“Definitely ramen.”

You jump, hugging the packet to your chest as if it would protect you from the perpetrator. Jisung innocently watches you, a small smile playing upon his lips. He holds two wrapped popsicles in his hands, one melon-flavored and one mango-flavored, and stretches the latter out to you. You accept it, returning his smile, and it feels like things are normal again. You know you should bring up what lies unspoken between you two, but you want to preserve this moment for now.

Jisung selects ramen for himself as well, and you both go to the front counter to check-out, failing to exchange any more words as you both just continue to enjoy the calm. After, you both quickly exit the shop and start jogging in synchronization, remembering that a pile of work still awaits you. When you board the bridge that connects the rest of the city to the way back to your apartment, Jisung doubles over, panting.

You decide to take a break, walking over to the edge and drinking in the view. The blurred lights of the magnificent skyscrapers illuminate the midnight sky like lightning, and the river in front of you is littered with cargo ships peacefully gliding along on their separate journeys. You lean against the railing, closing your eyes and letting the wind ruffle your hair. Jisung comes up behind you once more, but when he speaks this time, it’s less of a surprise and more of a comfort.

“Everything is changing,” he says, resting his hands on the railing as well. “I’m scared.”

You open your eyes, turning to face Jisung. His eyes are filled with tears, and your heart reaches out for him. You tightly grasp his hand, trying to convey everything you can’t say to him.

“Talk to me. Please.”

“I’m not ready for all of this. Graduation’s getting closer, and I know you’re excited but… I don’t know, I still feel kind of stuck.” Jisung’s gaze fixates on one of the boats below. “Every time I type out a line of code, I want to smash my keyboard into bits. Every goddamn time.”

His words are strong, but his voice is rough with emotion.

“Jisung, don’t do this if it’s not what you want.”

“We’re literally graduating in a month, Y/N.” Jisung lets out a disbelieving sound. “But that’s not even a concern, because my grad school actually offers a joint program on computers and audio design for engineering students who want to go into music production. But I couldn’t do that, because you barely get paid unless you make it big.”

You frown, setting down the plastic cover of your food. “Well, why not? If anyone could break out, it’s you.”

Jisung shrugs, shaking his head. “I can’t take that risk. Just plain old computer science is the way to go.”

You stay quiet for a second, keenly observing his despairing expression. “Your mom would want you to be happy, Hannie.”

“I could be happy, maybe, one day. But not right now.” Jisung runs a hand through his hair, not meeting your eyes. “You’re moving away next year for your PhD, and I’ll still be stuck here, in a place where you aren’t there.”

“I’m only two hours away. You can get away from campus and visit all the time. We’ll be like the Kardashians taking on a new city!” You crack a watery smile.

Jisung sniffles sadly, and your heart sinks, because you failed to make him happy. Again. But then he looks up at you, a glimmer of humor in his eyes. “Only if I get to be Kourtney.”

You laugh, shoving him in the arm. “Fine.”

And then you both say nothing again, just gazing out at the world beyond this bridge and instant.

“What happened today?” You break the silence— questioning, not accusing.

Jisung groans. “It’s… look, I know we’ve both dated before, but none of them were it. And maybe you never felt that way, but I know for a fact that none of the guys you dated were right for you.”

“Jisung—” you start, but he interrupts you.

“And we’re graduating soon. So I thought you’d realize it by now.” Jisung taps his foot like he always does when he’s nervous, and your pulse quickens at his halting words.

“Realize what?” You ask him softly, trying not to come to any conclusions but betrayed by the treacherous beat of your heart.

The tips of Jisung’s ears turn red. “I- I need you to not say anything. Because I need to say something. And if you don’t like what I say, then I’ll walk away and we can forget everything that transpired here. Okay?”

You maintain your serious expression, although you want to swoon at his adorably flustered state. “Okay.”

Jisung is about to finally reveal what has gotten him so worked up, but then he sighs in frustration, shaking his head. “No. I can’t do this with you looking at me. Can you please turn around? Please?”

Hiding a smile, you oblige him and face the other way. “Okay. I can’t see you now.”

You hear Jisung take a deep breath.

“I’m never going to get this right. Y/N, I like you. And I mean like-like you. Like, romantically. Everything about you, I like. Even your disgusting food combinations, I like. Your smile? Oh god. Don’t go on a date with Soobin. Go with me. I like you.”

Even though the past few minutes manifested Jisung’s declaration, you still whirl around, shocked. “Say what?”

Jisung rolls his eyes. “Seriously? I pour myself out to you and you need me to repeat it? You’re really something, Y/N.”

You smirk, stepping closer and looping your arms around Jisung’s neck. You take in how Jisung’s eyes have widened and how his lips are parted at such an intimate gesture from you, wondering if this is how it feels in the movies, when the heroine finally gets the boy she’s been loving from a distance for so long.

You look up at Jisung, and your heart has never felt so happy. “I guess this is my time to be vulnerable too. I don’t just like-like you, Jisung. I love you.”

It’s Jisung’s turn to be surprised. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah. For a very long time.”

He smiles bashfully, his elation at your own confession evident. “I love you too.”

Jisung tilts his head to his right, as you do the same, almost about to close the miniscule space between you both. And then he pulls away.

You watch Jisung, confused, as he covers his face with his palms, shyly giggling. “I’m sorry, it’s just that I dreamed of this for so long. Can you give me a second?”

Never able to get enough of his antics, you watch as he pulls a stick of chapstick out of his pocket and swipes it on. He dabs his lips carefully before turning back to you.

“Now where were we?”

Before you can even say anything, he’s closed that gap. His lips are soft and sweet, the taste of cherry and vanilla chapstick lingering. You close your eyes and melt into the kiss as Jisung brings up his hands to cradle your face. The sweet scent of him clouds your senses and washes away your inhibitions, and there’s nothing besides you both in this moment. He kisses you like there’s no tomorrow, no exams, no school or anyone else. He kisses you not like a friend, but a lover that he’s yearned for, which certainly wouldn’t be a lie.

You can’t believe that you’ve been pining after Jisung for the mere duration of your college years. It feels like you’ve waited your whole life for this. The murky puddles of water around you and the pungent stench of a nearby dumpster are nowhere near romantic, but with the way you’re kissing Jisung, you might as well be in heaven.

If you dare to predict the future, you’ll have the rest of your life to look forward to moments like this, miss him even when he’s laying in your arms, love him when you both slow dance in the refrigerator light at midnight. And because you’re two broke peas in a pod, you both will definitely conduct more fake proposals with each other when you go out to eat. Hopefully before the real deal. You’ll just have to see who pops the question first.

“Wow,” Jisung breathes against your lips. “My dreams have not done this moment any justice.”

You chuckle, leaning in for another kiss. “Mine too.”

But Jisung dodges your lips, making you scoff as he raises his eyebrows at you. “And what are you going to be doing about Soobin?”

“You should be nicer. Poor Soobin. I wouldn’t have to let him down now if you’d just told me all of this earlier,” you scold Jisung lightly, cupping his chin.

He pouts, swatting at your arms with the oversize sleeves of his hoodie. “Never mind. Let’s stop talking about him.”

You roll your eyes playfully and wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him closer. You’re sure that the lovesick look on Jisung’s face mirrors your own. He may not be perfect, but he’s perfect for you. Your best friend in the whole world. And whatever the future holds, that will never change.

“I love you, Hannie. Love you so much,” you whisper, pressing another soft kiss to his lips. You’ll never, ever get tired of kissing him.

Jisung smiles down at you lovingly, slipping off his hoodie to put it on you, noticing the way you shiver. But you’re not really that cold; it's the way he’s looking at you right now. Not that you’d tell him that. “Let’s go.”

“Where?” You ask, still in a dreamy daze. This day has turned out to be better than any other you’ve ever had. Everything was worth it.

“Home.”

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ussgallifrey · 5 months ago

Text

(She Moves With) Shameless Wonder | 30

✦ Summary: Your badge clearly said SHIELD consultant, so you weren’t entirely sure where Fury was getting this whole make you an Avenger idea from. But you had a feeling it might have something to do with the recent discovery of an artifact at the bottom of the Arctic Sea.

✦ Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

✦ Warnings: Canon divergence, death, depictions of dead bodies, dialogue taken directly from Captain America: Civil War and the Marvel Civil War comic, language, political discourse, violence.

✦ Word Count: 5.8k

✦ Playlist: Here

✦ Cinematic Soundtrack: Here

✦ Author's Note: I'm in my torturing Steve hours with this one. For any fans of the Civil War comic, you'll notice how I tried to incorporate Nitro's death with Rumlow's. Fun fact, I wrote a good portion of the action sequence with "MMMBop" by Hansen on repeat because my kid was obsessively playing it for half the afternoon. I like to think of it as a testament to my writing abilities with that knowledge in hand.

[Master List]

Sea salt stings at his cheeks as the bay's lapping waves crest and shatter against the observation deck's rocky outcrop. Squinting against the sliver of sunlight that dares to peak between the heavy-hanging gray clouds overhead, Steve can almost make out the vague shape of the Statue of Liberty between the haze of fog.

It wasn’t often that he found himself this far south of the Compound on his own accord. But, with the heaviness of the SRA looming over the team, the day out had been a much-needed break from political talk in the lounge.

Natasha’s red hair whips against the side of his shoulder as she lingers beside him, her eyes moving from every person who dares enter the public space. Always calculating the threat assessment for any given situation.

This had been the condition; having the two of them there.

Steve watches as Wanda shoves at Pietro’s arm as he hogs the observation telescope for himself. The two teenagers had been desperate for a day away from their seclusionary residence and even Tony had been easily convinced to allow this little getaway, considering everything else going on around them.

They all knew this could be the last little outing out for the twins.

One day only, limited contact with the public, casual clothes, and simple disguises to keep them protected.

The boy’s signature white hair is tucked away under the cloth of a gray beanie, while Wanda’s red-tinged eyes are hidden by a pair of sunglasses. Steve has his own sunglasses snagged on the collar of his shirt as he pulls back the cap on his head to itch at his hair.

At least these two were enjoying themselves, having a day out in the city. Hell, even Steve had found himself smiling more than he had in the past two days.

The Battery was one of the final stops on their touristy trip.

They had gotten ice cream at Central Park, wandering between the garden flower paths of the more secluded sections of the park. Natasha even let them have their moment in the middle of Times Square. And now, with pretzels and hotdogs in hand, they took their time looking out across the bay.

Steve had never seen Ellis Island so close up before. It was strange, knowing how much time had passed for him when his own mother had gone through the inspection process there after six weeks aboard a ship from Belfast. His connection to his past life seemed to slip through his fingers as each day passed, burning that existence further and further behind him.

“So, you’re actually going to do it.”

Natsasha’s green eyes are dulled slightly by the gloomy sky, but they’re fully sharp and fixed on his face.

Drawing his arms from the metal railing, he tucks his hands away into the pockets of his leather coat. Even he found it strange that the weather had been so abysmal for June.

“Figured it was about time,” he admits on a quivering breath.

While the sibling pair had been across the pathway, getting themselves something to eat from a vendor cart, he had revealed his plan to Nat.

It had been… wearing on Steve for the past day and a half. One too many near-misses and broken chances. He had had enough of it. And even if it made the great Captain America shudder, the supersoldier was finally preparing himself to tell you exactly how he felt.

The perfect moment would never exist for the two of you - not when danger lurked around every corner. Not when the passage of legislation looking to strip away their right to do their job effectively was just a few days away.

No, he had waited and kept his head buried in the sand long enough. It was beyond time.

And even if he laid it all bare to you and you didn’t… couldn’t reciprocate, then at least Steve knew that he had put himself out there. Kept it from swallowing him whole.

You had been so close yesterday on the deck. Your lips a lingering breath away, your chest heaving beneath his own. Everything he felt - everything he loved about you was within his grasp if he could just get over that initial fear and say something. Do anything.

Nat nods, focusing her gaze on the twins for a minute before she asks, “When did she say she’s coming back?”

Easing back on his heels, feeling a flush of heat racing for his cheeks and a smile breaking across his lips, he answers, “Tonight.”

She knocks her fist into his arm, “I’m proud of you, lover boy. So… you got some big thing planned for it or are you just going to get her alone and do a big confessional from the heart? Kinda seems like your style, big spur-of-the-moment speeches and all.”

“Well, I - ”

Steve’s cut off by the shockwave explosion that ripples across the city skyline. The ground under his feet quakes as he grabs hold of Natasha and drags her down low.

“You two, over here!” Nat calls to the twins.

Pietro has a protective arm over Wanda as they jog over.

“What was that?” the girl questions, eyes wide as she takes in the equally shocked and nervous patrons around them.

Steve rises to his feet, looking back at the city behind them. Smoke radiates up into the air from the general vicinity of the financial district, just a few blocks north of the Battery.

“Okay, you need to get these two out of here,” Natasha directs, heading up the path. “I’ll get SHIELD on the line and - ”

“No, no. We are staying here, thank you,” Pietro barks, dragging his hat from his head - exposing his striking white hair.

“We don’t know what we’re dealing with yet. It could be… a gas explosion or something,” Steve looks toward Natasha, trying to gather her thoughts on the matter.

It didn’t sound like a gas explosion.

Sirens are ringing out in the distance. And even from here, Steve can hear the screams for help beginning to echo across the streets.

Wanda stands directly in front of him, her glasses pulled into her hand, “People could be hurt.”

With his hands on his hips, he glances from the twins to Natasha, and then up toward the billowing plumes of dark smoke tangling between the skyscrapers like a serpent.

“Steve, we need to move.”

“Okay,” he announces, clapping Wanda’s shoulder tightly with his palm. “But you stay close and you stay out of trouble. We’re going to aid the emergency crews, but that’s it for you two.”

She nods, her expression seeming to note the severity of his tone as she looks over at her brother, “Fair enough.”

“Let’s go,” Steve calls, ignoring the Widow’s less-than-pleased look as he runs past her.

The beige sand is warm beneath the soles of your bare feet as you dangle your legs over the edge of the white plastic lounge chair. Near the water, the breeze is just cool enough that you can ignore the stifling heat of the island’s humidity.

A splash of clear liquid makes its way into your glass. Droplets of Asgardian liquor cling to the yellow, blue, and pink paper umbrella adorning the top of your drink.

“Thank you,” you schmooze as you raise your mojito toward the God of Thunder.

Thor nods in return as he crosses his bare legs over the chair beside yours. He’s wearing a pair of plain swimming trunks and a fabulous floral print shirt, which he leaves unbuttoned. His hair is sun-bleached, wild around his shoulders, as he tips his head back. The plastic sunglasses protect his eyes from the sun and a dab of hastily applied sunscreen protects his nose from burning.

“Yeah, this ain’t too bad.”

You hum in agreement as you turn to look at Bruce.

On the other side of your beach chair, the good scientist is more appropriately covered for the harsh sunlight as he rests under the shade of a large umbrella. Sipping his pineapple concoction with ease, a floppy tan hat on his head, white Crocs on his feet.

This wasn’t exactly where you had envisioned the man to go after Sokovia, but you suppose it made perfect sense.

Bruce had been all across the northern hemisphere, Russia, and the Middle East during his time on the run from Ross and the SOCC. You knew about his lengthy time in Brazil and his short stay in Mexico. Of course, after Harlem, he had moved around along the Indian subcontinent. But Kuto was definitely a new destination for him.

Just north of New Zealand, in an archipelago of islands, New Caledonia was an ideal hideout for the scientist and his companion, the God of Thunder.

Most people here turned an eye to the two tourists and crime was largely different than the alien invasions and HYDRA outbreaks that the US found itself dealing with. Here, he could truly relax.

Thor had only joined him recently, after having enough of life at the Compound. From what you understood, after Sokovia and his admittance that he and the good lady Jane had separated, he had chosen to take a sabbatical in Australia. He told you of his ventures into Midgardian life - securing a roommate and an apartment in the city.

However, as you suspected, Thor was not suited for day-to-day living in the human realm.

You had managed to keep Bruce’s location under wraps from outside sources and, while you did keep in correspondence through Pallas so as not to leak his whereabouts to people who could access phone records, you rarely took the time to actually visit him.

That was one thing you found yourself grateful for, however. After Sokovia, after moving into the Compound with the rest of the team, Tony informed you that during JARVIS’s take-down of Ultron from the web, he had also gone ahead and removed that pesky little formula as well. Fury’s formula - that eventually went on to Pierce and HYDRA - the one that successfully tracked your comings and goings.

Now, you were free to travel without fear of being discovered by people like Ross. This is how you found yourself on a beach resort on a Sunday in the middle of June, sipping fruity cocktails mixed with a healthy dose of Asgardian liquor.

The Promethean flame seems to surge in the locket as you rub the pendant between your fingers. You had yet to take it off; too concerned with your brother’s warning to risk it. But even here, as you watch the ebb and flow of the crystalline blue waves against the sandy shore, you feel that sensation at the back of your mind. Worming its way in further, burrowing down into your cortex.

“So…” you begin, sipping another bit of your drink up through the straw. “What have you heard from the US?”

Bruce tilts his head your way, knocking his sunglasses down to the tip of his nose, “Like that Registration Act stuff or the questionable candidacy stuff?”

“The SRA.”

He hums in reply, folding his hands over his belly as he looks out at the ocean water.

“I try to keep my stress levels to a minimum these days, ‘Thena.”

You can feel the radiating heat of Thor’s eyes upon you as you sit up, twisting in your seat to address Banner directly.

“Even I have concerns over it, Bruce.”

“Think I’m pretty well-off over here.”

Lowering your head, you stare at the smooth grains of sand that rest between your toes.

“Well, I wouldn’t be so sure… if Ross is at the controls.”

That gets his attention as Bruce stalls, clutching his hands together into loose fists. Sitting up, he swivels his body to face you.

“What are you talking about?”

“Ross came right to the Compound and basically laid it out like it was already set in stone to us yesterday. I’m sure there’s more to it than what he tried to sell. And I’m very sure that Tony’s going to try and fight it with everything he’s got. But…”

Your eyes meet his worried ones and without having to finish your thought, he gives a jerky nod.

“Guess paradise isn’t the best hiding spot after all.”

“Never is.”

It’s at that moment that Thor announces he is starving and the three of you head up the beach to the resort.

Blue wooden plank walls wrap around the interior of the building, while open-faced window frames extend around the side facing the water. The floor is made of a cream-colored linoleum and two large fans circulate warm air overhead. In the corner of the room, a small wall-mounted TV rests, playing a game show of some kind.

Before you, two well-topped poke bowls rest within a sea of platters and bowls.

Thor grins as he slurps up the meat of yet another lobster claw, while you mull over the contents of your own food. The waitstaff was kind, though they all seemed to do quite the doubletake whenever they passed by your table. To be fair, you were the only occupants of the restaurant.

Not many people came to the southern hemisphere in the winter, you supposed.

“Have we ever told you, Banner,” Thor begins, sucking the butter from his fingers. “Of our shared battles?”

The scientist nods, swallowing his food before answering, “Once or twice, right? Battle of Heaven and all that stuff that seems vaguely sacrilege.”

You snort in agreeance, fixing Thor with a look, “We don’t discuss that, to be clear.”

He holds his hands up in surrender, “I was merely suggesting a topic of conversation to lighten the mood.”

“Involving blood, decapitation, death, and Odin’s vengeance against the Judeo-Christian pantheon, correct?”

“Well,” he coughs into his fist before swiping up another lobster claw to eat, allowing the topic to die a merciful death in exchange for more food.

The silence simmers as the mechanical whir of the fans fills the gaps for you. You can hear the sizzle of the fryer in the kitchen and you can smell the aromatic wafts of seafood and fresh-caught delights. The late morning sun bathes the room in warmth, making sweat bead up along your hairline as you take another sip of your room-temp drink.

“So… we gonna talk about it?”

Your brow rises in Bruce’s direction, “Talk about what exactly?”

“Ross; the bill.”

“Not much to add,” you admit as you push together another spoonful of radishes, edamame, and chicken. “He tried to intimidate the team. There’s a good chance it’ll pass through Congress and then Tony plans to persuade Ellis in the other direction.”

Giving the scientist a shrug, you bring another bite to your lips.

“And everyone’s on the same page with it?”

“Mhmm,” you hum. “Tony wanted to hold a meeting with the press to tell Congress to quote-on-quote suck it, but Pepper talked him out of it this morning. I think even Steve was in favor of that particular stunt.”

“Jesus,” Bruce chuckles.

You share a smile with the man before you add, “I mean, in all honesty, even if the thing gets passed on, it’ll take a while to implement. And, on top of that, it only affects acts taking place on US soil, so… in theory… if the team were to relocate…”

“Ahh,” he beams.

“Exactly,” you nod. “And, you’re technically not part of the team right now since you’re on vacation, as it were. And, hey, the two of us - ” you gesture between yourself and Thor with the curve of your spoon, “ - we’re always going to be exempt from human law, so… there’s that.”

“You know whoever lines the pockets gets the final say.”

With a wry look, you add, “Maybe we should get Tony to start offering up company shares and we’ll get a different outcome.”

Bruce’s smile, however, begins to wane.

You give a questioning hum.

“It’s just… well, let’s be real. This ain’t gonna be the last of it. And… I kinda had my fill of living on the run for a decade.”

Before you can remedy his train of thought, Thor interrupts.

“Then come with me. Back to Asgard. We would be welcomed amongst the halls of warriors, my friend.”

“I don’t know about that, man. I mean - ”

But as Bruce goes to decline the offer, your eyes happen to travel over to the TV.

You’re up and out of your seat, with a screech of plastic chair legs across the linoleum, before the men even register it. Your eyes are glued to the screen as a breaking news bulletin takes over the previous game show.

“Hey, what - ”

“My Lady?”

All you can utter is, “Oh my god,” as a whirlwind of fire encapsulates the camera footage.

You easily translate the news anchors' words as you spin around, capturing the worried and distraught looks of your friends.

“I need to go.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Bruce mutters.

“Should we - ” Thor begins to suggest, his posture already straightening up to his full height as he gestures between the three of you with his index finger.

“No,” you immediately reject, your chest heaving as you capture sight of a familiar supersoldier on the screen and was that…? With a shake of your head, you implore your friends:

“You… you need to leave. Yeah, you need to get out of Dodge.”

Thor’s brow furrows, “I don’t understand, what is Dodge?”

“She means,” Bruce supplements for you as he pushes Thor backward with his hands upon the God’s chest, reaching down into his wallet to toss a handful of bills onto the table. “That we need to disappear for a while, buddy.”

“To Asgard then.”

“Uh, no - ”

“Yes, actually,” you return, fists shaking at your sides. “You need to get off planet and I can get you to Olympus or he can take you to Asgard, but you need to be gone, now, Bruce.”

“Come on. ‘Thena. I can manage myself here, I know how to disappear in plain sight.”

But you’re shaking your head, body physically tremoring, “I don’t think that’s enough this time.”

That seems to settle the gaunt reality for Bruce as his face pales.

Thor wraps an arm around the man’s shoulders as he holds his other hand aloft - awaiting Mjolnir.

“I’ll see you soon,” you say, catching the terrified look on the scientist’s face as you try to convince yourself of your own words.

The hammer soars past your face, landing in Thor’s hand as he offers you a tilt of his chin, “My Lady.”

You’re gone in a flash of bright shockwave-like light, the island resort’s restaurant fading around you in an instance.

When you appear outside of the residence building at the Compound, the world around you is silent.

Eerily silent outside of the occasional chirp of a grasshopper looming in the fresh-cut grass. The sky is a swath of darkness and twinkling starlight, purple hues along the deep horizon. The building itself is alight as you reorient yourself.

It’s too quiet.

Walking toward the entrance, then moving to a jog, you rush toward the doors - toward the team. God, why weren’t you called?

Why had no one called you?

That camera footage showed morning light, hours had passed between then and now and no one had called you.

But as your pace slows, as you near the golden-hued entrance, you notice the odd outline resting beside the building. One step after the other, you peer into the shadows. First, you note the height, then the curve of a face haloed by the moonlight.

“Steve?”

The figure turns, and even in the low light of the midnight hour, you can see the darkness around his usually vibrant eyes.

“Hey,” he croaks.

Taking a step toward him, you nod. “Hey.”

He glances away, sniffing indignantly.

Your own expression drops as you move toward your friend, feet teetering on the edge of the ornate landscaping, staring up at his shadowed face. He tries to conceal it from you, tilting his head up to look at the sky above, but you know. Of course, you know.

Another step forward and you wrap your arms tight around his middle, dragging him into your embrace.

Steve huffs out a breath as he balances on his toes before he relents and allows himself to be dragged, nearly collapsing in your arms as he tucks his face into your shoulder.

You can feel the shaky breaths he sucks in through his mouth as he burrows further into your hold. All you can do is tighten your arms, rubbing the expanse of his rigid back with your palms. Unwelcoming smoke clouds his body, besides hints of metal and the all too familiar scent of blood.

Something wet and warm dots your shoulder, but you don’t comment on it as one hand moves up to the soft crop of his hair. Your fingers dig into his scalp as you rub soothing circles into the blonde locks.

“Talk to me, Rogers,” you murmur into the warm skin of his neck. “What happened?”

His arms tighten around your shoulders as he exhales a quivering breath. You can feel the blood racing through his veins as your lips hover in the space beside his head. Something is murmured into the safety of your body, but it’s too gentle for even your ears to catch it.

As your hand stalls in his hair, you ask, “What was that?”

It takes a second, but then you hear it.

“I messed up.”

In hindsight, Steve should have listened to Natasha. Wanda and Pietro should have been sent away. He should have -

Wall Street was blocked off by fire engines by the time they arrived on the scene, with a scattering of armed officers stationed behind two squad cars.

Steve had gone over to get the details down with the officer in charge while Natasha kept the twins from wandering.

There was an explosion in a lower-floor building further up the block. An office suite just across from the Chase Bank plaza. They were already in the process of securing the area and evacuating adjacent buildings, but Steve’s attention fell to a group of men dragging another man into the middle of the street toward a black SUV.

He hadn’t even thought, just jumped the hood of the car and took off running.

Because he knew that one - the one with the metal mask over his face.

“Ah, Captain Rogers,” Rumlow hollered, voice permanently shot from the damage he suffered in D.C., “Just can’t keep your patriotic nose out of things.”

“It’s a bad habit,” he agrees as he braces himself, staring down at the quivering man held in Rumlow’s hand.

He has a cloth bag over his head and a gun to his temple to keep him from doing anything too hasty. Suit and tie, overweight, could be any pencil pusher, but he had had to be special enough for Rumlow to take interest in him. Around the man, five armed guards stand ready. Black clothes, simple tactical gear, anonymous, but clearly well-paid.

Smoke is still surging out of the office building to their right, but the structure seems intact - no risk of immediate collapse or civilian casualty.

“Agh!” Rumlow grits as red mists encapsulate his hand - twisting his wrist back, making the gun fall.

Steve jumps up, kicking the guard to his left in the face before grabbing the rifle from his hands - snapping it in half. Pietro zooms past, shoving his hand into another guard’s face - the same technique that Steve had taught him, now in action.

“Get out of here,” he orders.

“Why?” the teen barks back as he spins so quickly around the third and fourth guards that they get pushed together in a tangle of limbs.

“Because there might be civilians trapped up there who need help,” he calls out as the fifth guard fires on him.

Steve has to duck and roll to the side, finding a barrier behind a folded metal street sign.

Not willing to risk never being allowed back out in the field, the boy zooms past - knocking the guard who had been firing at Steve on his ass - before disappearing into the office building.

Natasha surges up and over him, landing on top of the guard - using a wire to encircle the man’s neck.

“Get the hostage!” she barks.

Steve’s up and on his feet, charging at Rumlow just a beat later as Wanda’s powers fade and the masked criminal scrambles for his gun. The supersoldier leaps on top of the man, shielding the victim as a bullet surges into his right flank. He grits his teeth as the white-hot pain temporarily stifles his senses.

“This wasn’t meant for you, Rogers,” Rumlow bites. “But I think they’ll understand.”

Steve twists himself and the man away, rolling him in Wanda’s direction - who quickly secures the man in a shield of red energy.

The supersoldier kicks his foot into Rumlow’s hand, knocking the gun back, but he just shoves Steve away.

“Come on!”

Rumlow smacks his helmeted head into Steve’s before uppercutting him, knocking him back into a street lamp - making it bend from his weight. When he regains his footing, the other man is already coming for him. His punches are large and bulky as they aim for the supersoldier’s head, so Steve keeps himself low, keeping his arms inward, aiming for Rumlow’s torso.

“This is for dropping a building on my face,” he snarks before twisting a knife out of a sheath and attempting to stab Steve in the eye.

He ducks away at the last second, kicking Rumlow in the stomach as he rolls under the groaning man. When he spins around, trying to now throw the knife, Steve leaps up and slams the heel of his boot into the helmet - managing to shove him back into an abandoned car.

Rumlow rolls up onto his knees as Steve stalks closer. The supersoldier clutches hold of the man’s helmet, tossing it to the side - taking in the mangled burn scars that climb up Rumlow’s face and hairline.

He gives Steve a wolfish grin.

“Who sent you?” he questions; voice seething.

From behind Rumlow, he can see Natasha securing the other five guards up as Wanda releases the man from her mist - helping to remove the bag from his head. He recognizes that face, where the hell does he recognize that face from?

“You know he knew you.”

His gaze travels back down to Rumlow.

“Your pal, your buddy, your Bucky,” he bites out.

Steve grasps hold of his tactical gear, tugging him up as he searches his eyes - desperation clouding his features as the hint of a long-followed trail is brought back to the surface.

“What did you say?”

“He remembered you. I was there - ”

Hope, a sick and worrying thing, clings to his chest as the words sink in.

“He got all weepy about it,” Rumlow breathes out, a half-smile gnarled by twisting pink burn scars. “Till they put his brain back in a blender. He - ”

But before he can finish his sentence, a wisp of bluish-white light comes surging past as Pietro slams the man’s body into the curb. Hovering triumphantly over the criminal.

“Hey!” Steve calls. “You need to get out of here.”

“Not so tough now, are you?” the boy grins, hands on his waist as he stares down at Rumlow.

The man slouches against the curb, looking up at the enhanced teenager with a ragged breath.

“So, you’re one-half of the wonder kids Strucker’s been going on about - ”

“What was that?” Pietro questions, alarm raising as he zeroes in.

Wanda draws near, her hands misting red.

“Oh, yeah,” Rumlow grins, lounging out now as he glances over at Steve, “Wondering who my boss was, right, Pretty Boy? Yeah, you did a real bang-up job torturing a dead guy - ” he fixes Wanda with a look.

“Don’t - ” Steve warns as the teenagers draw closer.

“Fucking useless little bitch can’t even tell when her captor’s not in the room. Jesus Christ, you know how to pick them, huh, Rog- ”

Rumlow lets out a horrific scream as his arms twist backward.

“Wanda!”

“No, let him finish,” Pietro slams a foot into Rumlow’s chest.

But the teens won’t listen as Wanda creeps closer, her eyes turning nearly black as her rage climbs higher. Natasha grabs onto the girl - tugging her back as Wanda screams out. She doesn’t turn her powers on the Widow, thank god, but they barely fizzle from Rumlow.

The man, slack-jawed, stares up at Pietro.

“What you got, kid?”

“I’m going to kill you,” the boy bites out.

Steve clutches Pietro’s arm, tugging him back, “That’s enough.”

“Hah, rich talk,” Rumlow grimaces as he steps back onto the sidewalk, his legs shaking. “Fact is, I’m not one of your bargain basement losers.”

A gun is unholstered before Steve can even react, a bullet landing in the previously masked man’s head. He collapses to the ground, blood pooling around his dome as his unblinking eyes stare out in horror.

“NO!” Wanda screams, trying to entrap Rumlow with her powers once again.

His eyes land on Steve. His thumb twitches in his fist.

“You’re playing with the big boys now.”

Fire engulfs him as the trigger is set.

Steve slams Pietro to the ground as Natasha calls out to Wanda, but the girl can’t hear it as she panics, tears pooling in her eyes as she tries to lift the bubble of flame higher and higher, and then -

It smashes into the building next to the plaza, fire blazing through several floors before it’s tossed in the opposite direction, into the office building that had just been evacuated, and then -

Flames engulf the entire block into a raging inferno.

In the stock-still horror of the aftermath, Wanda had collapsed to the ground - body shaking as silent tears streamed down her cheeks. When Steve managed to clamber to his feet, Pietro took one step back - shaking his head, muttering to himself - and then he was gone.

They had spent the entire day, afternoon, and evening down in the remnants of Wall Street.

The buildings were smoldering ash by the time the main fires were finally extinguished sometime around 11:30 PM. The firefighters would still be battling the rest of the blaze well into the next morning.

Sam and the others arrived just after the news broke. Someone, he thinks it was Tony, took Wanda back to the Compound. At one point, as they assisted the FDNY in search and recovery - using his strength to lift broken beams and concrete - Pallas had arrived.

And as much as Steve wanted to - needed to - call you, the more pressing issue was the missing teenage mutant. So, when the owl fluttered down to his shoulder and pecked at the bits of ash and debris in his hair, he had asked him to go look for Pietro. Someone had to look for and locate him before anything worse happened.

It was too much of a risk to not have eyes on him.

In total, several businesses were now destroyed. The bank had suffered such heavy damage that it would have to undergo major repairs to ever function again. Federal Hall had been blasted in half. The offices of the Consulate General of Slovenia and the Consulate General of Sokovia had been ablaze. A Baptist church at the eastern end of the block had its front wall caved in.

And worst of all…

The International Academy for Gifted Youths had taken the final brunt of Rumlow’s explosion.

The bodies of the elementary-aged children were entirely unrecognizable from the smoldering remains of the building itself.

It hadn’t been evacuated in the initial efforts as the fire department deemed it safe; located at the end of the block, with a clear alley between them and the office building of Rumlow’s initial attack.

Steve had managed to find a girl, her body was blackened and still smoldering when he broke through a barrier of bricks. He had scooped her up and carried her out, eyes wide and red as he searched for someone, anyone, to help him.

He was useless here, he didn’t know what to do.

Captain America saved people.

He didn’t, he didn’t -

He can still feel her brittle body in his hands. Can still smell the burnt flesh and hair and clothes and death. So much avoidable death at his hands.

He was the leader and today… today he made such a series of terrible calls that… god, he doesn’t even know what.

Steve, standing a good distance away from you now, refusing to meet your eye, lets out yet another shuddering breath.

“Are they safe?” your voice is tender, unshakeable in comparison to the broken supersoldier.

“Wanda’s down with Nat. Pietro… we found him, halfway to Chicago. He’s in his room, but… no one’s been... You know he…” he swallows the lump in his throat, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. “He blames himself.”

“He’s a child,” you coo, stepping forward. “He shouldn’t have to brunt the weight of a terrible tragedy.”

Your hand, warm and careful, slinks its way around Steve’s wrist, tugging down until his gaze drops to your face.

“Nor should you.”

He snorts, “Come on, you know that’s not true. I was the one in charge, I made that call today to have them there.”

“Is every tragedy your sole responsibility then?”

Steve tugs away from your hold, taking a few steps out into the lawn. Hands poised on his hips as he watches the fluttering dance of the lightning bugs in the meadow.

“You should have called me,” you say, words urgent and pleading.

He shakes his head.

“I didn’t have the paper. And we were all too… busy. I had to send Pallas.”

Steve feels your presence on his left side before your fingers sweep against his own.

“There are things called phones, Steven.”

Gritting his teeth, he wonders why you just didn’t get it.

“Sorry, ‘Thena. Was a little preoccupied.”

“Hey,” you counter, moving in front of him - grabbing hold of the back of his neck so he’s physically forced to look you in the eyes which are searching his own gaze. “None of that. We’re a team, Steve. If I had been there today… we could have shared the weight of this guilt together.”

His lips gape as he struggles to form a reply.

“We do this together. That’s our purpose in this world. Every victory, every failure: together. Not… Captain America taking on another needless weight to his already heavy burden.”

His torrential orbs search your face, trying to find the cracks in your reasoning. But, as always, you are solid in that facet.

“Fuck, come here,” you sigh, frown easing as you tug him back into a tight embrace.

Steve bows into it, surrounding you with his arms as he buries his head into the beach-warm strands of your hair. With the world spinning madly around the two of you, the supersoldier, the man, finds solace in your steadfast presence.

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#steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x reader #marvel fan fic #series: shameless wonder #my fic

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boygiwrites · 5 months ago

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Harley D. Dixon 36

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"Harley?"

Merle. It's Merle!

My voice comes out as a screeching cry — "Merle!" — like I've just watched him get shot at the climax of some dramatic movie, before I'm breaking free of Glenn and crashing into my Uncle's arms, and he's warm like the Georgia sun around me and he's alive.

"Holy shit," I hear him rasp in my ear as he hugs me tight. I'm thinkin' the exact same thing! Holy shit!

"You're al— You're a—," I blubber, pulling my face away from his neck to look him in the eye. "You're alive!"

It's been a whole year since I last saw him, but almost nothing about him has changed. His face is broad and wrinkled by the sun, nose ugly and crooked from all those bar fights, and he's still got that look of a brute about him that my Dad never quite mastered.

He didn't die in Atlanta. He didn't die anywhere. He weren't layin' out on the concrete roof of a skyscraper, slathered in sweat and blood as the dead tore into him with wet fingers like greedy kids at a barbeque — Not like he was during so many late nights, dyin' over and over again in my nightmares — because he lived. I got no idea how, and I sure don't got no idea how I ever doubted him, neither.

"I sure am," He smirks, his dark blue eyes tinged with adrenaline.

He glances over my shoulder at Dad, chuckling to himself at the sight.

Dad hasn't moved. Not even an inch. He stands there, staring at us with that same look on his face as when he watched me step onto that frozen river last year, afraid for my life but without anything he could do to save me, help me, pull me back into safety.

His gaze darts between Merle's face and mine over and over again, as if he can't decide who to look at.

Why ain't he happy to see him?

Merle's chuckle dies away, leaving us in a terrible silence. I can't figure out what's wrong.

"I asked you nicely to drop yer shit," One of Merle's friends warns them. "Or did you forget?"

Reluctantly, Dad and Glenn throw their weapons aside, lifting their hands in surrender.

"Merle," Dad eventually says in greeting, tense and unfeeling, glancing at me once again. "Long time."

"Forever," He agrees. "And Harley's barely grown a hair's width, haven't ya, princess? Woof. What the Hell happened to yer hair?"

"It got a bunch'a blood in it, so I cut it all off and now I just keep it short. Daddy helps me." I giggle as he ruffles my hair, my gaze dropping down to his other hand — Or, well — Blade. He ain't got no hand at all. I gasp, "What the Hell happened to yer arm?"

"You like it, huh?" He lifts it up, the metal glinting just a few inches from my eye. "Fixed it up myself."

"Woah," I breathe, looking into my own pupil in the reflection.

"You can tell her all about it back in town," His friend with the brown skin angrily butts in. He shoves his gun at Dad and Glenn, his wavy, black hair suckered to his forehead with sweat as he sneers at them. "I know a few guys who'll wanna have a chat with these fucks!"

Merle lowers his blade as he stands to his full height. "Hold up, India. You're really gonna ruin my nice family reuni—?"

"I don't give a shit if it was Christmas, Merle. They gotta pay."

"Arjun's right." The other man steps forward, snatching the gun and knife from my holster and throwing them aside, making Dad and Glenn tense up, relaxing only slightly when he steps back. "They're comin' back with us. Frankly, whether you like it or not."

I don't know why, but I back away from Merle, slowly at first but then I'm running to hide behind my Dad.

What? Coming back with them?

Back, where?

I thought it was all just a big misunderstanding, and that now I got my Uncle here, everything's alright?

Uneasy, I glance at the dead man laying off to the side. His vacant eyes stare at the sky as his blood trickles out from around the bolt lodged between his eyebrows, slowly dripping into a big puddle on the tarmac. Eric, I think they called him.

"Are you serious?" Glenn exclaims in outrage. "We've got a kid! Merle, that's your niece!"

"Wanna tell me where you're holed up?" Merle asks, and when Glenn's stammering is met with a smug look of indifference, almost like he's bored, I realize he's not going to save us from this. This isn't a reunion anymore. "Didn't think so. Wherever you're set up, I'll bet'chu my other arm our place is ten times the fuckin' paradise. Just make this easy for us, man. Harley won't be in no typa trouble."

Peeping around my Dad, I look up at his face. "Daddy, what's goin' on?"

I don't wanna go nowhere with these people when the invite's like this. They're angry with us — Real angry.

Dad looks like he's about to explode. "Merle—"

"It's either that or the Indian and the fat-ass shoot us all in the head right now," He deadpans. "And while I wouldn't be too sad about Glenny here gettin' his shit rocked, I don't fancy it happening to you or Harley. Okay? C'mon. This is a favor, brother."

I look up at Dad again, but he's silent. What's gonna happen to us at Merle's paradise town?

Glenn takes a step forward. "You can't do thi—"

BANG.

His hands fly to his thigh. "Fuck!"

As Dad gasps, I squeal, "Glenn!"

He shot him!

"I'm not messin' around, cowboy," The white man snarls, marching forward and grabbing Glenn's arm. "Get movin'!"

We're leaving with them. We really are.

Dad quickly picks me up and protectively cups my head to his shoulder, his grip on me tight. I wrap my legs around his waist, not realizing how much I'd been wanting to be in his arms. Oh, my God. I know we killed their friend, but can't we just tell them we're sorry? It was in self-defence, and nobody alive this far into the end of the world ain't done it at least once. We were only here for baby formula.

Dad grunts as the Indian man shoves us forwards with his gun, the sound of Glenn struggling to walk behind us.

He needs a doctor. We can't run away even if we wanted to, not when he's like this. That man knew that when he shot him.

Merle's laughing his ass off. "Holy shit, Boyd! Ya ain't have to shoot him!"

"Whatever, Merle. Just get the keys outta my pocket 'fore I shoot you, too. You're drivi— Shit!"

Mouse suddenly lunges at him, biting onto his ankle and shaking his head from side to side, growling nastily.

"Shit! Shit, get him off!" He cries out as Merle rears his leg back and kicks the dog in the face.

Yelping, Mouse backs off before a couple gunshots split the tarmac around him and he turns on his heel, scampering away through the trash and litter. My heart jumps and sinks at the same time, watching him disappear into the trees with his tail tucked.

I feel Dad's muscles tense under me.

Lowering his gun, Merle calls out after him, "Scram, poochie!"

"Shit, that hurts," Boyd winces down at his blood-soaked jeans, shoving Glenn forward. "Hurry it up. I got a date with the med bay."

"It's gonna be okay, chicken," My Dad's mumbling into my ear as we all make our way across the parking lot, fingers squeezing the back of my neck. "I can feel yer little heart racin'. It's gonna be okay. Me and Glenn and Merle ain't gonna let nothin' happen to you."

Merle said this was a favor. If we told them where the prison was, we'd be leading a bunch of angry people right to our family, and they might want to take our food or our beds or even our lives, just like those people that Jim was with who threatened the Greene farm. If we just let them take us to their paradise instead, then maybe— Maybe they can sort this out? They won't shoot us all in the head?

"Where are we goin'?" I mumble into my Dad's shirt, watching the forest shrink behind us. "I don't wanna go."

"I know ya don't, chicky. Me, neither." He steps up onto the curb of the pavement, then back down on the other side and through the main parking lot, approaching their car. The man keeps his gun on us as he pulls the passenger door open. "But it's gon' be okay."

"Shut up and take shotgun," The man nods at the seat. "Your kid can sit in your lap."

Without answering, Dad climbs into the car, door slamming shut behind us. I watch over his shoulder as Glenn is forced into the middle of the back seats, his face wrung in pain, his fingers curled around the blood gushing from his thigh. Arjun and Boyd take a seat on either side of him, the fatter man shoving him upright before pointing his gun at the back of Dad's head, scaring me into looking away.

"We're gonna take a little drive," Merle sighs as he swings into the driver's seat and pulls his door shut.

He twists the keys into the ignition, engine rumbling to life.

As he peels outta the car park, Glenn's pained groans growing louder by the second, I wonder where that beetle went.

We end up at a checkpoint gate.

Merle's got his window rolled down and he's chatting it up with another one of his scary-lookin' friends, who I guess is a guard. They're talking about work schedules and other gossip, until Glenn makes a loud noise and he bothers to ask who we are. Oh, that's the guy from my old group up in Atlanta, he's telling him, And my brother and his daughter. My niece. I told you about her. Can you believe it? I ain't really listenin'. I'm looking out at the tall walls of sheet-metal, the barbed wire curled along the top of it, the people holding big guns up in the tower, spitting on the ground and smoking while they stare down at us with loose smirks. Somehow, it feels a little like the prison.

"No shit?" The guard eventually exclaims with a grin. "Hey, congrats, man. That's some crazy luck you got."

As he looks us over, twiddling his fingers in greeting, I feel my Dad's grip on me tighten before Merle pulls his attention back. "You're tellin' me, man. But listen. We gotta head on down to the blocks — Tell ya about it later — so get Philip for me, will ya?"

"Sure. I'll radio him," He nods. "But, yo? Where's Eric at?"

"Just open the fuckin' gates, Mendoza," Boyd snaps, pressing his gun harder to Glenn's temple. "I'm gettin' impatient."

The guard makes a shrugging gesture before he takes a step back, whistling sharply at somebody. "Open up! They're good!"

"What the Hell are, 'the blocks', Merle?" Dad grits as the guards begin to pull the gate open and Merle drives through. All the barbed wire and metal walls fall away, revealing pretty town houses and flower beds lining the streets. Merle weren't lyin'. This place looks like— Well, it looks like paradise. It feels like we've gone back in time, to before all the blood and death and walkers. "What's the plan?"

"The blocks are where we put the undesirables." We pass a woman and a man walking together with a baby stroller and a cute little dog on a leash, and they're happy and clean, and I wonder if they know what 'the blocks' are. They look like all they gotta worry about is what they're gonna have for lunch. I also wonder where Mouse is right now. Poor little guy. "They're gonna question you and the Asian."

"His name is Glenn," I mumble unhappily, knowing nobody gives a shit. They shot him.

Dad scoffs. "Should'a known you wasn't gonna send him to a doctor. Y'all ain't the special-treatment type, is ya?"

"Fuck you, Merle," Glenn whines from the backseat. "Fuck you."

"W-wait," I frown. "Ya can't leave him like this, Merle. Herschel says it ain't right."

Merle shrugs. "Who's Herschel?"

"He's an animal doctor. And he says you always gotta take the bullet out, or it might not get better. Please?"

"Princess, I think what you're sayin' is adorable," He says as we turn a corner, the streets suddenly becoming a little duller — No flowers, less people, open dumpsters and construction cones lining the curb. "And I get it, but it's outta my hands, okay?"

"Well, can't ya at least give him a bandage?"

"What about Harley?" Dad cuts me off before I can argue any more. "She sure ain't goin' to no, 'block'."

"Hey. I'm stayin' with you," I turn to face him. If that's where he and Glenn are goin', that's where I'm goin'. I'on care if the blocks is where they put their 'undesirables'. I'll be an undesirable with them. I can't be on my own. "Daddy, I gotta stay with you."

He ignores me. "Merle?"

"I know she ain't. Don't worry," He reassures him, pulling in next to a half-built house. "She can stay in my apartment."

"Good," Dad slowly nods, but it's not good at all.

"No. Dad, don't leave m—"

"It's better this way. Okay?" He scolds me, brows raised as he waits for me to answer, but I know that look in his eyes. I know why his fingers are shaking. He's scared. I give nod, before he pulls me in for a hug. "Okay. So, shut up and give yer Dad a hug."

Merle cuts the engine off.

"We're here. Get out." Arjun shoves his door open and climbs out, pulling on Glenn's shirt. "I said, 'Get out'. Come on."

"Fuck you," He whines again.

Dad places a kiss to my hair, pulling away as Boyd rips our door open. "It's gonna be okay. I'mma see you soon."

I shake my head. "How you know?"

"I'mma make 'em."

"What's the matter, asshole?" Boyd taunts as Dad reluctantly climbs out, leaving me in his seat. "Never been to prison before?"

"Sure," Dad jokes, pinning the man with a unamused look. "I'm gettin' fuckin' deja vu."

The door slams in my face.

"Come along, then, tough guy."

It's gonna be okay, I repeat in my head as he shoves my Dad forward with his gun. I'mma see you soon.

I watch them go. I want so bad to run out and cling to my Dad's leg, so tight they'll have to let me stay with him, but I remember what he's always told me. Sometimes, little girls don't get what they want. It's always for my own good, so I bite my tongue as he and Glenn hobble down the steps of the building's cellar door, a cold sense of grief washing over me as the top of their heads disappear.

It's only now that I realize I don't even know where I am.

"You heard yer old man," Merle says to break the silence. "It's better this way."

It's like I'm back in the parking lot at Arrendale State Prison, sitting on Merle's hip while they take my Daddy away. That jury was just a bunch of pansies, princess, he told me, They don't get what it means to be a Dad. He's innocent.

"They're just gonna ask him a few questions," He tells me now. "Nothin' he can't handle."

"I wanna go with 'em," I murmur to myself, staring longingly at the closed cellar doors.

If it's just questioning, why can't I go, too?

"No, ya don't," He laughs a bit, twisting the keys into the ignition. "C'mon. Let's go kick back at Uncle Merle's place, huh? Like old times?"

I say nothing as he pulls into the street.

"It'll be fun. Ya still like Twinkies?"

The door to Merle's apartment closes behind me.

Dumping his backpack on the floor, Merle stretches his arms over his head, groaning as he meanders up to his kitchen cabinets.

"Got 'em stashed away up here somewhere."

"Woah," I mumble, looking around. "You live here?"

"Welcome to my humble abode," He chuckles to himself. "It ain't too big, but you won't hear me complainin'."

We ain't never had no apartment. Apartments are for hipsters and rich kids, as Dad liked to say, but it looks like Merle's been living it up since the world ended. I'm kinda jealous, but it ain't his fault I sleep in a cell and had to eat mushrooms for four months.

As he paws through his groceries, I head over to the lounge area, picking up the magazine laid out on the coffee table. The shiny lady on the cover smirks at me, and when I notice how she got no clothes on, I quickly drop her back down. The cashews scattered at my feet and the empty bag of crisps shoved under the sofa suddenly seem very interesting, and also the baseball bat laying across the cushions. Merle was never very good at cleaning up after himself. Turning away, I pass the dining table, approaching the open window.

Sunshine sweeps over me as I push the curtains aside. The street below is loud, busy, normal. A pair of ducks wade around in the still, green water of a stagnant fountain in the nearby gardens, one dunking its head under as an armoured truck drives by.

"There they are."

If Dad was here, he'd prolly tell me that joke about ducks I like — What time does a duck wake up? At the quack of dawn. We read that in a fortune cookie when he ordered Chinese food one night. I hope he and Glenn are alright, but I ain't so sure.

Merle drops the box of Twinkies on the table. "Here we go, princess. Sit down."

Turning away from the window, I take a seat opposite of him.

"Are those real?" I ask. "No way."

"You know you sound like some sorta feral animal, askin' all these questions." He throws one to me. "Yeah, they're real."

"Thanks, Uncle Merle."

"We got a lotta catchin' up to do. You gotta be nine by now, right?"

"Yeah, I think so!"

"So, little miss nine-years-old, wanna hear the rest of that story?" He grins, taking a Twinkie for himself.

Tearing the plastic open, I nod, taking a bite. "We all thought you was dead."

"So did I, girl." He jokes, shaking his head. "Oh, man, I thought I was dead. Weren't no way any old Joe was gonna get himself outta that pickle, but I ain't any old Joe, am I? Nah. I thought of you, I thought of yer Daddy, and I cut myself outta them cuffs."

"That's how ya lost yer hand?" I giggle in disbelief, earning myself a nod. "You crazy, Merle. Did it hurt?"

"'Course it hurt. But I got it cauterized, got it all bandaged up with my shirt. You know, y'all was gone, time I got back."

"Wait, what? So, we missed ya?"

"By at least a day, is my guess. Fires were cold. I found one of yer socks on the ground. Kept it with me for weeks."

Oh. My Uncle is a real asshole — He's exactly the typa person he used to pride himself on protecting me from — but I know he loves me. To think, if we'd left just a few days later than we did, he could'a been with us this whole time. I used to think about that every day. Things prolly would'a been worse with him around, sure, but he's family. You're supposed to stick around when things get worse.

"Sorry, Merle," I sigh, fiddling with the crumbs on the table. "We didn't wanna leave. Really. But we had to."

"Yeah," He sneers. "Was it Officer Friendly?"

"Nah, it was me." I admit. "I got real sick. We thought I got scratched by a walker and we went to the CDC."

He deflates a little. "Well, shit, huh? What happened?"

"It was like I was dyin'. Dad was angry at everybody. He broke a walkie. Turns out, I just had food poisonin' from some bad jerky Glenn made. Ain't nobody ever taught him how to cure meat properly, you know. After that, he was kind of our only friend."

"What, y'all like that little twerp, now?" He chuckles awkwardly, taking another bite of his Twinkie.

"Merle," I pause, a little embarrassed I have to say it out loud. "Merle, I like all of 'em, now."

It's been a year — A year.

I like Officer Friendly. His woman, Lori. I like the Asian, and the housewife, Carol. I like all of 'em. I don't know when it happened, or if I really had a choice in it, but everything is different now. Even if some things are still the same, like Merle.

That group is my family, but he don't need to know that. I know he'll just say call me brainwashed.

"And to be real honest," I reluctantly add, "They're prolly wonderin' where we are right now. Y'know?"

This Twinkie is nice and all; I'm finally back with my Uncle again. I even saw a dog on a leash. But I hope he don't think I want to stay here. It ain't really a paradise if my family ain't here with me, or if my Dad and my friend are locked up in a cellar right now, being questioned. I gotta go back to my real home sometime. I don't belong here. Ya don't belong in a place that you got taken to at gunpoint.

Merle looks down at his empty wrapper, wordlessly crumpling it in his hand. I can tell he's pissed off.

"How much do you like it here?" I ask, suggesting, "I know you got new friends and all, but what if you came back with us?"

"Baby, I got an inklin' that's not how any of this is gonna go down," Merle scoffs lightly. "I'm sorry, but it ain't."

"I—? I don't get it. Why not?"

Don't he wanna be with me and Dad?

"Think about what yer Dad said just now." He straightens, his metal blade clanking as he lays his arms on the table. "Things are better this way. We got running water here. Plumbing. Electricity. Hell, girly, I can even get'chu some of them Disney movies you like."

"I don't—"

"What was it again? Fox and the somethin'? Fox and the Hound? I can trade Patty for it. We can watch it tonight."

Swallowing the stale glob of Twinkie in my mouth, feeling it slide down my throat like tacky glue, I leave the last bite on the table.

"I don't know, Merle," I guiltily shrug. After a long, uncomfortable silence, I ask, "Can I have some water?"

He relents, sighing. "Sure, baby. Hang tight."

As he stands up to go back into the kitchen, I forget all about his promises of snacks and movies, thinking of my group back at the prison instead. They don't got no Twinkies, or TV, or my favorite movies, or even electricity, but I would still rather be there than here. There's gotta be some way I can convince Merle to leave this place with us. He must love us more than he loves his apartment.

I begin to wonder when we are actually leaving. They can't make us stay here, can they? This is just a visit?

Dad and Glenn are gonna get questioned for killing that man, Eric, and then Merle will vouch for us?

Either way, everybody must be worried about us. If not now, then definitely in a few hours from now when they realize we ain't came back. That trip never takes more than an hour. They'll wait for us, and then they'll wait just little longer, and then Rick will grab his gun and come looking, but he'll find nothing but mine, Dad, and Glenn's weapons laying next to a body in the abandoned parking lot.

We only drove for about ten minutes to get to this town. We never ran into it, but it can't be so hard to miss.

I really hope we ain't stuck here long enough for it to come to that. I just wanna go home.

BLIP.

The sound of a walkie chiming makes me jump.

Putting the cup down next to the sink, Merle groans to himself and digs into his backpack. "Shit."

"What is it?"

"It's gonna be Mendoza," He complains, before he presses the button down and there's a voice the other end. "Hear that?"

I shake my head. "I can't hear so well, now."

He pulls a face at me. "How ya mean?"

Instead of explaining myself, I just push my hair back from my ear, revealing my hearing aid before smoothing it back down.

"You got a hearin' aid?"

"I got two. Without 'em, I basically can't hear nothin', and with 'em, it's kinda hard to hear fuzzy things, or faraway things, but it's mostly like it was before," I say timidly. "Shane accidently shot my ear off last Fall. Messed me up good and proper."

"Shane," Merle sneers, laughing to himself. "Shane Walsh. I'll kill that motherfuc—"

"Dad already did."

"Oh," He chirps, sounding pleased. "Well, that works out, then, doesn't it? How?

"Beat him and kicked him 'til he ain't never got up again."

"Good to hear yer Daddy's still got his balls intact. What, so you know sign language and shit now?"

"Sure. So, what'd the radio say?"

With a sound of annoyance, he grabs his keys from his backpack and shoves them in his pocket. "I gotta go help out with sum', and I wanna see yer Dad down at the blocks soon, anyway, do some catchin' up. I'll prolly see you in a few hours."

I perk up. "Can I co—"

"No, ya can't come," He deadpans, opening the door. "I'mma lock this behind me. Don't open it for nobody."

"O-okay," I nod, obedient.

"Help yourself to anythin' you want, princess. See ya later."

The door slams shut, the lock clicking loudly — SNAP — before his footsteps retreat down the corridor.

Letting out a breath, I slump against the table.

Old times.

Lucky me.

Merle's got a big collection of movies.

While the fiery colours of a cool gunfight flash over me, voices shouting war cries, I flip the cover of a different CD over in my hands. I figure I gotta keep myself occupied while Merle's gone, and he did say I could help myself to anything I want.

"Tom and Jerry," I read aloud to myself, smiling at the cartoon animals and shrugging.

The movie cuts out when I press the eject button, and the disc comes sliding out. I take it, replacing it with the new one.

A colourful menu pops up on the screen. Aw, cute!

I find myself grinning up at it like a monkey who's discovered electricity for the first time, pressing play on the remote and absentmindedly watching as the episode plays out in front of me. I'm surprised I even remember how a TV works. It feels like I've snuck outta my bedroom in the middle of the night, snacking on ice cream straight outta the tub while everyone else sleeps. I feel naughty.

I wish I could share this with the rest of the group, especially Carl. Ain't none of us watched TV in forever.

Jerry the mouse is slapping Tom the cat in the face with a banana peel when there's a knock on the door.

Flinching, I turn around.

I wait a moment, watching the door, making sure I really heard it. If it was Merle, he'd probably just open—

"Hello?"

Shit.

That's not Merle.

I press the eject button, and the silly noises and bright colours cut out.

"I don't think you should've done that," The man behind the door muses in the silence that follows, his voice calm, amused, like he's talking to somebody he knows, but I don't recognise the sound of it. "See, now I know you're in there. It was a bad move."

I really wish I had my knife or my gun on me.

Who the Hell is that? Wh— Who would want to talk to me?

"Now I think it would make sense if you would come and open the door for me. No point in hiding, Harley."

I can't help it — A sharp gasp leaves me.

"Yes, that's right. I know your name," He laughs, sounding almost fond, as I slowly rise from my position on the rug and creep over to the door, pressing my ear against the wood to hear him better. "My name is Philip, but people call me the Governor."

Phil. Merle mentioned that name at the gates.

A friend of his?

"Your Uncle Merle probably told you not to open the door for strangers, but we're not strangers any more, are we?"

How do I make him go away?

"I know your name," He muses boredly. "You know mine. If you want, I'll even tell you my favourite colour. It's green."

I don't give a shit what his favourite colour is.

Maybe if I just keep quiet, he'll think the TV is broken, or that he made a mistake — There ain't no little girl named Harley in here. Because there's no way in Hell I'm opening this door for anybody, even if I know their name and their favorite colour.

My heartbeat hammer, hammer, hammers against the door. Please go away. Please.

After a long pause, I hear him laugh to himself again. "You're not going to open the door, are you?"

No, I ain't.

"Smart girl."

Suddenly, I hear the sound of keys jingling.

My blood runs cold.

I jump back as the doorknob rattles in front of my face, watching it turn, gasping as the door opens. He had keys the whole time?

The man lets himself in and closes the door behind him like he owns the place, like I ain't just gave him a very clear message I don't want him in here, walking past me and coming to a stop in the middle of the room with his hands in the pockets of his grey slacks, smiling quaintly at me. He looks like an office worker, a harmless one, his clothes ironed and clean, hair damp and combed to the side.

I stare at the stranger — because that's what he is — horrified, violated, wanting to jump out the window.

"Who are you?" I frown with my chest puffed out, trying my best to sound confident.

"Well, I just told you," He jokes, nonchalant. "My name is Philip."

"You ain't supposed to be in here, Philip," I warn him. "My Uncle, he's gonna kill you."

"Oh, I doubt that very much," The man chuckles to himself, like I've just made a very funny joke. "Mind if I sit, honey?"

I do, but that don't seem to matter.

He rounds the sofa and carefully dusts the crumbs off the cushions before taking a seat, gesturing for me to do the same.

"Come on," He beckons nicely. "Sit where you like. Don't be scared."

"I really don't think—"

His face hardens. "Don't be rude, either."

Shit, this is bad. What the Hell do I do?

I glance at the front door. I could make a run for it, but it might be better to pretend everything's okay. I don't wanna make him mad, and I definitely don't wanna get lost out there, so I shuffle my way over to the lounge area and sit on the rug again.

When my eyes dart to the baseball bat laying next to him, his smile returns. I think he likes that I'm scared.

"I'm going to confess something," He decides.

Too afraid to speak, I keep my mouth shut.

"Before I came here, I'd planned to promise you I would take you back to wherever your group is. Get you to tell me where they were that way," He explains, lacing his fingers in his lap as if he's in a business meeting. "But I realize you wouldn't fall for that."

He's right. I wouldn't.

I guess that's why he's here. He wants to know where my group is. "You ain't here 'cause you're mad about Eric?"

"Did you kill him?"

I shake my head.

"Then, no," He simply says. "I hope you're good at keeping secrets, because between you and me — I never liked him."

"Well, I sure as Hell ain't tellin' you nothin'," I say bravely, thinking of baby Judith. "I ain't even told my own Uncle."

"I know that." He continues smiling at me in a way that makes me wonder if his face is stuck like that permanently. "I could also tell you that the only reason I'm asking is to help your people out, share our resources. But you wouldn't fall for that, either."

Where is he going with this?

"So," He says patiently, "It turns out I'm not going to do either of those things. Do you know what I do here?"

"You're the president," I guess.

"That's cute." His smile lifts into a smirk for a moment, before he shakes his head. "No. I'm Woodbury's leader. 'Governor', remember? Everything I do is in my people's interests, just like I'm sure your Dad does everything in yours. When I start hearing that there's a new group around, I think of what that might mean for us. Have you ever had something like that happen? A new threat?"

"There were people who wanted our farm," I hesitate to admit. "And no, that ain't where we're livin' now."

"I didn't think so. What did you do about it?"

"We hung one of their guys in a barn. He was our friend, but... Sometimes, you gotta kill yer friends."

Philip is still smiling at me, but his eyes are all empty, like they're not really his. I've seen those eyes on dead people.

"I'm glad we have an understanding," He nods slowly. "In the past, I've had to kill my friends, too."

"Good for you."

For the first time since he opened that door, his smile completely drops. "You know who else I'm prepared to kill?"

My heart beat starts to hammer, hammer, hammer against my ribs again.

"Your Daddy," He says with that expressionless look on his face. He don't look so much like an office worker no more. He's a killer in fancy britches, with the blood freshly washed off his forearms. He's a wolf and I'm the little piggy, and I made a mistake when I didn't run away. My fingers tighten around my knees, the sweat hot and slippery on my skin. "If you don't tell me where your group is, I will cut your Daddy's throat open and make my apologies to the unlucky fool who has to clean up all the blood he leaves behind."

I can't speak. I can't. The words are congealed somewhere at the back of my throat, making it very hard to swallow.

"I wouldn't even have to kill the other one," He smirks a little. "I'm sure that gunshot will do it for me. Sepsis is nasty stuff."

Dad and Glenn. Oh, God, I knew it. We didn't question Jim when he was our prisoner, so why would they question them?

Of course Dad didn't want me there with them. They're in danger. They're in danger, and I'm up here in this apartment, eating snacks and watching cartoons and that's all I'll be doing when they cut their throats open or hang them from the ceiling.

"Oh, ple— Please don't," I huff, grabbing my belly so I don't throw up on Merle's rug. "Please don't."

Lifting his hands up, the man makes a gesture of peace, his smirk widening before he drops them in his lap. "Oh, I won't. I haven't exhausted all my options, yet, honey. It wouldn't be wise to kill your Dad right now. This is just something to think about."

I hug myself tighter as he stands from the sofa.

"For when I come back," He adds, staring down his nose at me, cowering at his feet in a ball.

I don't have it in me to glare at him.

All I want is to go home with Dad and Glenn and Mouse and never step foot in another paradise again.

Smiling that stupid, empty smile of his, Philip steps past me and crouches down next to the TV, picking up the Tom and Jerry cover. He chuckles to himself at the picture on it, before putting it back down and pressing the disc back into the player.

On the screen, Jerry starts hitting Tom with the banana peel again, but it's not so funny any more.

"Enjoy your cartoons, honey," He says oddly sincerely.

I watch him stand back up and make his way to the door, not sparing me a backwards glance as he closes it behind him. A grating burst of laughter comes from the TV, and before I can stop myself, I cry out — "Ugh, shut up!" — and punch it hard.

The disc slides back out, silently landing on the rug.

"I wanna go home," I whine to nobody.

Author's Note.

This chapter took a while to come out, but I hope the wait was worth it!

I can't believe I finally get to write Merle! Harley is very glad to see him again, even if she knows he isn't perfect. Meanwhile, Daryl isn't too pleased. Things have definitely changed.

Writing the Governor was SO fun. He's very creepy. Whenever there's I have a character who's really smart or has a way of dictating a conversation, it's always humbling when I remember that means I have to be those things in order to write them lmao. I hope I'm doing him justice.

Also hope you enjoyed the chapter! See you in the next one!

@poetoflawed

#the walking dead #twd #fanfic #twd fanfiction #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon daughter #daryl dixon twd #rick grimes #angst #merle dixon #daryl dixon fanfic #twd daryl #daryl dixon x oc #the governor #glenn rhee #daddy issues #norman reedus

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romana-after-dark · 1 year ago

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The Wrong Way (Dark Ending): Going Under, Part 1

Raider!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Raider!Tommy Miller x Fem!Reader

Spotify Playlist

Summery: After you give birth to Ellie in the cabin, Joel fins you and Tommy, besting Tommy in a fight. What happens to you? What happens to Ellie, Tommy, Lorenzo and the rest of the family Little One has acquired? How does Little One learn to cope with her new reality? Does she fall into the darkness that surrounds Joel and all he touches? Can Joel really change for you and your daughter?

WARNINGS FOR FULL FIC, NOT CHAPTER BY CHAPTER UNLESS SOMETHING NEW IS ADDED AFTER MASTER WARNING LIST: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!!!! Fic contains graphic depictions of sexual assault, rape, molestation, dubcon/non con. MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH WARNING, graphic violence, murder, manipulation, the horrors, Joel being Joel, Tommy being kinda pathetic, Joel's weird sexual fantasies, breeding kink, abuse of power. Just.... all the bad.

THE WRONG WAY UNIVERSE HAS RETURNED! After a few requests for more, a darker ending! Only a few chapters, 4-5. Short first chapter.

*************

You lay in the cabin, dead infected to the right of you, crying baby in your arms. There were two scenarios that could play out. Tommy kills Joel and you get to find Zach and Jack, with god's grace Lorenzo is still alive, and they take you to safety. Or, Joel killed Tommy and you had to suffer the consequences of running. What did he say when Zach tried to save you? ‘If you ever try fucking leave again I will tie you to the bed and set this fucking house on fire’

The little baby in your arms screams and cries. “You fucking tell ‘em, Ellie”

It was Tommy that came in first, rushing to your side as you breastfed her. She’d need energy and nutrition for whatever was happening. Tommy rushed to your side, relieved to see you safe and unscathed from infection by your side and to see your baby, his baby, perfectly healthy if not a bit small.

“We’re gonna be a family, honey. Everything is gonna be alright, I promise.”

All that went out the window as you and him attempted to leave, your jackknife safe in your pocket again, and Joel came around the corner tackling Tommy to the group.

“TOMMY!”

“RUN!”

But you couldn’t. The attack had knocked you to the ground, Ellie only protected by the protective grasp you had on her, and having given birth not long ago your body couldn’t handle it. So there you were, your baby bundled up in your arms as you cried watching the men you loved fight for their lives. As you curl up into yourself, you feel it. The knife.

You had to do it. You had to do this for Tommy, for you, and most importantly for Ellie… You give Ellie a kiss, your face and hers wet with tears as you lay her down, having to move quick. Taking the knife out of your pocket, you crawl over to Joel and stab him in the back… a superficial and pathetic wound from your weakness, but when you raised your hand to do it again, grunting and groaning, Joel took the knife.

It happened in second, you and Tommy unable to react fast enough to stop it. Joel shoves you backwards, your nearly limp body collapsing to the floor and helpless to stop as you watch Joel take the knife, stab Tommy once in the chest and then stab his hand into the floor. The knife nailed him into the wood floor, pinning Tommy there as he screamed, and screamed, and screamed as you screamed back.

Joel gets up, sweaty and unhinged and absolutely madness in his eyes, Joel stands up towering over you as he walked towards where you lay.

“Why’d yuh do that, little one? Why’d yuh have’ta go and leave, ruin all we had together?” He’s panting, heavy steps as he walks over to where Ellie cries.

“JOEL NO!” You cry, but there’s nothing left in you to fight. To your surprise, however, Joel is gentle as he picks up his daughter, despite the shouts of his brother in the background.

“My little Dolly… your so beautiful, daddy loves you so much…” He had his brothers blood on him, Ellie still covered in after birth… but Ellie’s cries slowed down. “You know me, don’t you?” Joel smiled. “I’m your daddy, and I’m gonna take good care of you.”

It was a long ride back to the raiding house. You had long suspected that Joel was as incapable of killing Tommy as Tommy was of killing Joel, and it seemed true. Tying Tommy’s hands together, he was forced to walk alongside the horse as Joel held his rope and the reigns in his hands. You were straddled on the saddle, Ellie (or Dolly, as he insisted.) in your arms. He stopped every now and then to allow you to breastfeed, or to calm her, but in general it was non-stop. The exhaustion had set in, the adrenalyn drop leaving you bone tired and you just wanted it all to end… but you had Ellie in your arms. You hardly noticed when your head started drooping.

“Gotta stay awake, little girl. Don’t drop her.”

“I’m trying Joel” You cry. “I’m so tired… I haven't slept for days and-”

“Your sleep more important than my daughter?”

“No, Joel-”

Tommy’s voice from behind them. “I can hold her.”

Joel laughed at that. “Like I’d trust you with the most important thing to me.”

“Joel, c’mon, I helped raise Sarah… I can hold her, let the girl sleep.”

“No-”

“Joel!” Joel pulled the reins, stopping the horse as he turned around, yanking your body as the horse turned around. You caught his eyes, only briefly… before they were drawn to the blood on him “Joel, please, she’s tired. We only slept like 4 hours, she just gave birth… I wouldn’t hurt my niece, I promise.”

There was a long pause as Joel considered, looking down at your tired body… you couldn’t keep holding on… “One wrong move, you hurt her, you try to run-”

“I won’t.”

In the end, Joel untied Tommy’s hands and allowed him to hold his niece and allowed you to fall asleep in his arms. It seemed like a full circle moment, you thought to yourself as you drifted with Tommy’s arms around you. It was like when he first brought you to that godforsaken house, and you had no idea the hell that was coming, the good and bad.

You had no idea that you’d fall in love with the two brothers, an angel and a devil at your side. You had no idea the friendship you’d find in Lorenzo and the love he’d find in your brother… you prayed they were safe. You didn’t know you’d fall pregnant, that you’d ask for an abortion and he’d refuse, that you’d be forced to carry a pregnancy of a baby you fell more and more in love with every day as your belly swelled. You should have predicted this ending, however. You should have known Joel would snap, that he never loved you the way you thought and that he would only ever return to abusing you, and now your daughter and Tommy were in danger too.

You wake up to Joel calling to one of the men, Levi, over to take you down from the house and he holds you too tight until Joel trades of the reins of the horse for your shaking body, shouting to the men again. “Watch them, don’t let Tommy move a goddamn muscle, I’ll deal with them later.”

“Joel?” But he’s not listening to you, dragging you away from your baby and into the house. In desperation you scramble, attempted to get away from Joel and to your daughter who remains in Tommy’s “Joel! Joel let me see her! PLEASE?! JOOOOEL!” You cry as he pulls you inside, not listening to your pleas. You realized the futility, Joel wasn’t going to give you this… you didn’t what what Joel was going to do, if he was going to kill you, if he was going to kill Ellie or Tommy or both.“TOMMY! LET ME SEE HER!” Tommy listened, standing there and holding up Ellie so you could see her. “ELLIE, I LOVE YOU BABY!” You’re shouting, sobbing in Joel’s arms as he wraps his arms around your waist and lifts you up and through the doorway. “YOUR MOMMY LOVES YOU!” The last thing you see is Tommy's eyes as you are taken away, Tommy shouting that he’ll protect her.

Joel throws you in your old room, your shitty mattress that doesn’t look like its sheets have been changed since you last slept there… before the pregnancy, before Tommy left… He slammed the door in your face, leaving you pounding on it, calling him name, calling for Tommy, calling for Ellie until it swung open again.

“Her name.” He started, suspiciously calm before screaming. “IS DOLLY!” Joel shoved you on the mattress and for a moment you worried he’d want to rape you right there, your cunt still bleeding from birth. Joel’s broad body towered over you, setting a jug of water and a random array of canned food on the floor. “I’m leave’n to take care of some business, this is all the food and water you get until I’m back, I suspect you ration it well.” He nodded to a bucket in the corner. “No one’s coming in until I’m back, so that’s your bathroom.” Heavy steps, Joel began to storm out.

“What about El- Dolly?” You ask, but Joelkeeps walking. “Joel? JOEL! Joel she needs to breastfeed! What are you doing with her?” With all your strength, you begin to try and stand, stumbling to the door. “JOEL WHERE’S DOLLY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO HER!” Joel slammed the door before you could get there, locking you in, but that didn’t stop you from banging on the door, screaming his name.

Joel never came.

Tommy never came.

Hysteria set in, anger and rage from the last week settling into your bones and suddenly all you saw was red. Picking up the canned peas, you go to the window that was long boarded up from your first escape and SLAMMED, fighting blindly. You didn’t have a plan, you weren’t thinking clearly, you just needed to go. You bash through the windows, but that only served to let the cold in; there would never be enough room for you to get out with the wood. In your anger, all you could do was keep in your feelings, allowing to blind you.

You destroyed that room.

For ever slap, every rape, every violation by Joel, Nick, your dad and all the men he sold you to. For every torture and horror you’d witnessed happen to June and Zach and Lorenzo and Tommy and again and again to you… You took everything you had and tore at the mattress and pillows, threw over the wardrobe, broke holes in the walls, wrecked the lamp, tore the clothes and destroyed everything in your sight as you screamed and cried for your daughter, her fate and yours unknown.

It was four days before Joel walked in the room, finding you crying softly on the mattress. You didn’t know who was alive ad who was dead or what your fate was, but your thoughts were only on Ellie. She couldn’t be alive, could she? You didn’t hear her cries… your breasts hurt and had been leaking which only added to the mix of fluids that had been coming out of you since birth…

When he scooped you up, you had no energy left in you to protest.

“Oh, little one… what have you done”

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THANK YOU FOR ALL LOVING THIS UNIVERSE! Tagging those who have expressed desire for more!

for the record, I dont think I ever stated but my faceclaim for Jack is Garrett Hedlund and faceclaim for June is Taylor Russles

Reminder, the masterlist has a fuck tone of extra inclduding the canon sequel, ghst of you about ellie learning the truth of her life and joel getting what he deserved, and a few drabbles of Tommy, Zach and Lorenzo in between them.

Please remember, reblogs are how you spread this work, but comments mean the world to writers. If you dont wiah you comment or reblog a dark work, please consider sending an anon ask to your fav dark writers and let them know you love them and their work.

@pimosworld @rubyfruitjungle @moriartyyouwhore @k-ra @the-fox-den @jenna-ortega @alwaysmicado @lunar-ghoulie @ladynightingale @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @maura-honey @fandxmslxt69 @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

#Joel Miller #Joel Miller smut #tw rape #dub con #non con #dark joel miller #romana after dark #dark!Joel #the last of us hbo #joel miller fic #joel miller reader #joel miller reade smut #dark joel miller reader #tommy miller fem reader #tommy miller smut #tommy miller fem!reader #the wrong way fic #the wrong way series

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yuujispinkhair · 1 year ago

Text

Separation Anxiety (Chapter 04)

Put your lips on my scars and teach me to love

When a ritual separates Sukuna from Yuuji, Sukuna is delighted to find that besides having his own body, there is also another gift handed to him: The brat has lost all his memories and is now the perfect little plaything to take home and manipulate. At least, that's the plan. But the King of Curses isn't prepared for the feelings that come along with being human again. And another complication is how cute the brat is when he has no idea who Sukuna is and, instead of hating him, treats him with genuine love and affection. So, without realizing it, Sukuna suddenly finds himself on a journey of learning how to be loved and how to love.

++ Masterpost ++

Pairing: Sukuna x Yuuji Genre: Memory Loss AU, fluff, smut, light angst Word Count: 4.5k Playlist: Separation Anxiety Warnings: 18+, smut, mentions of violence, dub-con (Yuuji has lost his memories, and Sukuna lies to him about being boyfriends). All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

Chapter 04

Do you feel safe out in the light? Or is this the place where monsters hide? (Who are you by SVRCINA)

The brat spends the rest of the day getting accustomed to the apartment, walking around like a captive tiger, restless and with searching eyes, while Sukuna watches him with barely hidden amusement. It's delightful to see the brat like this. So lost and dumb.

Uraume pops up suddenly to shove a pile of fluffy red towels into Itadori's hands and informs him that he should take a shower or bath now so he will be presentable for dinner with Master Sukuna.

The boy takes the towels on autopilot but blinks in confusion, mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally manages to call out after an already retreating Uraume,

"Are you a nurse or something?"

Sukuna takes that moment to stroll over to the brat, hands shoved casually into his pants pockets, smiling at the confused boy.

"That's Uraume, my personal servant. Don't worry, your pretty head, darling. You will get used to everything again. Now go take your shower."

He cocks his head and reaches out to poke the brat's chest with his index finger,

"Or do you need help?"

A dark red blush fills the brat's cheeks at Sukuna's seductively whispered offer and the long finger trailing suggestively down Itadori's chest.

"No...I...I'm fine. See you at dinner!"

He practically runs to the master bathroom.

Dinner is a tense affair. A fact that Sukuna enjoys immensely! He basks in the awkwardness that emanates from the brat.

Uraume set the table fitting for a King with several candles and an opulent flower arrangement where red spider lilies are intertwined with cherry blossoms, celebrating Sukuna's successful reincarnation.

The dishes served are all exquisite. Uraume is still a fantastic cook after all this time, even though the ingredients used to prepare the meals changed. Uraume delights in the modern custom of eating meat, and Sukuna has to admit that he quite likes the taste of beef. Human flesh isn't on the meal plan anymore, at least for now. But once Sukuna has dealt with this business with the brat, he can fully dedicate himself to taking over the world and turning it into his personal slaughterhouse.

But not right now. First, he deserves a little break. A little enjoyment after all those years he spent locked away. And manipulating the brat serves as the best means to achieve that.

Sukuna slowly chews the cooked meat Uraume served for the main dish, his blue eyes never leaving Itadori. The brat, who usually eats like a pig, is uncharacteristically quiet and only shoves his food from one end of the plate to the next, just nibbling on it occasionally. At the same time, his nervous gaze jumps from the decadently decorated table to Sukuna and to a place behind Sukuna's shoulders, where Uraume must be hovering, obediently awaiting any orders from their Master and probably staring back at his former vessel with a suspicious glare.

Sukuna watches in smug amusement, letting the tense atmosphere carry on, waiting for the brat to snap.

It happens after ten minutes.

The pretty chopsticks the brat had been holding clutter loudly onto the table, and his eyes burn with despair.

"This is so weird! I cannot do this!"

"Oh? Darling, what is it?"

Sukuna raises an eyebrow and blinks innocently at the brat, who sighs shakily and runs a hand through his hair.

"I feel so weird... this is my home, you say, but I don't recognize anything! I don't recognize you! I don't recognize this person over there! Uraume, right? I can't remember living in such a fancy penthouse or having a butler! It feels so weird to me! As if this cannot be my life! And I have so many questions! It's driving me insane that I have no idea who I am! Do I have a family? Do I have a job? Or am I a student? What kind of accident happened to me? What... Fuck, I just don't know anything at all, and it's making me feel so... strange..."

His gaze meets Sukuna's, golden eyes shiny with unshed tears, wide with panic.

Sukuna nods, managing his sweetest smile. He is prepared for this moment. The little story he constructed will be sufficient to satisfy the brat. He isn't the brightest, after all.

"It must be very hard for you, sweetheart. Please don't hold back when you have any questions. To answer some of them: We both have no family left. It's only you and me. You don't have a job at the moment. You used to study Japanese folklore and mythology, but the doctors said you should rest until you fully recover."

"Oh...folklore and mythology? Wow...that's unexpected. Sounds pretty smart, though."

The boy looks so stupid, honey eyes gazing unseeingly up towards his forehead as if he is raking his dumb little brain for any memory. Well, if he remembers any curses now, he will think it must be something he read in his mythology classes.

Sukuna adds,

"It was a car accident that caused your memory loss. You hit your head very badly. The doctors said that it can take a while until you recover. You might be confused and disoriented for months or even years. But don't worry, sweetheart. I will look after you. I'll always stay by your side to ensure your safety."

I'll keep you here in this golden cage, locked away from everyone you ever loved, lost to the world, only belonging to me. I decide where you go, what you see, what you hear, and what you do. You only exist in the way that I want you to.

The brat nods slowly, a small grateful smile appearing on his face.

"Ok... thank you..."

Itadori leans back on his chair and scratches his neck sheepishly.

"Uh, there is something else I wanted to ask. The penthouse...all that expensive stuff in here...and your face. I mean the tattoos on your face! You're a Yakuza, aren't you?"

Sukuna almost bursts out laughing. A Yakuza? So that's what the brat came up with in his little brain?

It's perfect. Sukuna had planned to tell the brat he is the heir of a family of temple attendants and has those tattoos for religious reasons. But the brat came up with a far more believable story. And he doesn't even seem freaked out about it but instead looks excited.

Sukuna grins and nods.

"Good, you figured it out, darling."

"Oh, I did! Ok! That's... um, I don't know. It's kind of cool!? I feel like I woke up in some movie! But being a Yakuza sounds dangerous too. Is it?"

"Not to me. I am the most powerful one."

"Wow... ok, but..."

The brat scrunches his nose, looking uncomfortable again,

"Do you hurt people? Like, torture them or kill them? Or abduct someone? Do I do those things? I...I obviously can't remember, but the thought makes me sick. I don't want that! It's wrong!"

Stupid little brat. Even without his memories, he is still the pure-hearted hero, still so disgustingly good. It makes Sukuna want to wrap him in his darkness and bathe him in the blood of the millions living in this city.

But he laughs softly, making a dismissive gesture before he places his elbows on the table and rests his chin on his hands, looking deeply into the boy's eyes.

"Don't worry. My line of work doesn't require bloodshed or torture unless someone attacks me first. People pay me, so I offer my protection. That's all. And you, my dear, aren't involved in any of it."

He smirks at how brilliant this is. And the dumb brat soaks it up, nodding and smiling at him as if it all makes sense.

"Your tattoos look cool. I like them."

"Thank you. I've carried these marks for a long time."

"You know what, Sukuna? The way you talk is so funny. You don't sound like someone in their twenties. More like a 500-year-old noble."

"Is that so? Well, you almost got it right, darling, but make that a 1000 years!"

He winks at the brat, letting a cheeky grin lift his lips.

And suddenly, the brat's laughter fills the room, loud and unrestrained, tears glimmering at the corner of his eyes from laughing so hard about how funny his boyfriend is.

Sukuna joins in, finally letting out the laughter he has been holding back. It echoes through the large room, mixing with Itadori's, both laughing manically for different reasons, but the brat doesn't know it.

He is blissfully unaware of the lies he is wrapped in. And the tension from earlier fades away, making Itadori grin and look like his usual stupid self. Finally, he digs into the exquisite meal Uraume placed before him, munching it happily while grinning at Sukuna, who smirks back at him.

Eat up, little brat. You will need your strength.

Dinner is over, and the sun has long set, leaving Sukuna and the brat in the dimly lit dining area. It looks almost romantic with all the flowers and the soft light of the candles. A fact that makes Sukuna's lips twitch with an amused smirk. He leans back in his chair, letting his eyes wander slowly over the boy who has his face turned towards the floor-to-ceiling windows, gazing at the hundreds of thousands of twinkling lights of the nightly city.

Sukuna's eyes are fixed on Itadori. He feels his heartbeat accelerating in excitement. The brat is here at his mercy, unaware of the game Sukuna is playing with him. It's an exquisite feeling. The rushing of his blood in his veins, feeling the warmth seep through his body, feeling the strong thrum of his own heart. Feeling alive again after a thousand years.

Sukuna gets up, slowly walking towards the boy. He stops beside him, reaching out to put a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Time for bed. You need your rest."

He feels the brat tense up again under his touch. Sukuna draws his finger away and walks towards the doorway, stopping to look over his broad shoulder at Itadori.

"Are you coming, Yuuji?"

The brat's adam's apple bops again, but he nods bravely and gets up so fast that he almost knocks over the chair, catching it last second with his hands with a sheepish smile.

He follows Sukuna to the bedroom like a puppy following its owner.

They are standing in the bedroom, and Sukuna grins to himself as he pulls his shirt over his head, reveling in the way the brat's eyes grow big as he stares at Sukuna undressing in front of him.

Under other circumstances, Itadori would be outright rude with his staring. His golden eyes are glued to Sukuna's naked chest, slowly trailing downwards, following the tattoos adorning Sukuna's muscular body.

Sukuna likes what he sees in that gaze. Unveiled interest. The brat is attracted to him.

Sukuna graces him with a smile as he shoves down his sweatpants. He contemplates taking off his boxer briefs too, but decides against it. He doesn't want to risk making the brat run. So he just slips out of the sweatpants and folds them neatly before hanging them over a chair in the corner of the room.

He can feel the boy's eyes on him, probably admiring him, wondering how good that tall, strong body must have felt on top of him during the countless times they fucked before he lost his memories.

The brat looks flushed when Sukuna walks back to him.

"Do you need help getting ready for bed, my love?"

Sukuna asks him sweetly, tugging on the hem of Itadori's shirt. He can feel the brat's abs flex against his fingertips. The boy is breathing too fast. He is nervous, and maybe even a bit aroused. Sukuna wants to ruin him.

He almost rips the brat's shirt in two, barely able to rein in his desire. The shirt drops carelessly to the floor, and Sukuna's hand sprawls over the brat's chest, right where his heart is beating frantically.

Oh yes, he remembers the beating of that heart, remembers holding it in his hand after he ripped it out of Itadori's chest. Remembers how it had felt, slippery from all the blood, warm, and still beating. It was delicious.

Now the same heart is beating unharmed in that broad chest under that strong ribcage. But Sukuna still has his hand wrapped around it. Metaphorically this time, but the fact remains that this heart still belongs to him. Every fiber of Itadori belongs to him.

"Oh, sweetheart. Your heart is beating so fast. I think you should lie down."

Of course, he has already spent many nights with Itadori. Trapped inside him, only able to witness the boy's nightmares or his wet dreams. Sometimes, Sukuna let himself have a bit of fun by making a mouth appear on the boy's palm and licking his cheek. It was the only thing that could wake the brat and have him scream and complain loudly.

But this cannot compare to the luxury Sukuna is blessed with now.

The brat is sleeping next to him. It only took him a few minutes to fall asleep, completely exhausted. And now he is lying there, snoring softly, hugging his pillow, and slumbering peacefully. It amuses Sukuna greatly to see the brat like this. With his guard down, completely unaware that he is lying next to his biggest nightmare.

Sukuna, on the other hand, cannot fall asleep. Or rather, he doesn't want to.

He is lying on his side, propped up on one elbow, watching the sleeping boy. Itadori's pink hair is a nice contrast to the black silk pillowcase, making Sukuna imagine the moment he will grab that soft hair and push the brat's face into the pillow while Sukuna wrecks him completely, making him scream Sukuna's name and beg him for more.

Sukuna sighs. It would be so easy to take advantage of the brat right now. But it would ruin the plan.

He can be patient a bit longer. He wants to enjoy this thoroughly, after all. Little steps every day, watching the boy walk towards his own ruin, not realizing that this fancy penthouse is a prison and the man he thinks is his loving boyfriend is the monster who possessed him and dug his claws into him to never let him go again.

Stupid brat.

He's sleeping so peacefully. His face is relaxed, lips slightly parted. He looks pretty. Not bratty at all, but so soft and young, almost angelic. An innocent and naive angel.

Unconsciously, Sukuna reaches out and ruffles that pretty pink hair.

"Mine."

He blinks in surprise when he realizes he has said the word out loud. It came out as a low growl, sounding too loud in the otherwise deadly silent apartment.

The boy didn't hear it, though. He continues his deep slumber, and Sukuna pulls his hand away.

He laughs softly. It's true, though, isn't it? The boy is his. Itadori Yuuji has always been Sukuna's. From the moment he was created. Even before that. Even when he was just an idea in his maker's mind, he was already Sukuna's.

And the brat had known it, too. He had known he would live and die with Sukuna.

But it was different back then. Itadori hated him. He saw Sukuna as the enemy. He was constantly struggling against Sukuna's hold on him, always so rebellious, always so full of anger towards the God possessing him.

Now things have changed. He is such a good boy now that he has lost his mind. So completely and utterly Sukuna's. Sukuna is the only thing he knows now. His whole world and Sukuna is the Master of this world.

Sukuna doesn't sleep much that night. He's too busy marveling at the perfect gift he received so unexpectedly. And the brat is sleeping like a stone next to him, making soft snoring noises from time to time, so unaware of who the man next to him is.

Sukuna wakes up the next morning to sunlight streaming into the room and a strange feeling of warmth.

His eyes open slowly, and for a split second, he is disoriented. The sensation of having a real body is something he still has to get used to again every morning. He feels a slight ache in his neck, and his left arm feels numb where a heavy weight rests on it.

Sukuna blinks against the sunlight.

And then the realization washes over him. The mysterious weight is the brat.

Itadori is snuggled against him, head resting on Sukuna's naked chest, soft cherry-blossom-smelling hair tickling Sukuna's jaw, one arm thrown over Sukuna's waist, holding him tightly. He's still dozing, snoring softly, his warm breath brushing against Sukuna's skin. He's hot and heavy, and Sukuna feels something wet on his chest where Itadori's mouth is.

Is he drooling on the King of Curses?

Sukuna is momentarily at a loss for what to do. He has never experienced waking up with someone draped all over him.

It's not that he was abstinent in his former life. The contrary is the case. Sukuna fucked someone new almost every night. Countless women and men begged for his attention when they came to his temple to worship him and seek his help. Countless daughters and sons were brought to him to sacrifice their virginity for a good harvest and protection from attackers. Countless young monks found their way into his bed chambers after hanging on his lips for hours.

Sukuna does not lack experience in the desires of the flesh. But everyone he fucked was just a body he used for his selfish pleasure, and he threw them out the moment he had satisfied his desires.

No one was ever allowed to sleep in his bed.

But now he is lying on his back with the brat hugging him, lying half on top of him, drooling on him, cuddling him.

It's outrageous! It's a sacrilege! In his past life, Sukuna would have sliced everyone's head off who dared try to do that!

No one was allowed to get close to the great Sukuna-sama! Most of his past lovers weren't even allowed to touch him. He was the one who was in control. He was the one who took from them. If he wanted their hands on him, he told them how and where to touch. He was the one who orchestrated those sexual encounters. No one ever dared detour from the script Sukuna had for those moments!

But of course, the brat has to overthrow that! Itadori really never knows his fucking place!

Hot anger surges through Sukuna. He wants to lash out and slice the brat's head off. Wants to punish him for his disobedience!

But a little voice in his head stops him.

This is part of the plan.

Sukuna slowly lets out a breath. It's true, of course. The boy is supposed to touch him.

It's part of the web of lies Sukuna is weaving. They have to sleep in the same bed and share these intimate moments. Couples do this. They sleep in each other's arms.

This is what his role is in this whole play. He has to play the loving boyfriend. He has to act as if this is a normal thing and as if he enjoys this. He should hug the brat back!

But to Sukuna's surprise, his right arm is already wrapped around the brat's sleeping figure. He must have done it instinctively at some point during the night.

Sukuna laughs softly and relaxes his fingers that tightened into a clawlike grip.

This is good. This is what he planned.

He slowly runs his hand over the brat's warm skin. He has to admit that Itadori's muscled back feels good under his fingertips. The boy has a nice body. Strong and beautiful, brimming with god-like power, which is something Sukuna appreciates. So different from the weak bodies his former lovers had.

Sukuna knows this body so well. He had been trapped inside it for years, after all. He had lived in it, moved in it. Even now, his human form isn't that much different from Itadori's. As much fun as he made of the brat in the past, he secretly always appreciated that his vessel had the body of a young God. It was a fitting body to house Sukuna.

The boy stirs, making a soft groaning noise. Sukuna holds his breath, waiting excitedly for the brat to wake up and realize where he is and what he is doing.

It takes about five seconds before Itadori gasps loudly and jumps up, almost tumbling out of bed in his hurry to get away from the body he has been pressed against. He catches himself right at the edge of the bed, staring at Sukuna with huge eyes.

Oh, this is delicious. Apparently, Sukuna isn't the only one who is caught by surprise by their sleeping arrangement.

His skin tingles pleasurably at the fear he sees in those pretty golden eyes. The sun is shining outside the window, but it cannot compare to the liquid gold in those eyes.

Sukuna schools his expression into a lazy smile. He cocks his head and looks at the boy with an innocent look, batting his long black lashes as if he just woke up too, fixing him with his sparkling sapphire eyes.

"Good morning, darling. Did you sleep well? Please be careful not to fall off the bed. We don't want you to hit your head again."

The brat is breathing heavily as he blinks at Sukuna in a mix of fear and confusion until his dumb little mind catches up with things. He runs a hand through his tousled pink hair as a shaky smile crawls over his face.

He looks guilty again. Probably feeling like such a bad boyfriend because he jumped when waking up in Sukuna's arms.

"Sorry. I was so confused for a moment. Good morning, Sukuna."

Itadori hesitates for a moment but then scoots closer to Sukuna again. He awkwardly pats Sukuna's shoulder as if trying to make up for freaking out a moment ago. So eager to please his loving boyfriend.

A grin spreads over Sukuna's face. He is ready to play with his little pet. He cups Itadori's cheek with one hand and strokes his thumb over the brat's lip, smearing his drool over his pink lips, making them glisten enticingly.

"It's ok, baby. Of course, you're still confused."

His hand slowly slides down the boy's chin and throat, loosely wrapping around his neck. He can feel Itadori gulp hard. His adam's apple bops under Sukuna's hand. His pulse flutters wildly. Like a scared little bunny. Sukuna rejoices.

His gaze trails down the brat's body, over those tan muscles, his buff pecs with the pretty pink nipples, his defined abs, and the strong v-line.

The blanket slipped down so far that it isn't quite able to hide the tent in Itadori's boxers.

Sukuna's grin becomes devilish. He can see the brat's erection twitch under his intense gaze.

Sukuna has to bite back a victorious laugh. The things he wants to do to his pet! But not now. He reminds himself that he has all the time in this world. Itadori won't go anywhere. Never again.

Sukuna will continue playing his little game and wait for the stupid brat to come to him, begging him for his touch.

So he just breathes a soft little kiss onto the boy's blushing cheek before he lets go of him and gets up, leaving a flustered Itadori on the bed.

But he makes sure that the boy can see Sukuna's matching erection straining against his black boxer briefs, large and thick.

He can see Itadori's eyes snap to Sukuna's prominent bulge, unable to stop himself from staring, lips hanging slightly open, cheeks burning with a blush, and eyes glazed over with desire. He's so pathetic.

Sukuna walks over to the chair where his clothes from last night are neatly folded and puts on his sweatpants again, slowly pulling them up, taking his time because he knows the brat's gaze is on him, admiring his body with lust written all over his face.

When Sukuna is finished pulling up the pants, he leans against the door frame with his arms crossed in front of his naked chest and grins at the boy.

"Come to the kitchen when you're ready. Uraume will have breakfast ready in a few minutes."

He can see Itadori's golden eyes staring at his chest. Horny little brat. Sukuna smiles at him, asking in a voice that is velvety like a lover's caress,

"Are you hungry, darling?"

The smirk on his face grows even wider when Itadori's eyes snap to his, caught staring and nodding wildly in his hurry to hide how he was obviously checking Sukuna out.

"Y.. yes... I'm very hungry!"

Sukuna laughs as he pushes himself off the wall and grabs his shirt to slowly cover up his bare torso and tattoos.

He sends the brat a deep cheeky look and adds, in an amused tone,

"Me too, sweetheart. Me too."

He can see the boy bite his lip before Sukuna turns around to open the large bedroom door and leave the room.

Yes, he is hungry indeed. Hungry for the brat.

Oh, Kuna, you are so obsessed!! Thank you so much for reading Chapter 4!! How did you like the growing sexual tension between Sukuna and Yuuji? And the hug at night? I think it's so cute to imagine Yuuji rolling over to snuggle against Sukuna awww. And I had to laugh while writing about Sukuna's confusion and his anger about Yuuji cuddling him and drooling on him ahahhaha. THIS IS WHAT YOU WANTED, MY DEAR KING!!

Please let me know what you think. Comments and reblogs make me happy :)

#sukuita #sukuna x yuuji #sukuna x itadori #sukuna #jjk fanfic

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harryleatherfit · 1 year ago

Text

Upper East Side || A.U || Frankie Morales

Chapter 13: After Party

F!Reader x Frankie Morales

Word Count: 4.3K

Warnings: abusive parents, childhood memory flashback, ptsd, abuse (summary at the end if you’d like to skip) drink roofi,

Authors Note: been so long since i’ve updated UES, but one shot life has taken me away. planning the rest of the fic is making me so sad and writing this chapter was really hard, i fucking HATE NINA. there’s not too much of frankie in this one, but i promise he’s very much in the next. just you wait .

i love you all. anyone who reads my stuff, who has supported me through this process. you mean the absolute world to me💝

Chapter Playlist

Euphor- Lowswimmer & Novo Amor

A House in Nebraska- Ethel Cain

🪩Main Master List🪩 Series Master List🪩

Sundays with your family was never something you vouched for as a kid. You woke up, you did what you were told, you obeyed, you surveyed your parents emotions. Hyper aware of your actions. You cleaned, you cooked, you were a caretaker to yourself.

After so many years with the relationship of your parents berating itself, your relationship with your mom, everything falling apart. You never really knew what set her off, hell you never knew what would set your dads anger off, but there was something with your mom that would make her see red and you would never understand.

A distinct Sunday, you walked downstairs to greet your parents, and she was staring out the window, blank faced. You sat next to her, no words said, just hoping for her peace today.

“Pretty morning, mama.”

She nodded her head, “Yeah I already went for my run, the weather is perfect. You should go on yours now.”

She always did this, she always made you go on fucking runs, to appease that ‘her child isn’t gaining weight’.

This morning, you were tired, you just started your period and you were bleeding heavily. The last thing you wanted to do was go on a run, you didn’t want to have to say hi to people every time you passed them. You didn’t want to fidget with your headphones not falling out. You hated running, she always forced you to work out on your own terms.

“Mama? I’m on my period and I feel nauseous…”

“You know that’s not an excuse, you know the rules.”

“I know you’ve said that but please today I’m in so much pain, I’ll take on extra chores for today, I’ll dust all the rooms-”

“No, and because of that you’ve yourself another hour of running… do you want to defy my rules? Fucking try me you fucking little shit.” She seethes, she urns back looking out the window, simmering down.

You look away from her, shoving your head down into your arms, you didn’t like crying infront of her.

“And try running to your father, he only agrees with me. Look, we love you honey, we want the best for you, but we need you to be healthy and thin, like the good girl you were raised to be.” She gets up, “Speaking of which, let's get on the scale before you leave.”

“What?”

She grabs your hand, pulling you to her bathroom.

“Mama no… mama please no…” You cry, “You know that I don’t like this… please mama don’t make me..”

“It’s the rule to stay under 150 Lbs! You know that! Fuck..” She huffs, “We’ve been so relaxed with you lately, you need to have healthier habits. You can’t keep eating the way you are.”

She punts the door open, you're sobbing at this point, begging your mom to not make you on the scale.

“No! Fucking get on!”

“Please mama, please I’ll do better. I’ll be better for you, I promise, for you and dad. I won’t be bad anymore..” You plead, slobber slipping all over your face.

She plants your feet on the scale and you immediately shut your eyes, never wanting to see the number below you. Seconds pass.

“Well you got a fucking one way ticket to missing homecoming next weekend.” She tuts.

“What, no please mom!” You look at her.

“NO ARGUING! You wont fit in your dress anyways and it’s your fucking fault. We paid all this money for this beautiful gown and now YOU HAVE GAINED WEIGHT! So during your night, you’ll be coming with me to the gym and no fucking complaining… I hear a sound, your phone is mine for a week.” That shuts you up.

All you can do is stare at her, the pain leaking from your mouth. You’re frozen in time, and you can only focus on the tears not slipping from your eyes. All the pain and hatred boiling in your heart, the monster of fear is right in front of you and you can’t move. You heave, gasping for air. All you want is to hold your mom, you want someone to fucking hold you, but there is no one.

“Fucking get a move on, or I’ll give you something real to cry about.” She spits. And you do.

—-

Your scream, your blood, your body shaking out on stage. You prepared for your last performance with Frankie, you were ready to give the performance everything you had in your body. And everything went as fast as you expected, but as you were walking off stage you could’ve sworn you saw your mom in the audience, so many faces to look at, but you could see yourself in the crowd.

You stayed stagnant in the wings of the stage, your body following into full blown shock. You couldn’t get a full view of the person you saw but somehow you knew she was in the same room as you. That pit feeling you got as a kid about you mom, her moods. You knew she was there.

People were talking to you, tech crew telling you what to do and where to go, but you couldn’t think. Everything was muffled, nothing made sense. You couldn’t scratch out of your skin faster, you couldn’t run away, you couldn't go home. You couldn’t leave, you just had to stay.

Immediately you snap out of it and rub your hand over your heart to calm yourself down, you have to finish the night out.

“Are you okay?” A stage manager comes up to you, “Do you want me to get a director?”

Fuck the last thing you want is for Frankie to see you like this, or any of your teachers. Nothing could help you get out of this.

“No,” You choke, “I’m fine.”

Your reassurances, sets the stage manager back in place, calling the shows last cue, and bows are finally in check.

Mattias runs off stage, and he finds your hand, bracing yourself to see the audience again. You hear the room erupt into cheers and the standing ovation begins. He pulls you onto the stage, your eyes fade, the fuzziness creeping over your body. It’s your turn to walk up to the apron and bow, feet following another no daring to look anywhere but your feet. You were happy how loud the audience was, but you needed to leave, you needed air. Applauding the tech crew and the audience you run off stage quickly. You needed time to collect yourself before you ever thought about going outside to greet anyone.

You smeared the blood off of you, you slipped out of your costume, put everything back to where it was, shaking as you moved. You couldn’t rid this fumble in your body. You prayed Frankie wouldn’t walk in, you didn’t know how he would react to your unresponsiveness.

“Bitch! Get out here! We gotta go sign some playbills and then we're off to the club!” Mattias shouts into your room.

The tears come to a halt and you wipe away your face before he has you in view. You can do this.

“I just finished cleaning and hanging my shit, come with me and we can find Laylah… go to the club!” He holds your hands, wriggling his body.

Honestly all you want is to hurl into a bag, but that would do too.

“Ok let me grab my bag, I’m right behind you!” You cave. All you had to do was forget about your mom.

You clear your nose, and shut off the lights to your area. You’ll always remember this oasis you had, the memories with Laylah, Frankie, your first show here dear to your heart.

Mattias opens the door to the outside, and not just from last night… there are more people. Cameras flashing, screaming from all sides of the street. There are paparazzi, cars scrolling by screaming you and Mattias’s name. As you walk by with him, singing playbills and posing for cameras, seeing all these beautiful faces, you think about Frankie. You’re one step closer to being with him after the party.

Moving down the line, the men with the camera’s move with you. It felt good, you felt excited and the dip in your heart is gone.

“Excuse me ma’am, ma’am! You can’t be here!”

Before you turn, you hear a backstage official yell to somebody, the conversation going on behind you.

“Who do you think you are, screaming up on that stage?”

And there you are, in front of what could’ve been hundreds of people, seeing you go eye to eye with your mom. Mattias pauses behind you. You knew it was her, that exact hair color.

“You call that a performance?” She screams at the crowd, pointing at you, pulling you apart, “Here’s my fucking daughter all the way in New York City.” She screams.

You hadn’t seen her in years, by choice, but she was here? What on god's earth would persuade her to see your performance. She looked much older, being alone hasn’t taught her anything. Her hair looked dirty, she looked disheveled, and she looked lifeless.

“Ma’am I need you to please step aside..”

“Look at you baby, look at you whoring yourself out for all these broadway roles.” She laughs, “Didn’t think the person I raised would go this far into Hollyweird, you’re sellin yourself to the devil you hear me? Skanking yourself out just to make some money? I mean fuck..”

Some Broadway official grabs one of your moms arms, yanking it back, she has this beady look in her eye, you know she hasn’t had her fill with you yet. She wanted this to be public so she can let the public see the real you.

“Mom please don’t do this here, please I’ve worked so hard for this.” You plead, you can’t freeze, you can’t shake, you just deal. You go back to your roots. “Mom, why are you here?”

“Want the world to know how fucking selfish and useless you are? Wanted to see how ‘good’ of a life you think you got up here. Well here’s a fucking wake up call sweet cheeks,” She steps up closer to you, “ You ain’t able to make it in the world without me, I came here today to take you back home. Where you were raised right, where you belong.” She grabs you, and Mattias holds you back, his hold on you stronger than anything on the stage.

“Babe? Who the fuck is this?” He asks.

“No one lets fucking go.” You snicker, you have never been more infuriated in your life.

He follows you back inside the theater, you can still hear your mom yelling like the psychotic bitch she is, and behind closed doors, you can’t stop the shaking. You don’t care if Mattias saw you like this, you needed Laylah.

“Get Laylah, find Laylah please Mattias.”

“Ok baby, I’ll go find her.”

When he left you and you were finally alone, you gasped for air. That really was her. Your mind wasn’t playing tricks on you. Your hands couldn’t control themselves, you couldn’t remember anything except your name, all you needed to do was throw everything up.

“Oh I got her, I got her.”

“Babe, are you okay? What’s wrong?”

You look at Laylah with your eyes spilling liquid, “She was here, she was fucking here Laylah, the whole crowd saw, Papparazzi saw, fans saw. I can’t… move. I don’t know what to do.” They slipped down to the floor with you, they put their arms around you and Mattias followed, all holding each other in a ball.

“I don’t know why she came, I don’t know why she’s here, I don’t know how she found out I was even in this.” You ramble.

“Ok calm. Do you feel safe right now?” They ask.

“Yes, you’re both here, that's all that matters. I just can’t process everything right now. I don’t think I can move from here.”

“Ok we can wait here then, we won’t leave until you want to.” Mattias soothes.

You could stay in the corner with those two for an eternity. You wanted Frankie too, but you didn't need to burden him with your life, you didn’t need to have him worry about you in any capacity, when you were already putting both of your careers in jeopardy. They both held you so close, and this was a moment in your life you would pocket. Two people you hold dearly in your heart, that you would never let go.

You felt your phone buzz, you had to check it to see if it was Frankie, but it wasn’t, it was an instagram notification from Frankie. Your heart dropped. Mattias’s phone buzzed too.

You open the app at the same time, a post of you two bowing together on the stage.

Captioned: “The Macbeths”

The past couple months working with these two have been an experience of a lifetime for my career. I couldn’t imagine anyone else in these roles. The stars of the new generation.

“Didn’t know he liked me that much.” Mattias giggles. Laylah looks at you and they look happy, they weren’t that shocked when you told them about you two, seeing the instagram post proves how much he cares about you. How his page is now two posts of you.

Your heart dropped but you're happy too, this is what a teacher would post, he’s proud of the work he’s done.

New Message:

Frankie: Comin to the afterparty at the club? Leaving with the guys, I have another surprise tonight for you baby girl.

Fuck, the afterparty.

“Do you guys want to go to the afterparty?” You chip up.

“No, not without you and I’m not leaving you.” Laylah.

“No it’s okay, I think I can go. I’m okay. These few minutes I needed but I’m good now.” You weren’t lying, you didn’t exactly want to stay here forever and be the buzzkill of the night. You all had worked on this play for months, and if you missed this you would hate yourself more.

You would get to see Frankie, and just by his presence that would calm you down and make you forget the whole night.

“Let's go, I wanna go. Do I look okay for a club?” You ask.

“You always look okay baby, I’ll get a cab.” Mattias gets up, holding his hands out for you and Laylah.

You collect your bag and jacket, fixing your hair. Trying to prepare for the rest of the night. You and Laylah follow Mattias to the other end of the theater, where fans won’t be, getting inside a cab and decompressing.

“Rumpus room please, on East Houston and Elridge.” Laylah tells the cab driver.

You text back Frankie,

You: Laylah, Mattias and I are on our way, be there in 10.

Frankie: The guys and I already ordered some drinks, want anything?

You: I’m okay, keep your hands to yourself tonight pretty boy

Frankie: Make me

You: I promise I will. That picture you posted, it’s beautiful by the way.

Frankie: I know, someone in it that is.

You: Hey what about Mattias?

Frankie: He can be too, but my girl owns the world.

You: What’s your special surprise tonight?

Frankie: I wanted to take you somewhere again, not my house tonight

Where else could he take you? You were getting worried he was spending too much money on you, but that was a battle for another night.

Laylahs playing hype music, and you feel the warmth in your blood again, nothing to worry about.

“How many people do you think will be there?” You ask.

“I mean the whole school kinda show’s up to things like this, so there could be hundreds.” Mattias answers.

Maybe you could slip away with Frankie unnoticed.

You guys arrived outside the club, and people were cheering for you both, never receiving this special treatment, but you did check behind your back to make sure your mom wasn’t there, just a precaution. And once you walk in there was this whole atrium, almost a room so big that you could fit people in it for a concert. Bodies everywhere left and right. Some people you recognized, but most you’ve never talked to. Mattias and Laylah were by your sides, Bryce weaving through people to find Laylah. As you walked in, more eyes feel your way and hands started clapping, a DJ found a spotlight on you both, finally going over a god mic,

“There's the winners of the night, let's have a round of applause for the Macbeths!” Whistles and yelps were spread everywhere, Mattias hugged you and a wave of happiness spread through you. You did this, you had the power of an artist right now. Life was so good.

You guys walked up stairs to get to the bar, able to see the whole dance floor, and that’s when you see Frankie with the directors in the opposite corner. He met eyes with you and you smirk, at least he’s here. He changed from his regular outfit, all the guys in the corner are wearing suits, you were practically drooling over what you could see from Frankie.

“Gin and Tonic please, babe you want anything?” Mattias asks.

Fuck it.

“I’ll do the same as him.” You repeat.

Laylah and Bryce order, sitting on the bar barstools chatting. You felt earthy right now, light and accomplished. Even though you barely knew anyone in here, you could still be yourself. You took sips of your drink, muscles relaxing.

“Is he here?” Laylah whispers, asking about Frankie.

“Yes, he is, but I can’t be near him, people would think it’s weird and he doesn’t know.” You point at Mattias. “But I’m seeing him after.” You shrug.

“He makes you happy. If you’re happy I’m happy.” They kiss your head, “Does he know about stuff with your mom?”

“I’ve told him a few things, but no need to rush into all that with him.”

“Take it lightly tonight, okay? Don’t rush into anything, your moms psychotic.” They shiver.

“Trust me I know, I grew up with the woman.” You blink.

Was it bad that you missed her, even though she treated you like shit?

Mattias and Bryce were on their phones whispering, you didn’t know what about, but they looked worried. Boys being boys.

“No phones, let’s all go dance.”

You drag all of them off their seats and set your drinks on the bar, slipping into the crowd of people, maybe Frankie will see you. See your body dancing, craving his hands all over you.

So many people were still congratulating you, wanting to dance with you, your smile so wide. It made you think about the spring, and the musical. You realize after this it doesn’t even matter if you get a named character. You at least want to be a part of the production.

So many people were focused on showing off what roles they had, but you were at least happy that you could be a part of any production. You wanted to end your senior year with a good note, not a stressed one.

You feel hands on you, and it’s Hannah and Rose.

“YOU DID AMAZING, YOU BOTH DID.” They scream over the music. You jump up and down with them, catching up with them since you all have been so busy. It was nice to see their faces, more people than you knew at this crazy party.

“You and Mattias are being posted everywhere, those interviews are already out! And Mr. Morales posting you guys, that’s really big for you both.” Rose jumps, giddily.

“What does this all mean?” You ask.

“You guys will get fucking scouted, you’re going to go into Hollywood duh!” Hannah giggles, they both already seem drunk, this news making your body lurch with euphoria.

“I’m gonna go sip on my drink, anyone wanna come with?” You ask.

Nobody moves, so you leave the group alone, only 10 steps to the bar. You find your drink and sit on the stool. A moment to yourself and a lot to process. You thought out of your head for a second. This could have really started your career. People, we're going to start recognizing you, people are gonna start emailing you. This was it. Eventually after downing the rest of your drink, you got up to go back again, but this didn’t feel good.

You felt like you couldn’t walk, the music suddenly got louder and your head was pounding. How much had you actually drank? You were trying to scout out anyone you knew, trying to find Laylah shimmering hair, or maybe Frankie with his friends. But nothing. You felt helpless, you were lost and you didn’t know what to do. You looked for bathroom signs, and immediately stumbled over there. You walked down the cold hallway, not able to process.

What the fuck was going on?

You opened the door to what you thought was the bathroom, which it did say bathroom but it was pitch black, and the words on the door were blurry.

Flash.

Immediately hands were all over, the room spinning faster than you could comprehend. You’re pulled into the rooms and you hear giggles rapture from every corner of the room, you hear the door lock from the inside, and you’re in no control of what happens now. You can’t leave, you can’t fight. You’re physically unable to move, your breathing quickens and sweat falls down your forehead. The lights turn on, your eyes fight to adjust to the new night.

“Didn’t even bother to cover your own drink you dumb bitch.”

Nina.

“Yeah it’s fucking me you dumb whore.” Laughs again, you freeze, with what you’re able to do you back against the steel wall.

There's about 6 girls surrounding you, one with a flash on you, one you're sure is recording. Incolitarlty, you can feel tears streaming down your face.

“Fucking cunt stole my role, payback you little fucking trailer trash slut.” She slaps you, but at least you couldn’t feel it. You tried to hit her back, but she caught you fist, your reaction time was too slow.

“Drugs gonna make you sleepy honey, no need to fight me back. I already got you ass.” She smirks. All her friends howl in laughter.

“Nina… what did.. I ever do to you? …I’ve never… hurt you..” You stammer, trying to slur formal words together. You were fading fast.

She grabs your mouth in her hands, “You. Took. My. Spotlight. And you’re gonna pay for it. You didn’t think I was gonna let you slide with this, you thought I was gonna back off? Well fuckin welcome to New York babe, nobody backs of here.”

Nina backs off from you and in the corner of your eye, a girl standing on a toilet lid is holding a big bucket, eventually dumping a bucket of red liquid all over you. It woke you up, but the room was still hazy. You tried to wipe it from your eyes, but you got it all over the wall, it seeping down your body to the floor.

“Fucking screaming banshee… THAT WAS MY ROLE.” She gets up all in your face, still frozen from fear.

“Nina, do you think it’ll work, do you think it’ll wake her up?” The red substance was so cold, you didn’t know what it was, but you prayed it wasn’t real blood. It didn’t have an odor, but your veins were shrieking from the temperature.

“Brie, bitch it has to, the cunt has to stay awake, if she doesn’t we're all dead.” You hear her respond.

Before you really start to slip, all the girls are murmuring with Nina, this was their plan. To drug you and try to make you stay awake, to use you. To lock you in here and hurt you. But if it didn’t work? Then what? Leave you to die? Leave you to rot in this red scum?

Nina comes back up to you again, the impact of her hand, her nails dragging on your face brutally keeping you standing against the wall.

“Where's your little friend, where’d they all go huh? Not here to protect their little puppy.” She cackles. “You follow all of them around when they don’t need you, a worthless piece of shit.” She grabs your hair, putting her mouth close to your ear.

“Gonna go run to mommy and daddy, gonna go cry about it? Gonna cry like a little girl and run away?”

You fall with nothing less to lose. Nina couldn’t hold you up anymore. Another girl holds a phone in your face and it’s a video, a street view video of you frozen outside the theater, your mom yelling at you. Calling you names, hurling herself at you. Her voice made the wind in your body howl, you couldn’t take it anymore. You started to scream.

Not words, but you screamed for the world to know your pain. You never meant to hurt anyone in your life. You never meant to be mean to Nina, your mom, the world. You never wanted anything.

“That’s right you ugly whore, don’t have a mommy to run to I see. Mommy doesn’t love her fat daughter.” She wiggles the phone from her friend's hand, shoving it in your face, “Deux moi’s having a fun time with this one.” You hear the door open, all of their feet shuffle out, the light switch turning off.

“Have a good night, don’t let drugs bite.” The door shuts.

You were trying so hard not to fall asleep, but it’s what you need to do. You can’t refrain anymore.

You whimper, “Frankie….”

Black.

taglist: @pastelnap @beefrobeefcal

previous || next

Summary: Reader gets a bad childhood flashback with her mom, then reader finishes the last of lady mac for the last show, thinking she sees her mom in the crowd. After the show ends, Mattias drags her outside to say hi to people, paps are there and so many more people than the previous night before. Then reader sees her mom, and she freezes, feeling like a kid again, her mom goes crazy. Reader and Mattias eventually go back into the theatre finding Laylah, they check on reader, she feels okay to go to the after party. Frankie posts a picture of Mattias and reader, talking about how proud he is of both of them. Then he texts reader about another suprise for her. She feels good for the rest of the night. Showing up to the after party club. Dancing with Laylah, Bryce, Mattias, Rose and Hannah. Reader goes back to bar to drink the rest of her drink, feeling woozy she goes to the bathroom to be bombarded with Nina and her minions.

Ending was hard to write, but necessary, creating Nina has gone against every molecule of my body.

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cynettic · 3 years ago

Text

Stay with Me pt.3

Summary - You manage to escape from Scaramouche, if only for a moment before you realize there’s no escape. It only takes until you’re sitting back in your regular spot that you know what you need to do.

Pairings - Kitsune!Reader x Yan!Scaramouche

Warnings - Suggestive content, mentions of death, swearing, slight gore / blood

A/N - Its really hard to make this depressing while I’m vibing to Rasputin. Like no joke- I have it on one of the 1 hour playlists :D

Here you’ll find - pt.1 and pt.2

He’d left a key.

Scaramouche didnt make mistakes, not while he had you captive in the vicinity of his bedroom. He didnt have room for mistakes, not when you were watching his every movement while he was in your line of sight.

Sure, he mightve killed a person or two in front of you, but those were necessary mistakes. There was a sign on the door, it specified not to enter. You’d understand that, right?

Thats what he thought at least, lulling himself into belief after belief that you’d be there waiting for him every time. That you’d welcome him with open arms, even if there were chains ensnaring your wrists. That you’d accept your fate at his hands and submit yourself to him.

The Balladeer was a fool.

He’d kept you there for too long, and while you searched for an easy way to escape, time sent your head spinning. Into a spiral that begged only for the wind against your face, back laying on dirt with the familiar chirping up birds waking you up in the morning.

You wanted to go outside.

And when push comes to shove, you had to risk a little more to make it happen. Lure him into bed with kisses while your hands unbuttoned his vest. But what he believed to be alluring contacts was just your way of finding the keys hidden in the back pocket of his shorts.

It wasnt hard to find the one to your cuffs while he was asleep, cuddled in your chest with both arms around your waist as if to get you to stay put. You took the key, hiding them back in his clothing and hoping he didnt notice.

He didnt say anything the next day.

You werent going to wait any longer.

“Oh for fucks sake, why won't the goddamn door open?”

The room was left in tatters behind you, a little gift for Scaramouche once he got back. Turns out a pair of chains can smash up a lot of things, and rage can be used as a great source of strength when contained for such a long time.

But you’d done more than throw the blankets around, cut up the drawers and smash open the windows. Because your fists had bled red when you punched through the glass, puncturing your skin. Your knuckles were an ugly red, bruising already.

Ah, Scaramouche deserved a much better gift.

Gruesome as it was, you rubbed your knuckles against the pale walls. Till the blood stopped coming, till there was a nice little message for the boy which you held so dearly to your heart.

‘Balladeer.’

The first time you’d found out about him being a harbinger he’d told you not to call him by that name. You weren’t someone he associated with by work, you were a treasure to him. That’s why you continued to call him as he pleased, although the temptation always arose.

You were no longer his.

Shoving the door with your hand again, palm fiddling with the handle and groaning when it hardly budged. “Stupid,” you grumbled when the knob began to loosen. Backing up, you charged with your shoulder to the door, full force as the momentum broke the hinges. The door fell down with you along with it.

It was expected, you’d been stuck in the room for a long time, and thats considering you’d sat on the ground for decades. Your body was slight numb, muscles sore and unused for so long.

“You a-arent supposed to leave your room!”

A young man stood in the hallway along with a woman who looked relatively the same age. The two were wearing uniforms, flinching when you stood up from the debris and off the door. “Excuse me?” You asked, voice unnecessarily icy and stern. But you couldnt care less, you were going to get out of this house, damn anyone who stood in your way.

They both continued to shake when you walked towards them, staggering from side to side. The woman stepped up in front of the man, presenting a brave face. “If you leave the mansion, the harbinger will kill us all!”

“Well then I expect you should be on your way then. Actually…” you gestured to the maze of hallways. “You can lead the way.”

“What…?”

Your hand went limp to your side, an exasperated looking momentarily crossing your face before you sighed. “Im not staying trapped in that room, I’m sorry if that ruins your life, but frankly you're not the one stuck in there are you?” You took an extra step just to intimidate them, eyes wide to make the appearance of crazy. “It would be a great help if you showed me where he hid my vision too.”

“We can show you to the door…” The man began, “But the whereabouts of your vision are unknown, he wouldnt tell us something like that.”

A gift bestowed from the gods, a piece to help me thrive with my ambitions and pursue my goals.

Gone.

You really wished you’d taken to clawing out Scaramouche’s face instead, but you’d take what you got. Right now your main priority was getting out of this place, even if it meant leaving a piece of you behind.

“Door.” Your voice was raspy and there was a terrible feeling that crawled up to your throat, but you didnt have time to be emotional. “Show me where the door is… please.”

The conflict in their eyes dissipates by the time they lead you along, mumbling words between themselves. You didnt bother to try eavesdropping, you were so, so tired. You wanted to go home.

Anywhere. Anywhere but here.

It took a few minutes until you were standing in front of a grand door, almost twice the size of you and just as wide. You then began to notice the decorational plants and furniture that filled the empty space, there wasn't an inch of dust. Even though you could tell none of it was used.

“Hurry,” the man warned when you paused. “I dont know when our master is coming back, but if its soon, we’ll all be screwed.”

You couldnt feel your head as you numbly nodded, hand clenching the knob and flinging the set of doors open. “Thank you,” you merely mumbled, taking your first step out of the house in what felt like forever.

The days after that were a blur, the area around Scaramouche’s house were nothing but void. Empty and filled with forests and vast plains. You knew he didnt like people or socializing in general, but to this extent?

Your only option was to run.

Let your feet take you somewhere, anywhere. It was a constant pattern of running and taking breaks, leaning on a tree and gasping in a few breaths before you were again scurrying through the forest.

And yet you felt better than you’d felt in past months that you’d been stuck with Scaramouche.

Food became any boar you came across, the claws you’d spent so long hiding with Scaramouche coming to unleash a wrath beyond your comprehension. Till the animal was cut to shreds and no meat was left even to eat. You’d slaughtered it, without intention to eat or benefit for it, you’d killed it just to kill.

“I’m sorry,” you’d sobbed into the ground where you’d buried the harmless animal. Forehead pressed into the dirt as you pleaded for forgiveness to whatever archons would accept it. You couldn't even remember what archons you were supposed to pray to. “Forgive me- forgive me…”

But eventually you found your way around to somewhere you knew. Territory of Inazuma where you could find your way back, back home.

Where was home?

You’d been on the run from the vision hunt decree, abandoning your post for the Kitsune Saiguu for such a thing. Even now that you could return without a vision and as no threat under the decree…

You’d sacrificed everything for your vision.

Where were you to go now…?

Rain patted down, the trees providing only a slight cover as stray drops fell into your matted dirty hair. You didnt mind, it hid the tears that slid down your lifeless face, feet taking you into the far meadows of your hometown. Till you plopped down underneath a tree, knees curled to your chest and arms hugging them close. You were crying.

You were home.

____________________

“Awh,” a ginger haired murmured, elbow resting on the cool wood of the tabletop. “Is little Mouchie sad? I heard your kitty cat escaped~”

A death wish, even fatui that idly minded themselves around the bar knew it. Sipping cold drinks and swirling their cups, the soft chatter was nothing but a distraction from the main course of events. That being the smaller Harbinger who sat sulking in his seat, hunched over with a drink in hand. He’d drank far more than what was on the counter, but everytime he finished a glass, he’d smash it on the ground, watching the fragile glass shatter into pieces.

“I dont have a cat,'' was his only response, tone daring Childe to pursue further. To give him a reason to start throwing the glass in his face instead.

And Childe was an idiot when it came to challenging someone.

“No cat?” The rest of the drink in the taller harbinger’s glass was gone when he threw his head back. “Hmmm, I cant think of what else could’ve had you so enraptured in returning home then~!”

Scaramouche didnt respond, uneven bangs shadowing the bags under his eyes. “Stronger,” he said instead, elbow on the counter and hand outstretched for something. When there was no movement from the man managing the wine, the harbinger looked up. “I need something stronger to drink,” he repeated, voice seething.

“Of c-course!”

The glass was nestled in Scaramouche’s palm in no time, fingers curling around the circular form to down it in seconds. The drink merely slid down his throat in one movement, alcohol burning his senses. It didn’t matter, he was numbed by the growing rage inside of him.

Finally, he turned to the ginger haired boy, eyes hazily dancing along the counter till it reached his fingertips. Up his hand and along his arm, till Scaramouche was staring right into Childe’s eyes. “They escaped,” he admitted softly. “But it’s alright, because I sent something that’ll bring them back.”

Childe paused, raising his drink up away from his lips to pose a question. Hesitation danced along his features before he brought the glass back, he’d rather not provoke the shorter male any further. Wasn’t like he could interfere anyway.

____________________

“That… that…”

It was preposterous, having returned to that same spot for a day or two and heading back to the hometown you’d once lived in. The one Scaramouche had lived in. There shouldn’t have been an issue, you were solely gathering supplies for the sake of it, ambition driving you to travel far far away.

Out of Inazuma.

It was your new beginning, convincing yourself that you didn't need a vision. Finding some sort of purpose before Scaramouche shattered the vision and your life along with it. You’d seen how people had reacted when it had been ingrained in the statue, neutralized and broken. They lost hope, purpose and aspirations for anything new.

It’s not like the Raiden Shogun took my vision.

But you’d taken that fact for granted, expecting some sort of new start without Scaramouche. A victory, getting away from him just for a split second and getting out of Inazuma altogether, you’d never see him again.

Until you got his message.

“How the hell…” You crushed the note until it was just crumbled paper in your hand, slowly leaning on the stone wall. “Piece of shit… what kind of person even…”

Not only did he manage to find you, but without making his presence known, he’d tugged at your one weakness with an ease that had you down on your knees.

You threw the paper to the ground, deliberate as you stared past the alleyway. Pensive as you considered your options. Damn, what options did you even have? You’d been an idiot to underestimate Scaramouche, he wasn’t a child, you knew that… but archons he seemed like one when he was with you. Shown you a vulnerability he wanted only you to see. But maybe that had been part of his plan all along, until all you believed was his soft demeanor.

He may act like a child, but he’s a harbinger.

You stared down at the crumbled piece of paper in disgust.

Not only that, but he has no regard for human life.

Either way, you’d lived decades more than him. You could face him, you would present yourself to him just as he expected you to. Even when everything in you rejected the idea, sobbed at the thought of returning to that house, those chains. Being locked up and confined only for the purpose of coddling a small boy, a selfish boy, a cruel boy.

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

You’d figure out a way, and this time you wouldn’t rule out the option of his death.

———————

Oh darling Y/n, how have you been?

I hope this letter reaches you rather soon, we both have much to discuss, no? About me, about you, and much more. You see, I’ve taken up quite a distaste to your little friends. Stone statues in Inazuma as small as Kitsunes truly hold no purpose, what will they do, come back to life? Haha, I should think not. I’ve already arranged to have them demolished, who knows what kind of material they might possess. Ah, and of course I’d show you the finishing product, unless you’re willing to come and have a chat with me once more? Under the Sakura tree like we used to, you’ve waited years, I believe you can wait for me?

I hope this letter reaches you in best interests. I’m always looking out for you after all.

Sincerely, your Balladeer

——————

It was raining.

Beautiful weather as you lay sitting there, feet crossed and tucked in the same you’d often do. After all, there was no need to fear the vision hunt decree or the Raiden Shogun. Let them come, let them take care of you before Scaramouche did.

You werent cold, not when the cold drops dampened your clothing, slipping down the length of your spine and drenching your face. Despite having lived in a luxury residency for such a long time, this was where you were most comfortable, enduring whatever the weather had for you, taking it with a smile. Because you were waiting…

The Kitsune Saiguu was a distant memory.

You were waiting for Scaramouche, the young boy that often bound into the field in lengthy strides, childlike wonder in his eyes. The one who’d cried when the other kids pushed him away, the one that just wanted to be praised. You’d held him in your arms, and now, even knowing the results, you wouldnt have done differently.

He was just a boy.

Just a boy when he joined the fatui, looking for praise that he was given. He created chaos and bellowed orders with a cruelty that was highly looked upon. Told that he was doing well, so he continued to do so.

He’s just a boy.

You wished you’d held him in your arms, if not only for a tad longer. Shield him away from the wrongness of the world, if only for one last time.

Banishing away your hatred for him was hard.

But you found it under the tree, rain soon dimming down to a clouded cold breeze that swept through the meadow. You’d hated him while stuck in the mansion, but you could now see it from a larger point of view. What he did was wrong of course, but you could remember him so vividly now. His small form giggling, tiny arms around your neck.

“Play with me!”

Was it your fault?

For not holding him tighter? For trying to rectify his bad doings and teach him what was wrong and right? Maybe if your grip was firmer, if you’d spoken to him about the warmth he’d given you that day when playing cards...

“Lazy ass.”

Burying down that pile of worry and insecurities, you took a deep breath in to relax. The edge of your lip perked up, only slightly. “Still terrible with your social skills arent you?”

Slowly securing a dry space under the three with you, Scaramouche sat down. His features were the same ones you’d grown accustomed to at his mansion. Rich clothes, sharp eyes, and the baby face that refused to go away. His movements were soft as he pulled out a deck of cards. The two of you didnt speak as he distributed them between you both. It was tense… no, it felt too much like the warmth form long ago to be tense. You only wished the situation to be different.

“I love you.”

But you could only offer a bitter smile to his words. “I love my vision,” you replied. “I love the Kitsune Saiguu, and I love my friends.”

His touch was gentle when his fingers came to gently cradle your cheek. Holding your face dearly as he peered into your eyes, his were soft. Different from the cruelty he held within, the hatred that burned and destruction that seeked to explode.

You saw a little boy.

Your hand came to press his hand further against your cheek, till you slid his palm to your lips. He appeared so calm when you pressed the first kiss, lips tracing the lines along his palm with all the care in the world.

But you needed to change your view, see him as the man he now was. As the man he had become.

“I love you,” he repeated, and you let go of his hand. It fell limp by his side, cards all but forgotten. There was a much more pressing matter at hand, because you truly needed to see him as he was.

It was necessary if you planned to kill him.

#genshin impact #genshin impact hc #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact oneshots #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #kitsune reader #yandere scaramouche #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #reader x scaramouche #scaramouche angst #writing #angst

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johobi · 5 years ago

Text

Falling, Falling, Gone

Word count: 5.8k

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Warnings: None really, it’s my first ‘SFW’ fic, though there is some extremely bad language in here. And there might be an erection because I can’t help myself.

A/N: This is the fourth and final ‘drabble’ for the drabble game I ran ages ago. Prompt: “The thought of me making out with someone else is ruining you.”

Music inspo: Don’t Be So Serious, Baby Don’t Stop, Waste It On Me

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23477485

Taehyung. Captain of the soccer team. Master of your heart. You'll never tell him for fear of rejection.

So why the fuck are you about to do it in front of dozens of his peers?

Banana and peanut butter become pulp in your mouth as you glare out the kitchen window. It's so grey out there. Greyer than it has any right to be. As if your dour mood has polluted the very atmosphere. Rain lashes the exterior in leaden pellets, each one compounding your headache like a rap on the head. Don't be so serious, your bluetooth speaker croons as you chew and chew, unblinking. The bridge of your glasses slip further down your nose but you don’t correct them. Don't be so serious.

Oh, but it's all so serious.

Your final portfolio lacks in ways your mentor is incapable of articulating, and you only have so much time to fix it. Your college life is coming to a close. There are frighteningly few opportunities out there and they’re sure to spurn a sham like you. What do you do now? Where do you go from here—

"God, you listen to such depressing music," a husky voice sounds. It’s thick with sleep and horribly attractive. You hear his feet next; big and bare as they slap the tile floor and disrupt the ambience.

Yes, dismal is an ambience.

Before you glimpse the interloper himself, his fingers pilfer your next mouthful of toast. His other hand has your phone and is skipping through your carefully curated playlist of moody tunes. With all the scant energy you can muster, you glower at him.

“Taehyung.”

Soccer captain. Campus celebrity. Doofus.

Unlikely friend and unlikelier crush. But life is strange, and he is both these things. Indeed, he proclaims himself your best friend to all who will listen. As for the matter of your tender feelings, however, he is oblivious. And will remain so.

Taehyung is long-legged and limber-bodied, but round of face and feature. A kitten in a tiger’s pelt. Will mew for affection and roar when angry. Has quite literally nudged your hand for pets and raged at referees in the same afternoon. There is usually no in-between.

Your scowl goes unseen. He sidles past like the oblivious buffoon he is and continues to tamper with Spotify. Smears his peanut-buttered thumb around your phone display. Ugh. You brush back your hood and fix him again with extra scorn.

"Actually, douchebag, it’s good music for thinking. And I have a headache. I hardly wanna listen to something like—no, don't you dare put fucking Party Rock on right now. Tae!"

It’s too late. The lanky idiot is already gesticulating to the beginning beats. Your phone is an unreachable hostage in his flapping hands. You’re about to lunge for it but he preempts the attack by smothering you with your own hood. “Tae.” Your whining sounds all the more pitiful muffled. “Everyfing hurfs. ‘m hungover. Pleathe.”

Taehyung relents after further, strangled pleas. Unwraps you with a grin that grows like the sunrise. For a moment, you’re dazzled. “Sorry. No more torture,” he chuckles all low, hair in his eyes. His locks are long and always untamed. An aureate crown befitting of his celebrity status.

One swipe and he’s muted the racket and returned your phone. You turn the sticky thing over in your hands, rueing the day you met the overgrown imp. “How did you get it this dirty…?”

You go ignored and Taehyung gets closer. He scrutinises your hunched and hoodied appearance with a thoughtful hum. “Headache?” A rounded nose and two brown eyes come into focus. "Hungover? How? I didn't see you go out last night."

Averse to such study, you shy away. "Well, I did." You did not. You stayed home and guzzled $4 Prosecco while lamenting your trash portfolio. But you aren’t about to regale him with that pitiful tale. The sheerness of shame prevents you. Taehyung would be so sweet about it, too! So buoying, with his sunny smiles and fervent encouragement: "Why were you crying over that?!" He'd ask. "Your work is amazing. Seriously amazing. I love everything you do!" He'd gush. "People will be stumbling over themselves to hire you!" He'd continue, naively. And that hurts the most, because he just doesn't get it. Taehyung is a sponsored, collegiate athlete that's graduating into a guaranteed draft. He is—and always has been—praised widely as up-and-coming. The kid has had scouts scrapping for him mid-way through high school!

You, however, are small fry, swimming in a shoal of other unknowns, leaping for the hook of internship. Your dreams of animating for Disney died long back. They dwelled with Walt now.

But you don’t resent Taehyung for any of it. Ever. He’s a paragon. Born for the limelight. Has sweat and bled oceans for it. And for some reason he insists that you, too, are deserving of that same renown. Why? He’s ridiculous. Far too kind. And—Christ, he has a big dick.

"Taehyung, can you please not shove your tiny fucking penis in my face while I'm trying to eat? I'm nauseous enough as it is."

The soccer captain rests a foot on the seat next to you, giving you ungainly insight into his crotch. Taehyung, as he often, inexplicably is, is clad only in his boxer-briefs. This would be alarming were it not so goddamn commonplace. He is allergic to clothes.

According to him, he’s a naturist.

According to you, he’s an attention whore.

Taehyung points to his elevated foot, but it's a little difficult to ignore the bulge he's brandishing. "Do you understand the concept of inappropriate proximity and your current state of undress?" You rattle on, words slurred half by OJ, half by fluster. He simply points again, and with more insistence. Relenting, you follow the line of his finger to his pretty, if gigantic, foot. Then notice the ink around his ankle, black and fresh. "Oh, wow, you got a tattoo? Cool!"

"Yep! I didn't ever really think about getting one 'til I saw yours. They were so cool I became kinda obsessed with getting one. So I finally did it last night."

‘Til he saw yours? Your stomach flutters. It's not the nausea. You smother it with more orange juice. "Well, that's awesome, Tae. You'll probably want more eventually. I would've gone with you if I'd known you were gonna go alone."

Finally, he lowers his leg. It’s a small mercy. But then, for no discernible, earthly reason, Taehyung begins flexing his many defined muscles. His calves in particular catch your attention. They’re so goddamned thick. They ripple. Fucking soccer players. "Hm? Oh, I wasn't alone. I went with some guys from the team." He ogles his reflection in the microwave door.

How can you avert your eyes when his pecs dance so compellingly? It all becomes a bit too much. "Okay, what are you doing? Seriously, what? I know you're into yourself, but this is ridiculous.” He stops. Snorts. Thank God. “If you were with the guys, why did you come back here last night? I thought you’d go back to your dorm."

Finally Taehyung sits, but he’s spread-legged and that’s perhaps worse than what he was doing just now. He’s 6ft of pure, hewn sex and just so fucking casual about it. He reclines. "Some of them took girls home last night so I needed somewhere to go and you're always an open door." Finger guns follow a cheesy wink.

You scoff, but he's right. You’d do anything for the big-hearted clown. Open door? You'd be the doormat under his soccer cleats, licking them free of dirt— "You're lucky Areum isn’t here right now. Don't think she’d take kindly to having some almost-naked oaf clambering into her bed."

"You say that, but she’s tried to hit this several times.” Taehyung is smug, brows high on his forehead. Yours lower harshly. “Tell her I slept in her bed last night. She’ll cream herself thinking about it later, I guarantee you."

“You’re gross. And can you stop—why do you keep flexing? There’s just me here.” You peer about for emphasis. Taehyung is again admiring his form in some burnished surface. “No-one is looking. Or cares.” Contrarily, you’re doing both those things. But he needn’t be privy to that.

"This is serious. I need to work on my angles.” He contorts himself into something of a pretzel to peek at his back muscles. “We're holding a hook-up auction at our dorm to raise money for a graduation blow-out. And I'm on sale. Do you think I need to work on my back?"

You ease into a squint. "When you said serious, I thought serious words were about to follow."

"I am being serious!" Again Taehyung flexes, biceps bulging by his ears like an overfed turkey’s thighs. "How much do you think I'm worth?"

The world.

"I dunno. I'd take you for free, I guess, if you were the last one left."

Taehyung is unperturbed by your acerbic wit. It ricochets off him like rubber bullets would a muscle-bound ox. He is your greatest adversary. The bastard lacquers his lips until they’re plump and glossy and boasting a smirk.

He’s always doing this.

Always moistening himself.

"Oh yeah? Well, I think you'll be disappointed." A boxy smile emerges. "I got girls and guys already approaching me about it. Some of the guys literally just wanna buy me for mentoring. I mean, that’s more effort than kissing, but—" He shrugs. The thought goes unfinished.

"That makes sense. You are a God among these mere mortals, Taetae." It's not sarcasm this time. Taehyung senses it. The grin he returns is life-affirming. You're so close to reaching across the table and squeezing his hand. Telling him you're proud. Telling him you most likely, maybe, love him. But you notice you've dragged your sleeve through peanut butter—”Ah, shit,”—and you can tell him how you feel some other day.

Some other day.

"Some of them just wanna make out too, of course, and, like, I'm happy to comply. It's all for charity." His altruism knows no limits.

"Charity, huh?" You snort. Taehyung's mouth grows more square at your incredulity. "Who else is up for bidding, then?"

"Mostly guys from the team and dorm. There are some mutuals who just wanna get in on the action, too. Uh, you know Kim Namjoon?" He measures your reaction. When you give none: "Jeon Jungkook?"

Disinterest mellows your features. "Oh, right. Cool."

"So you don't like Jeon Jungkook?" Taehyung's eyes are eager, his body poised. Anticipating.

"What? No. What gave you that idea? I've talked to him, like, twice." Your face crumples as you towel your soiled sleeve. The peanut butter smears into a tragic, shit-brown stain. "Damn, that's never coming out."

"He's gonna be so disappointed. He might even cry." Taehyung heaves a hammy sigh and clutches at his breast. There’s nothing the captain enjoys more than clowning his subordinates. "Kook likes you so much. He's really into your whole androgynous fuckboi thing you got going on. He literally said, 'She's like a mystery, man. I'm not sure if she's a girl or a guy and—like, I'm not like that, but that's hot.'"

If your eyes could roll past the bounds of their sockets, they would. "Wow, what a poet. He sounds like a douchebag and I'm even less interested now. Fuckboi? Is that really the vibe I give off?" You don't fuck full stop. Nor were you aware you could dress like you do.

"I dunno. You just seem kinda like a gremlin to me. Or like that weird guy from Death Note," Taehyung is quick to reassure you. Cool. You’re fucking overjoyed that he perceives you that way. Not as a goddess, or his beautiful, sexy soulmate, or the princess that wanders the spires of his captive heart. No. A gremlin. Or L.

"Well, you got me there, son."

"What about Kim Namjoon?" Taehyung presses, urgent again. He picks at your bread crusts with one hand, head cradled delicately in the other. The boy could be a world-class model, too. His loose, dark curls hang like a Van Gogh nightscape, framing the planes of his unmarred face. It hurts to look at him. It hurts to be looked at.

A self-conscious shuffle. "What about him? I don't know who that is." You flick away his foraging fingers but he draws you into an impromptu game of thumb-war in retaliation. It's the only thing to extract a smile from you today.

Taehyung looks sceptical. "He's the physio student with our team! You literally talked to him all day during this season's semi-final." His lengthy digits best yours easily. But though the match is won, he doesn’t withdraw his hand. Instead he encroaches further. Thumbs your wrist. Encompasses your knuckles in a soft, warm palm. He’s clasping you like an enamoured suitor might their bashful sweetheart, and it’s very strange. What is he doing? His mind looks to be elsewhere, now.

"Uh...—oh. Oh." Yours ambles back to you. "Yeah, he was really nice, but you know my rule. No—"

"—dating in final year. Yeah, I know. I'll tell him that if he asks about you again." Taehyung has returned, too. His hand is gone. Your gooseflesh ebbs with it.

With a cough, you sober. "I think the auction's a bit stupid, really, Tae. You sure you wanna do it?"

"Stupid? Why?" He shimmies in close, smug on his face and intolerably naked the rest of the way down. His skin is hot and golden and just far too close. "You're only saying that because you're jealous, right?" He tickles your chin to keep you honest and your eyes on him. You seize and squeeze the offending hand because he might be right and now you’re embarrassed. "The thought of me making out with someone else is ruining you," he goes on to say, brazen as the smirk defiling his cherubic cheeks.

"Some rather large conclusion-jumping going on there," you smile, sweet as sugared cyanide. Your vice-grip tightens until he’s pouting in repentance. "I meant it's stupid to put yourself in a potentially uncomfortable situation if you don't want to kiss that person."

"I'm just joking!" he whimpers like the overlarge puppy he is and you free him of his snare. Because you would die for this big, soppy boy and his big, soppy eyes. “You’re so grouchy today.”

‘The joke won’t land if it collides with the truth, Taehyung,’ you muse. You expect him to know this despite never having apprised him of your situation. You’re jealous and cowardly and completely unreasonable. You want him for yourself but you never want him to know that.

If he wants your candour he should be a telepath. Simple.

Irritated by your own nonsense, you lash out at the unsuspecting boy. "You know what? I was joking, too. I remember Namjoon, he was hot. And smart. I think I'll cheat on my dating ban this once and bid on him. He has super nice lips, so."

Taehyung simply smiles. "Oh, okay. Cool! Glad you’re gonna come along."

Your threat proves ineffective because he doesn’t like you like that. Wouldn’t give a shit if Namjoon rawed you on stage while you stared him down. You stall on that thought because it’s kinda hot. “It’ll be great. Can’t wait to get my tongue down his throat.”

“Hell yeah! I knew you liked him.”

Yep, Taehyung is oblivious to your pining. As he should be. Because outwardly, your pining consists of nothing more than the odd, lingering look here and there. The balled-up sketches of him he will never see. A secret smile if you’re feeling particularly sentimental. Other than that, you're steely. Poker-faced. Rarely blind-sided by his allure, especially now that you've acclimated to his penchant for exhibitionism.

"Thank you in advance for your patronage." Rising from his seat, Taehyung comes to a stand behind you and leans. Encircles your shoulders with his terribly athletic arms and puts his lips to your ear. You're like a feral cat in the arms of a senseless child. You're bristling. "If he turns out to be a jerk and tries something he shouldn't, I'll protect you." For a moment, you're touched enough to unclench a little. "With these guns." And then you choke between his straining biceps and vie to repay him in kind.

----

The common room of Taehyung's dorm has been crudely transformed. Some questionable construction has taken place in order to build the catwalk centrepiece. Sofas and tables line the walls, thrust from the limelight. You've occupied the drinks table for the last 45 minutes, from the second you entered this place. You harbour an intense dislike for the chaotic energy of Taehyung's dorm. Machismo rages noisily between these walls and you much prefer less testosterone-drenched environments. Nevertheless, despite it all you're here on an endeavour this evening. One your idiot, rampant mouth has obligated you to. To buy time with a guy that's perfectly nice and all, but isn’t Taehyung.

Kim Namjoon makes eyes at you from the head of the runway, awaiting his musical cue. The beer you just slurped down bubbles up. You have to look away. Unfortunately, when you do, Taehyung is immediately there, his face in yours, his thumb and fingers pulling at your cheeks. "Hey you, don't get too drunk, okay? I don't trust a single man here. Especially not nice-as-pie Namjoon."

Nice-as-pie Namjoon has chosen some Bruno Mars track by the sounds of it. The auction-goers' excitement ramps up considerably.

Unable to move your captured face, your eyes sweep the room. "Not even your own teammates?" you scoff cynically, swatting at his hands until he’s baited into a game of slapsies. "Now who sounds jealous?"

Taehyung stops for a moment, thoughtful. "You know, you're right. I'm extremely jealous. I want Namjoon all to myself. He gives the best massages. And a happy ending when I ask nicely." And then he's back to rough-housing you, slapping your upper arms to alternating beats. "You look cute tonight. Your outfit, I mean," he offers up out of nowhere, so quiet you almost lose it to the bass. "He's lucky."

But you look exactly the same as you did earlier that day. Exactly the same as that afternoon in the cafeteria when he ribbed you for raiding Billie Eilish's Good Will donations. "Um, thanks. I guess." You're genuine, but don’t sound it. You can't look at him for fear of revealing the dopey grin that has hijacked your face.

"You're welcome, buddy." A large palm flattens your hair. His fingers get all in there, ruffling it until it probably looks more akin a bird's nest. Is Taehyung trying to sabotage you? Also, buddy? "Look, Namjoon's walking."

You turn and see that he is. Strutting, moreover, albeit awkwardly. It's obvious that the lanky boy is unaccustomed to the same attention the team he services is. Nevertheless, there are whoops and hollers aplenty for the handsome blonde dork, and you, too, catch yourself smiling. How can you not, when he pokes at his dimples so? The others seem captivated, too, though less by the finger-hearts and more by his form-fitting tracksuit.

“I’d wrap my car around a tree if he was the tree,” one auction-goer confides to her friend. “And then I’d wrap my legs around—”

“Yeah, we get it Lisa.”

Lisa quiets.

Namjoon’s endless legs sidle to a stop at the catwalk's end, directly opposite you. His bespectacled eyes meet your bespectacled eyes. For one, long second, the interest is palpable. But then he breaks, and casts his gaze down to his FILAs.

"Okay, he's, like, in love with you, I think," Taehyung whisper-yells, hands aflurry in applause. "Are you gonna bid?"

Shouts puncture the cheering either side of the room.

"$10!"

"$20!"

Neither of them are you.

The evening’s auctioneer - Taehyung's partner-in-slime Park Jimin - echoes each cry that rings out, giggling into a tinny karaoke mic. "$20 for our team physio?! Is that all you got ladies and gents? Do I have to remind you this guy can grope away pain with his magic hands?"

Namjoon spins toward Jimin's makeshift podium of an upturned bookcase and menaces him with his eyes. Well, it would be menacing were the man not as threatening as a ribbon-wrapped basket of newborn sloths.

The striker backpedals. "Okay, the massage might not be included, but don't let that deter you! He kisses like a pro!"

Screams of how do you know that, Jimin?! erupt and the throng grows ever more wild. Namjoon is redder than the cup you're strangling.

"Are you gonna bid?! You're gonna miss your chance!" For some reason Taehyung is still here, harassment game still strong. He should be preparing to walk next, but sees fit to pester you instead. And because of that, he's caught you in your lie, bare-faced and blushing.

No, you are not going to bid on Kim Namjoon.

"Uh, oh no, I forgot my purse," you grumble around the rim of your next drink, gulping it down like the bottom is your way out of this God-awful situation.

Then what are you doing here?

"It's right there." Taehyung pokes the cross-body bag hanging traitorously by your side.

"Oh, is it?" You reach for another cup even while burdened with one. Anything to sidetrack this conversation.

Taehyung intervenes with a firm hand. Swaddles your knuckles ‘til the shaking stops. You’re shaking? Beer slops over the sides, unnoticed. “___?”

Stupid, warm hand. And why are his fingers so fucking delicate for a footballer? He should model jewellery. Wedding rings.

Yours.

His ringless fingers close around your wrist when you persist in avoiding his gaze. The ruse is almost up. Fuck. There’s nothing left to do but to look at him.

You do, ever so timidly. “What?”

"What are you doing?" Puzzlement becomes him well. Why is he so goddamn handsome? "If you aren't gonna bid on Namjoon, why did you come?"

Silence, but for the pump of background Bruno Mars.

‘You. I came for you. You were the plan all along. Not him,’ your mind screams.

You, however, just stare.

"Going—going—gone! Sold for $70! Come claim your kiss!" Jimin can hardly stop himself from squealing. For a guy that beds girls on the daily, his sincere excitement over simple lip-locking is amusing.

Taehyung's teammates hail him from the drapery behind the catwalk but he won't yet go. No, he insists on searing holes into the side of your face while you watch Namjoon get sloppy on-stage with some girl you don't know. They're really getting into it. Damn, he forgot about you quick. In their fervour they edge towards the bounds of the catwalk, too absorbed in one another to notice. Thankfully, voyeuristic bystanders are on-hand to catch them before they fall.

"Kim Taehyung! How many times do I have to call you?! Get over here before I kick your fucking ass," Jungkook roars across the hubbub, halfway through the room. He enacts the violent gesture for emphasis and knees some unsuspecting girl in the ass. Immediately the macho facade drops and he's all doe-eyed and buck-toothed, prostrating himself before the girl who actually seems grateful to have been assaulted by one Jeon Jungkook. Between his hushed apologies, Jungkook shoots Taehyung a look something murderous. And then he sees you and throws a shy wave, the kind a little kid might when cajoled by his parents.

"Ew." The word comes up involuntarily, like bile.

A deep cackle emanates from beside you. "Okay, guess I'm up." Taehyung squares his shoulders. His mouth, too. He's a very angular boy. "Better get my kit on. Cheer for me!" With a pat to your shoulder, he makes for Jungkook. Leaves you with an insidious dread. His soccer kit is your weakness.

No, he is your weakness.

"Next up - and I'm sure most of you here tonight are anticipating this guy - our very own Team Captain and soon-to-be Major League Soccer player, Kim Taehyung!" Banshee-shrieking reverberates at Jimin's announcement. "Stick around, he'll be out in a few minutes!"

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. You turn from the catwalk and fully embrace the drinks table, supporting yourself with two hands and God's grace.

Nah, you aren't gonna do this.

No way.

This wasn’t an actual plan. Just a fantasy.

You're not gonna tell him like this.

You're not gonna tell him ever.

All you have to do is just say you turned out to support him. You rarely get to go out with him anyway, what with his ever-growing entourage. Taehyung would appreciate that, and he'd never have to know that you came here for cornier purposes.

You're not a big gesture kind of girl.

Nah, you aren't gonna do this.

Distantly, you wished Areum were here. She'd have slapped some sense into you, maybe even literally.

No. Wait.

The devious cow would've talked you into doing it. For sure. She has a flair for the dramatic.

"Sorry, can I just—thanks." Someone with offensively bony elbows bulldozes you aside and passes a drink to her companion. An apology is on the tip of your tongue but evaporates into the ether upon seeing the twosome in question. Both were complicit in the casual bullying you endured during your high school years. They don't appear to recognise you now. Not that they even spare your pitiful person a glance.

"Who's up next?" the worst one queries, cup snug to her bosom.

"Taehyung," the lackey answers, glee upending her petulant features. "Kim Taehyung."

An elbow jabs you again as the girl struggles with the clasp on her clutch. Her overlong claws impede her. "Oh shit, already? I thought we had more time. Shit."

"Nope. It's go time. Hurry up, girl, competition's gonna be fierce." The other one watches her digital acrobatics to get into her purse.

Oh God. She has so much money. There's no doubt in your mind she'll trump everyone present.

No. Oh, no.

Not her. Not with him.

Your mind flits through premonitions of the future. They’re all rather grim. The last one is that of a wedding. A marriage between this dreadful bitch and your most cherished of friends, Taehyung. It's garish and tacky - she's denied him input, of course - and the ceremony is filled with faces that once mocked you mercilessly. None of Taehyung's friends are there; indeed, he is no longer even part of his team. Her possessiveness and his undying loyalty have put an end to his blossoming career. He looks sad beneath a mask of happy. Eyes that once blazed with the embers of ambition are doused by despondency. He is a husk.

And their first meeting is this auction, this cute anecdotal encounter of oh, I just had to have him, and when I kissed him I knew.

Just a glimpse at this dystopian future disturbs you silly. Conviction, while tentative, burgeons in your heart.

You can't let her have him. Anyone but this noxious cunt.

And suddenly you've money in hand, too. Bills you withdrew specifically for this purpose, and yet would sooner have left them crisp and cold in your purse than followed through. But public humiliation is endlessly preferable to damning Taehyung to a kiss with this serpent. Because it won't stop there. It won't just be a kiss but an appeal for more. She’ll say it’s no strings attached, but she doesn't attach strings. She weaves webs. You recall her high school boyfriend. He was a well-performing, jovial guy that always waved hi. And she consumed him, heart-first, ‘til he was naught but a sunken-eyed zombie. He took a leave of absence that never ended.

Sexy, dangerous synth sounds from the speakers either side the catwalk. Ah, shit. Not that song. Any song but that one. NCT U’s Baby Don’t Stop. Of course Taehyung picked that. It fills the air with a fatal drum beat and in he comes through the curtains, strutting like he is the rhythm. The room, rather than become uproarious, falls eerily quiet. Everyone breathes as one entranced being, and no one moves but him. Halfway down the catwalk he body-rolls with the fluidity of wind-rippled satin, burgeoning from his chest and snapping at the hips. Prospective bidders gasp, as do you. And then his thumb is in the hem of his shirt, luring it upwards, exposing his olive expanses inch by mouthwatering inch. You see his abs near every day, but in this context, backed by that song, you find yourself as winded as everyone else. His stomach tautens for show, feeding into loose-waisted shorts that sit far too low. Even you haven’t been privy to this much. And especially not the alluring trail of hair that thickens at his waistband.

Someone shatters the stupor and screams, “$80!”

“Geez, you’re a horny bunch.” Jimin’s laughter peals. “We already have $80. Any advance on—“

“$100!” Some breathless sap cries next. “Oh my God, look at his thighs!”

And look you do. Taehyung grooves at the catwalk’s end, shirt back in place but hiking up the hems of his shorts instead. You almost glimpse groin. He’s absolutely shameless, straining the muscles of his thighs until they’re lewdly pronounced. They’re veritable tree trunks. His calves, too, defy belief. Rock-hard and rounded and begging to be bitten. The party-goers crowding round his feet must think similarly.

What distracts you most, however, are Taehyung’s straying fingers. They skirt his crotch in a salacious manner, stretching the material where it shouldn’t. Accentuating things they shouldn’t. You may pass out.

All the while his eyes are down, maybe closed. You want to see his face more than anything. The playful smirk on his plump, wet lips and the focus in his brows.

“$120!!” You almost lose your head to a cash-strangling fist beside you.

It's her. Pointy-elbowed bitch.

But you aren't thrusting your student loan up just yet. You're in the middle of an almost holy, revelatory experience. Taehyung is still undulating and provoking the crowd, who are no longer hushed but whooping like chimps in heat. His shirt is off and helicoptering overhead. He allows one overcome girl at the sidelines to verify the thew of his biceps and bags himself another bid. You, however, do nothing but gawp, bills clutched to your chest and your eyes affixed to the glorious grin that breaks across his face. His eyes open onto you and then it's you you see at his wedding, standing afore him, bouquet instead of a wad of cash. You want to be the one. Now is the moment, while he's watching you envision this.

"$200,” you splutter. Volume is difficult when your voice is a quivering inconstant.

"What was that? Did we just get another bid?" Jimin wavers too, out of disbelief. "Did someone say $200?!"

The room is a clamour of confusion but Taehyung watched you mouth the very syllables. The shock is such that it softens his salacious movements to a dance more modest. His eyes are wider than you've ever seen them; mouth too. It hangs agape and downturned, as yours does. Because you're not quite sure whether you said something else altogether. Maybe you hurled a cuss word out of frustration? Did you momentarily black out and proclaim Hitler did nothing wrong? Nothing else can account for the scrutiny with which he punishes you with now.

Or.

You actually did bid, and that's why he's walking over, to the very drop-off of the catwalk, no longer any swagger to his step. "What are you doing?" he calls down, the music still strong and now strangely inappropriate. You simply watch the mole beneath his bottom lip move, dumb.

Louder, now, you call again. "$200!"

"Oh! It was a bid! ____?!" The flame-haired MC shares his puzzlement with the rest of the reacting room. All heads turn toward you.

But yours turns nowhere but Taehyung, your expression an open book of long-hidden liking. You watch, suspended by dissociation, as he lays a palm flat against his chest. "Me?"

It could all still be explained away. A joke. You drank too much. You just wanted to see the look on his face. Instead, you grant him the minutest of nods. A simple tip of the chin. "You," you whisper, whether it's heard or not.

Taehyung sees it in the shape your lips make. And then his gaze sweeps back upward, his chest heaving far too much for a man standing stationary.

"What's going on?" The disgruntled echo each other.

Jimin is quick to make sense of things and keep it rolling. "Okay, so, a bid of $200! Anyone else?"

A new song comes on; it's gone on too long. Something with a cantering beat that's adequately sentimental.

So if love is nothing more than just a waste of your time—

Clambering atop the platform, you counter someone's desperate bid of $220 with a measured breath. "$250." You hold Taehyung at fingerpoint. "You."

Waste it on me.

For a pants-shitting second, nothing happens. Your outstretched arm gains a tremor that could crumble it. Taehyung sifts your soul with his big, dewy eyes and then he's walking. Stalking toward you. Knocks the money from your hands and seizes your shying face with both of his. The last thing you see is his nose mole before his mouth joins with yours. His grip is like a vice and his lips are no gentler. They pry you open with little effort and then you're flooded with wet heat. Taehyung is insatiable in pursuit of your tongue. His hands drop to draw in your waist, your chest, every inch of your overclothed form. He's underclothed but burning hot, planes of honed skin beneath your fingertips. It's all so right. Feels so good. Taehyung moans that much into you when he chances a breath of air. Applause starts up as the music swells. It's so cliche but you've never had a cliche of your own before and your gloom-ridden ass needs this.

"Going—"

"I didn't know. I wish I had. This would've happened sooner," Taehyung gasps between desperate, too-short smooches. It proves too difficult to resist the pull of your mouth and he captures it again, sloppier. Slower.

"Going—"

"It doesn't matter." You pull the oxygen in, impatient. "Doesn't matter." Your fingers are a tangle at the nape of his neck, tugging on his lustrous locks. "Make up for it."

"Gone! Sold for $250!"

The two of you won't be parted for a moment. Not even when dismounting the platform. There's ruckus around you but it's so distant when his lips are on you. You sink into him like you would a scalding bath. "You don't have to pay that," Taehyung tells your cheek, smearing his saliva-slick mouth back to yours. His greed for you manifests against your stomach, and you ache in return. "This is a freebie."

Your passionate clinch takes you to the sidelines, away from prying eyes. Most of them, anyway. "What about this?" Your hands are suddenly in unseemly places.

"Th-That's also free. Everything's free. Oh, God."

#taehyung #kim taehyung #taehyung fluff #taehyung scenarios #v #v fluff #v scenarios #taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #v x reader #v x you #bts scenarios #bts fluff #bts x you #bts x reader

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moeyy-writes · 4 years ago

Text

For Good Luck

Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: just some goofy fluff.

Word Count: 672

My Master List

You slipped your headphones into your ears and tapped the shuffle button on your favorite playlist. Yes. The song you were hoping for came on, instantly filling your mind with a soothing calm. Sure, you could have just picked that song from the list, but where was the adventure in that?

Your first thought was to sit at your desk and relax, to try to empty your mind of those awful pictures Garcia had shown the crew just moments earlier. Hotch said wheels were up in an hour, giving you just enough time to decompress before your long flight out to Montana.

But, there was no way you were going to sit at your desk for that long, then sit on a plane for another four or five hours. So, you swayed your hips, dancing around your desk as you collected what you would need for the case. Your go-bag was packed, so all you needed was to grab your notebooks, favorite pen, and a few other stationary items.

As the song switch, another great song came on, urging your hips to sway even wider. Your lips curled into a smile as you bobbed your head, softly singing. You grabbed your bag and plopped it on the chair.

As you turned to grab your main notebook, a shadow caught your eye. Your gaze quickly caught a familiar smile.

“Geez, Spence. How long have you been there?” Spencer smirked over at you as he leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Oh, don’t let me distract you.” Spencer tipped his head towards your bag. “Hotch said we have fifteen minutes.” You narrowed your gaze at your boyfriend, pulling the headphones from your ears.

“I thought he said an hour?” You shoved your phone and headphones into your bag, then spun towards him.

“He just wants to get going. He gets very anxious before a case. Once we’re in the air, he’ll calm down. He usually does, right?” Spencer approached you, his smile still clear across his lean face.

“Yeah.” You zipped up your bag and hoisted it onto your shoulder. “Are you all packed?”

“I had everything packed before I got here.” Of course, he did. He was always super freaking prepared. It was like he was psychic or something.

“Okay, Doctor, let’s get to the plane before they leave without us.” You nudged Spencer’s arm, his oversized cardigan scrunching under your curled fingers. His hand quickly, yet gently caught your wrist.

“You’re forgetting something,” Spencer purred over your shoulder. Ah, yes, your good luck charm.

You turned to him with a smile. “A kiss for good luck.” You leaned forward and pressed your lips lightly against his. Just as you were going to pull away, Spencer grabbed you and pulled you flush against him, knocking your bag to the floor. One of his hands firmly held your shoulder while the other hand smoothed up the side of your face, cupping your jaw.

Spencer’s lips devoured yours, his tongue slipping through, urging a moan from you. You wrapped your arms around his narrow shoulders, leaning against him with all of your weight. You stood there, lips dancing in sync, losing track of time.

A deep voice cleared their throat in the doorway, startling both of you apart. You turned to find Hotch, struggling to hold back a grin.

“Um, if you two are done, the plane is leaving in five.” Without another word, Hotch disappeared from the doorway, leaving you flushed and a little stunned.

Spencer turned to you, sporting his devilish smirk. “Well, I think we’re going to have good luck this time,” he teased, sneaking a peck onto your cheek. You laughed.

“I thought you weren’t superstitious.” You grabbed your bag from the floor, then turned to him.

“I’m not in the least.” He took your hand in his. “It’s just a good excuse to kiss you.” You rolled your eyes and nudged him. Then, you followed your good luck charm out the door, and towards the plane.

Thanks for reading. Feedback is appreciated! <3

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid and reader #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid and reader fluff #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid reader insert #dr spencer reid #aaron hotchner #criminal minds fanfiction

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swan-of-sunrise · 4 years ago

Text

The Winter Soldier (Chapter Three)

Summary: Steve drops by the VA and listens in on one of Sam’s meetings and later that evening, (Y/N) reflects on her unusual day with the super-soldier.

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings/Disclaimers: Brief discussion of PTSD

A/N: Hope you all enjoy!

Chapter Three (Previous Chapter)

After placing sugar packets and stirring sticks next to the coffee maker, (Y/N) took a seat beside the refreshment table and watched as Sam took his place at the front of the crowded room and began the meeting. One by one, each person would share their struggles with PTSD and how it had affected their lives as civilians; with each person’s story, (Y/N)’s heart clenched in sympathy. These vets have put their lives on the line to protect us, they don’t deserve to suffer, she thought with an inward sigh. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d woken Sam up from a nightmare or had seen him suddenly grow silent and have to distract him from his memories of war. But it was wonderful that people like Sam, people who face the same exact struggles, run programs to help each other out.

Seeing movement out of the corner of her eye, (Y/N) turned to see Steve Rogers leaning against the doorframe of the room, his arms crossed over his chest as he listened to the meeting. Smiling and tugging her sweater tighter around her, (Y/N) turned her attention back to the woman speaking. “The thing is I think it’s getting worse. A cop pulled me over last week, he thought I was drunk. I swerved to miss a plastic bag. I thought it was an IED.”

Sam nodded. “Some stuff you leave there, other stuff you bring back. It’s our job to figure out how to carry it. Is it gonna be in a big suitcase or in a little man-purse? It’s up to you.” Everyone clapped and began standing, so (Y/N) jumped to her feet to man the table. She greeted each person with a smile as they grabbed cookies and filled their cups with coffee, delighted to see so many new faces among the usual crowd. After about twenty minutes of mingling and making small talk, the crowd started to leave so she decided to begin packing up the refreshments as Sam bid them goodbye out in the hallway.

“Don’t take those away those cookies just yet, darlin’, I wanna bring one home to my gran’daughter.”

(Y/N) looked up to see Gary, an older man with an incredibly bushy grey beard and a Vietnam War veteran’s baseball cap, and she smiled brightly before offering him the half-full container. “Take the whole thing if you’d like, Gary, and be sure to say hello to Katie for me!”

That made Gary grin toothily as he took the container. “You know, darlin’, you’re sweeter than this whole damn box of cookies. I’ll be seein’ you next week!” (Y/N) gave him a small wave and resumed cleaning as he limped away.

“You’re pretty popular around here.”

She turned away from the coffee pot and smiled when she saw Steve standing before her, his blue eyes glimmering and his hands shoved in his pockets. “If I am, it’s only ‘cause I give away free cookies; the vets that visit all have a massive sweet-tooth, you know.”

“Are you a vet, too?”

“Nah, I just work here.” She tossed several used paper coffee cups into the trash and chuckled. “A year ago, when I finally graduated with my master’s degree, I started writing my novel and since I was writing about soldiers and government agents I needed to interview some about their personal experiences. So, I decided to come down to the VA. I met with Sam, who had just started working here, and asked if I could interview some people for my writing. He agreed, and I spent the whole day just talking to the vets. All sorts of vets, too; men, women, old, young, you name it. And at the end of the day, after hearing about their struggles with PTSD and how hard their lives became once they returned to civilian life, I went back to Sam and asked if he needed any part-time employees. He said yes, and we’ve been best friends ever since.” Steve smiled, and the impressed look he was giving her caused her to blush so she hurriedly changed the subject. “So, did everything work out earlier? It’s just that it seemed a little serious, so I hope that everything’s okay.”

Steve’s smile fell a little but he nodded. “Yeah, everything’s fine…I was just visiting a friend who hasn’t been doing too well lately.”

(Y/N) impulsively placed a comforting hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, that sounds difficult. I hope they get better soon.” The ghost of a sympathetic smile pulled at the corner of her mouth and Steve’s eyes softened after a moment; realizing that her hand was still resting on his arm, she hastily withdrew it and began folding the tablecloth to keep her hands busy. “Um, Sam and I were planning on going out to dinner after we finish packing up, you’re welcome to join us if you want.”

She glanced up at him and saw a glint of something in his eyes, but it disappeared before she could get a closer look. “Thanks for the offer but I’ll have to pass; I’ve already got some plans later…”

“That’s okay, maybe next time!” (Y/N) smiled, but inside she couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment.

Just then, Sam walked into the room with a stack of pamphlets in his hands. “Pretty good turnout today, huh? Five new faces and Captain America!”

Steve chuckled. “Well, I’m glad that I stopped by.” He glanced at the clock on the wall before continuing, “I should probably get going, but it was good to see you two again.”

(Y/N) shook his hand. “I’m not gonna lie, it was a little weird seeing you in your own exhibit earlier but it was great hanging out with you!”

“You too, and good luck with For Queen and Country, I’ll keep my eye out for it in the bookshops.” His bright smile caused her heartbeat to once-again quicken as their hands dropped.

“It was good seeing you too, Cap, you made me look really awesome in front of Maria, so thanks for that.” Sam grinned and shook his outstretched hand.

“Glad I could help, Sam; see you two around!” Steve gave them a small wave before turning and walking out of the room.

Tearing her eyes away from the doorway, (Y/N) resumed her cleaning and glanced at Sam. “What do you feel like tonight, Thai or burgers?”

Sam grinned and began unplugging the coffee maker. “Burgers. So, did you have a nice day chilling with your new boyfriend, Booksmart?”

“Sam…”

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

Later that evening, (Y/N) sat down at her desk and put her music on shuffle before flicking through her notebook to the pages of notes she’d taken that day at the Smithsonian. She bit back a smile when she recognized the difference between the carefully printed notes she’d taken by herself versus the illegible scribbles taken from the elderly security guard’s long-winded explanations. He was kind of a fast talker, wasn’t he, she thought to herself; as a way of honoring the enthusiastic old man, she ultimately decided to name one of her minor characters after him.

“Stan.” She sounded out the name and gave a satisfied nod. “Yeah, that’s got a nice ring to it…”

(Y/N), now finally having all the information she needed to best describe Soviet Cold War missiles, wrote for nearly three hours straight, only taking breaks to skip songs or to glance down at her notes. She would’ve probably continued writing well into the next morning except that her eyesight was beginning to blur around the edges, an unfortunate symptom of exhaustion.

Well, you have had a pretty busy day today, (Y/N) silently reasoned as she saved her evening’s progress and booted down her laptop. Since Sam was already fast asleep in the room across the hall, she went about her bedtime routine as quietly as she could, washing her face and brushing her teeth before tiptoeing back into her room. She slipped on her mismatched pajama set and was about to crawl into bed when the record player on her bedside table caught her eye. Making her way over to what Sam affectionately called ‘The DJ Bookcase,’ she scanned the shelf devoted solely to her record collection until the right one stood out to her, and then she carefully placed the record on the turntable and lowered the needle. After a moment, the soft tones of Glenn Miller’s ‘Stardust’ filled her room and with a smile, she finally got into bed and turned to watch the record spinning on the turntable.

Thoughts of the super-soldier who’d inspired her choice in bedtime music began to fill her mind, making her smile softly to herself. (Y/N) had enjoyed seeing Steve again, even if it had been in a highly unconventional place like the Smithsonian, and she quietly marveled at how effortless it had been to talk to the larger-than-life man. He really was different from how the history books portrayed him: not only was he kind and polite, but he was also intelligent, sarcastic and extremely understanding. Also a little lost, I expect, (Y/N) thought, remembering his guarded expressions and withdrawn replies whenever she’d ask him a personal question; it couldn’t be easy adjusting to a brand-new reality, especially without a fixed support system to rely on.

“Hopefully he ends up getting the help he needs.” (Y/N) murmured to herself, her sleepy eyes continuing to watch the rotating record as more thoughts of Steve Rogers filled her mind.

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

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you all liked my little Stan Lee cameo in this chapter and the last :) I’ve created a Spotify playlist inspired by this series, and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter. Enjoy!

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4BenknAqQQnOWY8NmSa23V

Tagging: @mrs-obrien @lahoete @awkward117 @cminr @momc95 @awkwardnesshabitat @marinettepotterandplagg @khuang3 @supersouthy @benakenalove @brooke0297 @hufflepeople @becausewelie @outoftheregular @supreme-tantrum

Chapter Four

“The Winter Soldier” Masterlist

#steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers #sam wilson #captain america fic #captain america the winter soldier

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milo-my-beloved · 3 years ago

Text

chapter nine of stupid things!

Read on AO3 // Playlist // Buy me a coffee?

Group Chat: Double Daters

Jesper: guess where we’re going on friday

Inej: where?

Jesper: no u have to guess

Wylan: I know!! :D

Jesper: if u spoil it, i’m breaking up with u

Wylan: aw :(

Kaz: does this have anything to do with the email I just received?

Jesper: depends what ur email is about

Kaz: a ticket for a festival this friday

Jesper: ...yeah that’ll be it

Inej: why are we going to a festival?

Wylan: it’s our last friday together! I move on sunday :(

Kaz: do we have a choice in the matter?

Jesper: no

Kaz: then see you on friday, I guess

Jesper: hey Kaz you’re driving, right?

Inej laughs, sliding her phone back into her apron. It looks like there’ll be one last outing after all. She doesn’t know what she’ll do when she doesn’t have all these idiots to laugh at on her weekends, but she has an extra week to figure that out.

Nikolai wiggles his eyebrows. “Going on a hot date?”

“Shut up,” Inej whines, shoving him playfully. “We’re all going to a festival, actually.”

“Well, good luck,” he replies with a smirk. “I’m sure you’ll need it.”

{o0o}

The festival, as it turns out, is little more than a gathering of drunk people in a field decked out with a collection of speakers. Inej can’t say she’s particularly impressed, but she’s here now, so there’s no point in complaining.

“This is shit,” Kaz declares, his nose wrinkled in distaste as he surveys the crowd.

Inej smiles. “This barely classifies as a festival.”

“It’s closer to a houseparty that spilled out into the garden,” Kaz jokes, and Inej laughs.

He’s not wrong, though. Actually, it reminds her of the party where they first met.

“We need to stop being the only sober people at parties,” Inej announces, turning towards the bar. “Will you let me buy you a drink this time? I actually brought my wallet this time.”

Kaz grins, but shakes his head. “I’m the designated driver, remember? Besides,” he continues, pointing out Jesper and Wylan in the crowd. “I think one of us needs to stay sober to look after those two.”

Inej groans. “We need to stop going to parties just because Jesper asked us to.”

Kaz shrugs. “I don’t know… If we hadn’t gone to the last one, we never would have met.”

“I also wouldn’t have had to run away from a load of bouncers in my pajamas,” Inej replies, but she knows Kaz is right. “Jesper might not have been lying about the live music, though. Shall we see if we can find it?”

Kaz gives Inej one of his mischievous grins, offering her his arm, which she latches onto. “Sounds like fun,” he answers, and they head towards the crowd.

{o0o}

Jesper doesn’t remember the first time he met Wylan. He asked Kaz about it, later, but the man had just glared at him and told him that he would never pick him up from a houseparty again.

At the rate they are going, he isn’t going to remember tonight, either.

“WYLAN!” he yells over the music, slinging an arm around his boyfriend’s neck. They’ve been there for an hour or so, and thanks to the open bar, they’re both already quite tipsy. “HAVE I TOLD YOU HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU?”

Wylan rolls his eyes, but Jesper’s rewarded by a huge, dopey grin. “You should do it more often,” he suggests, laughing at Jesper’s fake offense.

“WELL, I LOVE YOU VERY MUCH.”

Wylan laughs. “I love you too, idiot!”

Jesper suddenly goes very still, like he has just remembered something. He frowns, pulling his arm back and patting his back pocket but coming up empty.

“Have you lost your phone again?” Wylan asks, concerned.

Jesper shakes his head. “NO, IT’S FINE. LET’S GO FIND KAZ AND INEJ.”

Wylan doesn’t look particularly convinced, but he nods anyway. “I saw them head towards the stage,” he says, taking Jesper’s hand in his and squeezing it.

The stage is near the bar, anyway. So far, he’s not quite drunk enough to forget that school’s over, and with it, everyone will be going their separate ways. In just a week’s time, he’ll be back in the Van Eck mansion with his father, and he might never see his friends again.

Jesper squeezes his hand back, giving Wylan his most charming smile.

If this is our last hurrah, Wylan thinks, then I had better make the most of it.

{o0o}

There is, in fact, a stage. It’s tucked away in a corner of the field behind a few tall poplars and an alarmingly large bonfire, so Inej thinks it’s totally reasonable that it took them half an hour to find it.

If anyone brings up that it’s right next to the bar… well. She doesn’t really have a good excuse for that one.

Even though it feels impossible, Inej is sure it is getting more and more crowded with every minute that passes. She lost sight of Jesper and Wylan a while ago, and the ice has melted in her glass of lemonade, leaving it lukewarm and slightly sticky.

Kaz looks like he might throw up and she doesn’t blame him, so she grabs his hand and tugs him around the bonfire, climbing up onto a boulder and pulling him up after her. Away from the crowds, everything seems much more manageable.

“Thank you,” Kaz mutters. Inej squeezes his arm in response, taking a sip of her drink.

“Let’s hope no drunk people try to climb up after us,” she jokes, and Kaz smirks.

“I don’t know,” he replies, wrapping an arm around her back to stop her from tipping backwards. “I think it would be funny to watch.”

“Kaz!” Inej chastises, slapping his arm playfully. “It would definitely not be funny. They could get hurt.”

“HEY GUYS!” Jesper yells from right behind them, startling Inej enough for her drink to slosh all over her legs.

She locks eyes with Kaz, both of them desperately trying to stifle their grin, but they burst out laughing anyway.

Jesper doesn’t seem to notice. “CAN I HAVE MY VERY SPECIAL PRESENT, PLEASE?” he yells at Kaz, wobbling precariously as he reaches out a hand so Kaz can pass it over.

Kaz looks him up and down, sizing up whether or not it’s a good idea. Eventually, he sighs, reaching into the inside of his jacket so he can pass it over to Jesper.

“THANKS!” Jesper shouts, smiling widely, before jumping back down and dashing into the crowd, presumably to find Wylan.

They both watch him go, Inej dabbing absentmindedly at the spilt lemonade on her lap. These pants are old, so she doesn’t particularly mind them getting wet.

“What’s his ‘very special present’?” she asks, fishing in her bag for a tissue. She comes up with an old Subway napkin and stares at it for a second, before mentally shrugging and trying to make it look like she hasn’t wet herself.

“Unless he manages to completely fuck it up, I think you’ll know soon,” Kaz answers cryptically, but he has a fond smile on his face, so Inej doesn’t worry about it. She trusts Kaz to tell her everything she needs to know in his own time, and she isn’t going to push when she has bigger problems.

“I’m going to see if the bar has any more napkins,” she declares, twisting around so she can slide off the boulder. “Want anything to drink?”

“A glass of water would be nice,” Kaz replies, smiling down at her.

“A glass of napkins and a wad of tissues,” she confirms, nodding as she drops down onto the crowd. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Don’t get lost,” Kaz jokes, leaning back into the extra space.

Inej just laughs, the noise disappearing into the night as she is swept into the crowd.

{o0o}

Jesper has the best plan in the entire world, and he’s absolutely sure the sober version of him would approve of it. That’s what his dad used to tell him - if you think you’re about to make a bad decision while drunk, figure out what sober you would think.

If he’s being honest, Jesper doesn’t think the sober version of him would be this calm about the plan. Sober Jesper would probably have put more than ten minutes of thought and more than three steps into the plan.

Luckily for him, Sober Jesper isn’t here.

Besides, it’s not like he has a history of making terrible decisions while drunk. Okay, sure, there have certainly been some… unfortunate accidents, shall we say, but nothing irredeemable. And, if you’re considering the bad things, you have to look at the good ones too; Kaz and Inej may never have met without him drunk dialing both of them, and look how happy they are!

(Well, happy is a relative term with Kaz. Jesper has seen him smile more than once a month, which - for Kaz - is an absolute win.)

Jesper’s favourite drunk decision is somewhere in the crowd, probably getting them both another drink. He feels bad about leaving Wylan on his own, but the first two steps of the plan require total secrecy, and it’s only for a few minutes. He’s sure Wylan can manage for that long.

With step one (Retrieve The Goods) complete, it’s time for step two of Jesper’s master plan.

He heads towards the stage.

{o0o}

There are no napkins at the bar. Inej doesn’t really know what she was expecting, considering the biggest infrastructure at this entire ‘festival’ is a few people stood on a unstable platform with some speakers next to it, but she’s still a little disappointed.

A little bit of looking around confirms that there aren’t even any toilets for her to grab some loo roll from, so she’s stuck with her one soggy napkin, Kaz’s glass of water, and not a lot else.

“‘Nej?” someone asks from behind her, and she swirls around to find Wylan looking a little dazed.

“Wylan?” she asks, concerned. “Are you okay? Where’s Jesper?”

Wylan shrugs, his entire body wobbling with the effort of staying up straight. “He said he had to go do something and that he’d be back in a minute, but now I can’t find him.”

Inej mentally curses him. “Did he tell you where he was going?”

Wylan pouts, considering her question. “The stage, maybe?”

“Okay,” Inej says, looping her arm through his so they don’t get separated. “Let me deliver this to Kaz, then we’ll all go find him together, okay?”

Wylan nods, looking pretty put out. Inej isn’t sure what he’s been drinking, but if the blue stains on his shirt are anything to go by, it’s a weird mix of something probably designed to get you drunk fast.

The bar is fairly close to the boulder where they were sitting, so it only takes a few moments to get there. Inej lets go of Wylan’s hand, making him promise to wait where he is for a minute, before clambering up the rock one handed so she can pass the glass of water to Kaz.

Only, when she reaches the top of the boulder, Kaz isn’t there.

“For fuck’s sake,” Inej mutters, looking around to see if she can spot him, but finding nothing. She carefully balances his glass of water on top for if he returns before dropping back to the ground beside Wylan.

“Kaz isn’t coming?” Wylan asks, sounding unreasonably upset by the news.

“He’s not there,” Inej explains, grabbing Wylan’s sticky hand so he doesn’t wander off.

“Oh. Can we find Jes now?”

“Sure,” Inej says gently, pushing her way through the crowd so they can head towards the stage. “‘Don’t get lost’, you said,” she mutters as they go. “What a load of horseshit.”

{o0o}

When Kaz spots Jesper clambering onto the stage, he slides off the boulder and heads towards the stage in record time. Sure, he had agreed to help when Jesper had told him about his plans, but he never thought he’d go through with them drunk.

Only a special kind of idiot does that, and Kaz had been stupid to think Jesper didn’t qualify.

A few elbow jabs and well-placed ankle whacks later, Kaz makes it to the stage. Jesper is up there, whispering something to the guy on the drums, who starts to smile and nods enthusiastically.

Kaz climbs onto the platform, grabbing Jesper’s arm and yanking him back down. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Jesper blinks at him slowly, like he’s trying to comprehend Kaz’s question. “STEP TWO!” he exclaims, grinning.

Kaz briefly considers kicking Jesper in the privates, but refrains, satisfied with just the mental picture. “What?”

“Kaz!” a woman’s voice yells from the crowd, and he turns around to see Inej leading a very drunk Wylan behind her. “Where’d you go?”

Before he can get out a response, the song finishes and the lead singer steps up to the microphone, tapping it a few times to get everyone’s attention.

“Hey everyone! Thank y’all so much for coming out here to show your support, it means a lot to us! Now, before we go onto the next song, we have a very special announcement to make…”

The crowd lets out a collective ‘ooh’, everyone’s eyes on the stage.

“Is there a Wylan in the audience with us today? Come on up here, we want to meet you!”

Kaz watches as Wylan hesitates at Inej’s elbow, hovering for a moment before making his way up to the stage. He’s too drunk to climb up by himself, but the singer just seems to find his clumsiness endearing, and gives him a hand to help him up.

Inej comes around the side of the stage to stand with Kaz. “What’s going on?”

Kaz shrugs. “I would like to officially state that I didn’t know Jesper was going to do it this dramatically.”

“Okay everyone, here’s Wylan! Now, Wylan, your lovely boyfriend over here - Jesper, he’s called - he wants to ask you a question up on stage, if that’s alright.”

A heavy silence hangs over everyone in the crowd as Jesper steps up to the microphone, seeming more sober than he has all night. He swallows nervously, fidgeting with something behind his back.

“Wylan… I know we haven’t known each other very long,” he begins, his voice unsteady. “But I love you much very and I think you are really cute.”

Wylan blushes, apparently not noticing the fact that Jesper is barely speaking English.

“I just wanted to tell you that you’re the best, and…” Jesper pauses for dramatic effect, waiting a few seconds before dropping to one knee and holding a ring out in front of him. “D’ya want to be the best with me forever?”

Wylan is far beyond words - Kaz is pretty sure he’s crying - but he launches himself at Jesper and they both topple to the ground in a laughing, crying heap.

“Is that a yes?” the singer says, stepping up to the mic. “I think it is! Congratulations, guys!”

The crowd explodes into cheers, everyone now personally invested in Jesper and Wylan’s relationship. The two of them still haven’t managed to successfully pick themselves up off the floor, their arms wrapped around each other as they kiss.

“We’re taking them home,” Inej decides, grinning widely, and Kaz isn’t about to complain. They’re both absolutely pissed, and he isn’t about to spend hours scouring a field tomorrow when they inevitably lose the ring. “And then we’re gonna cuddle on their couch and watch a movie.”

“The deal is the deal,” Kaz says, both of them grinning as they remember the night they met. “Let’s get these two idiots home.”

{o0o}

Jesper wakes up many hours later to a bursting bladder and his head feeling like it is about to explode. He sits up, gently disentangling a drooling Wylan from his side, when he spots the ring on his boyfriend’s hand and he stills.

“What. The. Fuck,” he whispers to himself.

Instinct has him reaching to his forehead, and sure enough, Kaz has been kind enough to leave a note taped to him. On it is printed a single word: Congratulations.

Jesper smiles. Maybe proposing while drunk was a stupid thing to do, but his life is made up of a million stupid things, and he wouldn’t trade a single one of them for the world.

#six of crows #shadow and bone #kanej #wesper #kanej fics #my writing #stupid things #mmb writes

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oldmanatom · 4 years ago

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A Locked Tomb Fanmix But It’s All Classic Country

this exists entirely because one night the thought “but what if i made a Locked Tomb fanmix with only classic country songs” popped into my head, unprompted, and i thought it was too hilarious to not do.

the art on the cover is done by @starfleetofficial, who this mix is also dedicated to. thank you for recommending me these books, continuously “yes, and”ing my semi-coherent TLT messages sent at 5 in the morning, and being so supportive about this idea. (also check out her version, A HtN fanmix but it’s all Fiona Apple!) the cover design is referencing the famous Marty Robbins album, Gunfighter Ballads and Trail Songs.

my one listening note: this will probably be more enjoyable if it’s approached with an open mind and an expectation that it’s taking itself about as seriously as the official fanmixes do.

see below the cut for a song list and some lyric excerpts.

this mix has implicit spoilers for both Gideon the Ninth and Harrow the Ninth.

Gideon the Ninth mix: youtube / spotify / full res cover Harrow the Ninth mix: youtube / spotify / full res cover full mix: youtube / spotify / full res cover

Gideon the Ninth:

1. Johnny Paycheck, “Take This Job And Shove It”

You better not try to stand in my way 'Cause I'm walkin' out the door Take this job and shove it I ain't working here no more

2. Dolly Parton, “When Someone Wants To Leave”

It's a sad situation I must say When someone wants to leave as bad as you want them to stay

3. Loretta Lynn, “I’m A Gettin’ Ready To Go”

I'm gonna praise my savior's name everyday that I'm livin' Glory hallelujah I'm not ashamed to let my salvation show This old world's just my dressin' room and I'm a gettin' ready to go

4. Waylon Jennings, “I Ain’t Living Long Like This”

I tried to run but I don't think I can You make one move and you're a dead man friend Ain't living long like this Can't live at all like this, can I baby?

5. Loretta Lynn, “This Haunted House”

This haunted house I'm livin' in is killing me And the ghost of your love won't set me free Each morning finds me crying and alone In this haunted house we used to call our home

6. Loretta Lynn and Conway Twitty, “After The Fire Is Gone”

We know it's wrong for us to meet But the fire's gone out at home And there's nothin' cold as ashes After the fire is gone

7. Loretta Lynn, “How Long Will It Take”

(How long will it take?) How long will it take to make you want me How much longer has this old heart gotta break (How long will it take?) How long will it take to make you need me I keep a waitin' and a wonderin' how long will it take

8. Stonewall Jackson, “Don’t Be Angry”

Maybe someday you're gonna hurt me I've been hurt in love before Only God can know And time alone will tell

9. Dick Curless, “A Tombstone Every Mile”

It's a stretch of road up north in Maine That's never ever ever seen a smile If they'd buried all them truckers lost in them woods There'd be a tombstone every mile

10. Johnny Paycheck, “(It Won’t Be Long) And I’ll Be Hating You”

Lately life with you has been unbearable All my faith in you has gone and I know it won't return I did everything to make you happy I could do Now you've gotten me hatin' things I used to love to do And it won't be long and I'll be hatin' you

11. Norma Jean, “Let’s Go All The Way”

All the way means happiness living side by side Halfway means a heartbreak if one of us should lie Just give me a clue that you love me too Hold me in your arms and say “Oh, let’s go all the way”

12. Loretta Lynn, “Everybody Wants To Go To Heaven”

Everybody wants to go to heaven but nobody wants to die Lord, I wanna go to heaven but I don't wanna die Though I long for the day when I'll have new birth Still I love the livin' here on earth Everybody wants to go to heaven but nobody wants to die

13. Homer & Jethro, “She Made Toothpicks Of The Timber Of My Heart”

She was seasoned, I was green Yes my darling lumber queen Wound me ‘round her finger like a clinging vine

14. Patsy Cline, “The Heart You Break May Be Your Own”

You'll look around and when you've found That you are all alone Then you'll get wise and realize The heart you break may be your own

15. Buck Owens, “I’ve Got A Tiger By The Tail”

Well every night you drag me where the bright lights are found There ain't no way to slow you down I’m as 'bout as helpless as a leaf in a gale And it looks like I've got a tiger by the tail

16. Charley Pride, “All I Have To Offer You (Is Me)”

Before you take another step, there's something you should know About the years ahead and how they'll be You'll be living in a world where roses hardly ever grow 'Cause all I have to offer you is me

17. Faron Young, “Live Fast, Love Hard, Die Young”

I wanna leave a lot of happy women A-thinkin’ pretty thoughts of me I wanna live fast, love hard, die young And leave a beautiful memory

18. Dolly Parton and Porter Wagoner, “The Last Thing On My Mind”

I've got reason a plenty for goin' This I know, this I know The weeds have been steadily growin' Please don't go, please don't go

Are you going away with no word of farewell Will there be not a trace left behind I could've loved you better, didn't mean to be unkind You know that was the last thing on my mind

19. Marty Robbins, “The Master’s Call”

I felt the end was near, that death would be the price When a mighty bolt of lightning showed the face of Jesus Christ And I cried “oh Lord forgive me, don't let it happen now I want to live for you alone, oh God these words I vow”

Bridge: Lefty Frizzell, “Long Black Veil”

She walks these hills in a long black veil She visits my grave when the night winds wail Nobody knows, nobody sees Nobody knows but me

Harrow the Ninth:

1. Hank Williams, “I’ll Never Get Out Of This World Alive”

Every thing's against me and it's got me down If I jumped in the river I would probably drown No matter how I struggle and strive I'll never get out of this world alive

2. Dolly Parton, Linda Ronstadt, and Emmylou Harris, “Those Memories Of You”

In dreams of you, my body trembles I wake up and call your name But you're not there, and I'm so lonesome Without your love, I'd go insane

3. Hank Snow, “I Don’t Hurt Anymore”

I don't hurt anymore, all my teardrops are dried No more walking the floor with that burning inside Just to think it could be time has opened the door And at last I am free I don't hurt anymore

4. Patsy Cline, “Stop The World And Let Me Off”

Oh, stop the world and let me off I'm tired of goin' round ‘n' round I played the game of love and lost So stop the world and let me off

5. Charley Pride, “Lie To Me”

Oh, lie to me, say you love me Tell me I mean the world to you It would mean so much, I'd be so happy And it's the least you can do

6. Hank Snow, “Ninety Miles An Hour (Down A Dead End Street)”

Warnin' signs are flashin' by us but we pay no heed Instead of slowin' down the pace we keep picking up the speed Disaster's gettin' closer every time we meet Doin' ninety miles an hour down a dead end street

7. Patsy Cline and the Anita Kerr Singers, “I Can’t Forget”

Where are you, darlin'? Are you with someone new I can't forget you I'll always be loving you

8. Lynn Anderson, “If I Kiss You (Will You Go Away)”

You're so much hurt I wish you wouldn't stay If I kiss you will you go away?

9. Connie Smith, “Once A Day”

Once a day all day long And once a night from dusk till dawn The only time I wish you weren't gone Is once a day, every day, all day long

10. Charley Pride, “Just Between You And Me”

But just between you and me I've got my doubts about it 'Cause just between you and me You're too much to forget

11. Buck Owens, “Hello Trouble”

A comin' up my sidewalk Just as plain as day A well a here come trouble that I never thought I'd see When you went away

12. Loretta Lynn, “Fist City”

You'll bite off more than you can chew If you get too cute or witty You better move your feet if you don't wanna eat A meal that's called Fist City

13. The Davis Sisters, “I Forgot More Than You’ll Ever Know”

You think you know the smile on his lips The thrill at the touch of his fingertips But I've forgotten more Than you'll ever know about him

14. Kitty Wells, “Pick Me Up On Your Way Down” (Charlie Walker’s version is on the Spotify playlist)

When you learn these things are true I'll be waiting here for you As you tumble to the ground Pick me up on your way down

15. Loretta Lynn and Conway Twitty, “You’re The Reason Our Kids Are Ugly”

And that's the reason that my good looks and my figure is gone And that's the reason I ain't got no hair to comb And you're the reason our kids are ugly, little darling

16. Loretta Lynn, “Who Says God Is Dead”

If I were you I'd kneel and pray 'Cause we're not promised one more day Remember blood was shed Who says God is dead?

17. Patsy Cline and The Jordanaires, “Imagine That”

Can you believe I'd swallow my pride (Well yes, yes, I guess you can) 'Cause you know you've always had my foolish heart Right in the palm of your hand, oh

18. Jody Miller and Johnny Paycheck, “Let’s All Go Down To The River”

Jesus is the man at the river And he's washing people's sins away He can save your soul if you give him control Oh be ready for that judgement day

19. Bobby Bare, “Dropkick Me, Jesus”

Make me, oh, make me, Lord, more than I am Make me a piece in Your master game plan Free from the earthly temptation below I've got the will, Lord, if You got the toe

20. Lynn Anderson, “Heaven’s Just A Sin Away”

Devil's got me now Oh, gone and got me now I can't fight him anyhow I think he's gonna win

Heaven’s just a sin away Oh, just a sin away Heaven help me when I say I think I’m givin’ in

21. Loretta Lynn, “Out Of My Head And Back In My Bed”

I'm gonna search everywhere that you might be When I find you I'm a bringin’ you home with me I want you out of my head And back in my bed Before the morning comes

22. Johnny Cash, “Big River”

Now, won't you batter down by Baton Rouge, River Queen, roll it on Take that woman on down to New Orleans, New Orleans Go on, I've had enough, dump my blues down in the gulf She loves you, Big River, more than me

Now I taught the weeping willow how to cry, cry, cry And I showed the clouds how to cover up a clear blue sky And the tears that I cried for that woman are gonna flood you, Big River And I'm gonna sit right here until I die

#the locked tomb #gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #gideon nav #tlt #i am 100% expecting for this to entertain maybe five people (two of which have seen it already) and to otherwise go unnoticed #but that's okay because it's a labor of love and every time i either listen to the playlist or look at the damn cover i just start laughing #anyways if anyone has questions about anything on here my ask is open. it's large and somewhat...imaginative in what songs are on here + why #one flesh one end #listen to this

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avengershumanresources · 4 years ago

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blood 5 - Strange/Stark!Reader

Relationship: Dr. Strange/Princess!Stark!Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Adult Themes, eventual smut, adult language, implied sexual violence, general violence

Synopsis: Reader is the daughter of the legendary King Anthony Stark, Uniter of Lands, The Iron Defender, and leader of the realm. When the king disappears during battle, hope is lost and he is presumed dead.

When the late king’s uncle, Obadiah, takes the throne until your brother Peter is of age, he quickly arranges a marriage for you with a wicked king in a neighboring kingdom.

With the realms politics in question, and rumors of an upcoming siege to overthrow Peter’s rule before it starts, you quickly learn who is loyal to the crown and who is not.

part 4 - part 6

Masterlist

Chapter Playlist

5 - a gift for the princess

Stephen wove through the rowdy crowds of the pub, just jumping out of the in time to avoid being covered in vomit. Men sang, women laughed, and the ale was flowing.

He had to give Natalia some credit for choosing such a clever cover for their meeting in the back of the pub.

Spying the owner, John nodded his head toward a discreet door behind the bar.

Stephen slipped past the crowds, ducking under the tray of a hurrying barmaid, and slipping into the room.

Natalia was sitting in a chair, rising when he walked into the room. She started talking but Stephen’s attention was fixed on the dark haired prince across the space.

“What is he doing here?” he demanded sharply, throwing a finger toward the prince. “You’re supposed to be in Asgard.”

“That’s what I’m trying to explain you sack of stupid man,” she shoved him toward an empty chair. “There was a complication.”

Stephen immediately noted that James wasn’t in the room. Neither was the man he’d sent them after.

“I’m- so sorry,” he started but Loki burst out laughing.

“Honestly, you’re the Sorcerer Supreme?” he scoffed, rolling his eyes. “James isn’t dead.”

“Will you both shut up,” Nat snapped at the pair. “James is with the quarry in a rented room across town. Loki?”

He sighed and grabbed hers and Stephen’s hand, a cloud of green smoke enveloping them.

When the air cleared, they were in the room of an inn Stephen had visited frequently over the years, the space relatively unchanged for the two figures who glanced up at their entrance.

James was leaned back in a chair, picking out pieces of an apple, while Master Mordo sat on the edge of the bed with a book.

“Mordo?” Stephen asked, astonished at seeing the man before him. “I thought you were dead.”

“As far as Brock is concerned, I am,” he replied, standing to take the other sorcerers hand in greeting.

“I don’t understand,” he looked between the group before Loki broke the silence.

“He’s the one who poisoned the princess,” Loki gestured to Mordo, a smirking tugging on his lips.

Stephen’s hands lit up with shields in a heartbeat, a glowing dagger at Mordo’s throat.

“Explain,” he hissed.

“Stephen, calm yourself, it’s a misunderstanding,” he replied. “I’m trying to help.”

Stephen lowered his weapon slightly, signaling for the man to continue.

“The spell was supposed to put her to sleep,” he explained. “Brock is planning something wicked with Obadiah and the princess is key. I needed a means of moving her without stirring attention.”

Stephen’s hands fell to his sides, spells disappearing as they fell. That explained the black smoke when he’d cleared the spell from your system- an unusual occurrence for a simple poisoning.

“Obadiah plans to wed the princess to Brock in order to secure his army,” Mordo relaxed a little with the active threat to his life now gone, continuing his explanation. “Obadiah is the one who ordered King Anthony dead. He means to secure the throne and kill the prince, but Brock intends to double cross him and secure everything for himself after the prince is dead.”

“Our men wouldn’t let that happen,” Stephen shook his head.

“That’s not the concern,” Mordo murmured, exchanging an uneasy look with Loki over Stephen’s shoulder. “Securing a lineage in the princess’ bloodline makes his claims all the more legitimate.

The trickster snapped his fingers and Natalia and James froze into place. Time had been temporarily stopped for all but the three magic users.

“Stephen, there’s something you need to know,” Loki explained, looking to Mordo who nodded solemnly. “What do you know of the princess’ lineage?”

“Her father was the late king, Peter is her brother-,” he started but Loki stopped him with a wave of his hand.

“Her maternal lineage?” he asked. “Her mother, Queen Alexandra, was born of a powerful family of seidr magic users, she was one of the last of the fallen kingdom of Vanaheim.”

“Seidr is extinct,” Stephen shook his head in disbelief but the older sorcerers sighed. “It’s been extinct for centuries.”

“It was said to have died with the queen,” Mordo picked up. “And we let that rumor circulate to take any interested parties interest off of the royal family, in particular a newborn baby girl.”

“I was a child at the time, but my family was consulted by King Anthony for a remedy for his child. He’d lost his wife to greed and desire for her power. He wanted to prevent losing the baby in the same way,” Loki explained. “My mother’s most promising student, Amora, volunteered to the task. She sealed away the princess’ intrinsic power, effectively removing her from the attention of other magic users.”

“Loki had been the princess’ intended for this reason,” Mordo added quietly. “It was a means to protect both the princess and the kingdom from the untapped power going astray as she got older.”

“I was raised to ensure this secret went to the grave with those few who knew,” he explained, sending Stephen a knowing smirk. “Since there hadn’t been much concern as she grew, and the princess had obvious affections elsewhere, it was decided the marriage could wait.”

Elsewhere, being himself, Stephen realized sheepishly. To what extent did their unspoken affection further endanger the kingdom’s stability? Had he declared his intentions sooner, could he have prevented Brock’s move in the first place?

“When Amora was exiled of Asgard, she built a ruthless reputation that caught the attention of my former King,” Mordo frowned between the men. “Brock was, needless to say, very interested in a particular piece of information Amora provided about the princess. He banished me and ordered Amora to have me killed, but I managed to escape.”

“Brock intends to marry the princess and have Amora force the princess into his control,” Loki’s voice lowered sharply. “Her seidr would serve as an unlimited pool of power for both Brock and Amora, and the princess would be helpless to do anything about it.”

“Can’t he just have her marry him under the spell as well?” Stephen frowned, knowing a number of appropriate spells off the top of his head. It wouldn’t have been the first time he heard of someone using unethical means to sefure a union.

“That’s where this gets interesting,” Loki snickered, looking to Mordo in amusement. “I haven’t had an opportunity to strengthen my cloaking spell around her. I’d managed to renew it when I said goodbye the day of the funeral, but it’s weakened significantly in the meantime.”

“Amora’s magic is too weak to penetrate pure seidr, so the princess would have to be bound in marriage before she could twist her will,” Mordo explained. “The marriage ceremony she intends to perform to Brock’s customs will involve blood magic, and no matter the princess’ true feelings, she’ll be stuck trapped unless he is killed or the marriage is annulled in some other manner.”

“But that’s where this gets fun,” Loki purred in excitement. “The princess is in love with you. If her seidr continues in that direction, she should be able to continue to fight Amora’s influence. Possibly even after a union, if somehow this all falls through.”

The thought sent a little tickle off hope through his chest. At least if he stayed true in his desire, Stephen could protect you a little longer. Still, the marriage needed to be stopped before that even became a concern.

Not only was your wellbeing at stake, but Brock could not be left in control of the region with Amora at his side.

“Then what can we do?” Stephen asked and Loki waved his wave, breaking the time freezing spell and picking up without missing a beat.

“I’ll protest the union, as her original intended,” he replied. “Because the princess trusts you, you play the most important part in this all.”

Stephen listened while the group detailed their plan. It was an ambitious scheme, but Stephen had to admit, if they all played their parts to perfection- it could work.

But would it come at the cost of losing your good faith forever?

(—)

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Stephen cupped his forehead, the headache forming when he saw Peter hunched over with a cloak over his head, speaking discreetly to a group of cloaked figures.

They’d just finished their plan when he spied the poorly disguised prince and his friends.

“...cannot stand,” he was saying before his gaze wandered to Stephen’s approaching form and he cringed.

“What’s going on here?” Stephen asked, crossing his arms. The other figures turned around. Lord Ned and Lady Michelle. “Don’t tell me... are you planning a coup?”

Peter’s eyes went wide and he gestured for Stephen to sit, grabbing the sorcerer by the sleeve of his robes and pulling him down.

“Don’t speak so casually,” he snapped, ushering the sorcerer into an empty seat. “Surely you’ve heard?”

“I’ve heard a great many things, probably more than you, your highness,” he answered sarcastically. “Do be more specific.”

“About the wedding?” he raised a brow, watching for a reaction.

“Of your sister? I’ve just learned,” he murmured, leaning in and ignoring the pointed looks his companions by the door gave him.

“Brock intends to propose tomorrow,” he explained. “But Obadiah isn’t telling my sister until the morning. He’s taken my mother and Morgan under house arrest.”

That was a bigger development than Stephen had expected from the boy.

“He intends to kill the youngest princess and queen mother if the princess does not marry Brock,” Michelle added, looking forlornly at the table.

“Where’s the princess now?” Were the next words out of Stephen’s mouth.

When he’d left you hours before, you’d been sound asleep in your chamber. With the wards and protections he’d thrown around you, there wasn’t any reason you shouldn’t still be there.

“Safe in bed,” Peter assured him. “We need a plan. Brock’s army is twice the size of our without our allies.”

“Allies?” Loki had dropped into the bench, shoving Stephen to the side. “Do continue, your majesty.”

“Can you can open the border and prepare your troops?” Peter asked the prince hopefully, but Loki frowned.

“No, but I might be able to stall the marriage,” he replied coolly, a subtle wink toward Stephen. “You know how your sister and I have danced around one another. It’s time I make my claim.”

Peter scoffed, nodding toward Stephen.

“Is he okay with that?” he asked boldly, earning a laugh from the other prince.

“Strange knows his place,” Loki answered cockily. “He swore his little oaths and we both know the current king isn’t going to let him out as easily as your father would have. What other option does the princess have?”

Peter’s gaze feel on Stephen having been not entirely convinced, but against Stephen’s better instinct, he nodded mechanically.

It was your best chance of survival. He had his own role to play down the line, so he let Loki convince the group of his undying love and affection for you.

By the end, Peter seemed convinced that the Asgardian prince could get the marriage thrown away.

While the men gathered and discussed their plans, no one noticed the young Lady and the redhaired assassin conversing quietly in the shadows.

Nor did they notice when they slipped out the back to meet with an old friend.

(—)

Wanda found Stephen scribbling down notes on a piece of floating parchment the next morning. Books were floating through the air, and he meticulously thumbed through pages as they moved around him.

It was clear her friend had been up all night, the bags under his eyes exposing the unspoken truth.

On the table was an array of ingredients, a small flame burning under a concoction of bubbling green.

“What are you up to, Strange?” she asked suspiciously when she saw the chapter of the last book he had consulted. “An elixir?”

“A gift-,” he let out a tired sigh, eyes looking miserably to the paperwork strewn in front of him.

“For whom?” Wanda’s eyes widen and her brows shot to her hairline when she read through the incantation. She knew it well, an old, but reliable mixture.

“For the princess.”

(--) 6 - a promise

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thatmultifandomhoe · 4 years ago

Text

Type 2

Word Count: 10,755

Overview: You were diagnosed with Type 2 Diabetes in high school and ever since then, you’ve been able to manage it without a problem. Sticking to a schedule and monitoring your blood was easy, but then came Jimin and suddenly, you found yourself hiding it all from him. But when your blood sugar drops dangerously low in the middle of the night, Jimin’s the only one you can call for help.

Pairing: Jimin and Reader

Genre AU/Rating: - Established Relationship AU - Medical Condition AU - Slice of Life AU - Angst - Fluff Rated: PG-13

Warning: In order of appearance-: Implied bullying, extreme thirst, lack of appetite, weight loss, passing out, type 2 diabetes, drinking, swearing, insecurities, needles, mention of blood while using a blood glucose meter, extremely low blood sugar.

A/N: This is not the story of everyone who goes through Type 2 Diabetes. Not everyone has it when they’re in high school. This fic is loosely based on my experience with caring for my mother who is diabetic, and based on my own family’s history with this condition. My mother who almost her entire family is diabetic, so it was only a matter of time that she would become diabetic, except she was able to keep from being diagnosed until her mid to late 50s. That is not to say you can’t be diagnosed as young as high school or even in middle school, it can happen, I went to middle school with a girl who had a pump in 8th grade. This is just one story.

Master List:

Music Playlist:

Part of the Intimacy Anthology Project

It first started in high school.

But when you actually sat down and thought about it, the early symptoms were there a year prior in eighth grade. More often than not, your throat was dry, so you always had a water bottle next to you. Back then though it wasn’t as bad. Plus, any conversation with one of the girls who wore makeup every single day – it was always shocking when they announced that their mothers let them – swore that drinking a gallon of water a day, would help with maintaining clear skin.

Whether or not there was logic to this declaration was to be remain hidden – many years later you would learn that actually, there was no science between drinking water and having acne free skin – you and all the other girls hopped on the train. It was because of this promise of clear skin, that no one batted an eye when you began going through a bottle a day, or the fact that you were using the bathroom more often as well.

You were fourteen. Your body was changing, nothing made sense anymore. Happy one minute, then curled up in fetal position as that depressing Sarah McLachlan commercial played on the TV, and you were telling your parents that they needed to adopt a kitten because it was the right thing to do. How were you even supposed to know that what was happening, actually wasn’t all that normal?

Mom simply handed over your water bottle, a bag of the secret stash of chocolate, and a heated rice bag for the cramps, and everything was decently better.

You only thought the sudden extreme thirst was…part of it all.

In freshman year, you were going through bottles to the point that you bought a cute reusable water bottle that you decorated with stickers, never willing to admit how many times you had tipped it back for it to be empty. You weren’t exactly the poster child for going green and advocating climate change, but you weren’t stupid either and knew that the plastic bottles weren’t going to help the Earth.

The popular girls from eighth grade had surged up the ladder, and were now the queens of the freshman class and upturned noses. No longer were they giving compliments or suggestions on how to blend eyeshadow, or discussing the latest trends in fashion. Instead, they ignored the good mornings in the hallways from girls, and laughed as they slammed textbooks out of their hands. Smiles turned into grimaces, and helpful tips morphed into jeering and mean comments usually centered around everyone’s looks.

While you tried to not let their lies get to you, you couldn’t help but pause by a mirror and turn every which angle possible, trying to see the flaws that they pointed out all the time. It was confusing because to be perfectly honest, you were average. There was nothing that made you stand out from the crowd, nor did you hide in the shadows, you were simply in the middle and that never bothered you.

You never gave them the satisfaction of letting them see how their words affected you on the simple fact that they didn’t. Maybe you’d shrug, or raise an eyebrow, before turning away to drink from the trusty water bottle by your side. They meant nothing to you, but everyone around you thought that they did. Friends were quick to jump on the reassurance train, their gazes lingering on the food you barely touched. Even when it was taco Tuesday, you’d barely eat half of it or even less before getting full.

No one seemed to believe that you were full, or that drinking two whole bottles of water by noon made it impossible to shove more than a few bites down your throat.

Dinner was always hard. Sat between mom and dad, the looks they’d give each other as they watched you push at the small amount of food on your plate never went unnoticed. You’d lost track of all the times that mom came into your bedroom to ask if everything was okay, if the girls at school were saying things, or if there was perhaps a guy you were trying to impress. If only you’d gotten a dollar for every time someone asked you that, you would have been a millionaire by sixteen.

Soon you were making excuses to not have to eat around people, saying that you had made up a plate of whatever was left in the fridge and weren’t hungry. At school you started bringing a brown bag lunch. Since you weren’t eating the food you bought, it didn’t make sense to waste money on it. It took a while for your friends to get that you just weren’t hungry, but eventually they knew not to bring it up, letting you eat as little as you want and drink water.

That was fine with you. You were fine, that was what you told them and you wanted them to believe them. You didn’t want them to know that every night before bed you stood in front of the mirror on your wall, turning side to side and every which way to see the new curves from your chest to your hips, or the gap between your thighs.

They didn’t need to know that you despite the fact that you’d refill the water bottle three times a day at school, you’d refill it four additional times at home. Or how your belt now had extra holes that you had punched in it an attempt on your part to keep what was happening a secret.

Every weekend was reserved for sleepovers, movies, and at home facials with you and your friends, equally rotating between everyone’s house to keep it fair on who hosted. It was how you were able to relax and have fun, but it was hard to hide the sudden changes. At first, you started arriving already in your PJs, that way none of them had to see you change, but then they stared as you barely touched any of the snacks. The same ones that you all used to bake together. Then every time you got up to use the bathroom they’d sigh, having to pause the movie or wait for you to come back to continue playing whatever board game was out.

After three attempts, you stopped going to the sleepovers, giving some excuse that you weren’t feeling well, or that you were behind on a pile of homework. Whether they believed it or not, your friends accepted it without a second thought.

Those months of confusion and sudden changes felt like they were moving at a snail’s pace, but then one day you blinked and it was two days before Christmas, and none of your clothes fit you anymore. Everything was hanging on you, you were in the bathroom multiple times within a couple hours, and your throat felt like it was filled with sand that no matter how much water you drank, never seemed to offer any relief.

It was a vicious cycle that no one could ignore anymore. You weren’t yourself anymore, barely even a shell of the human who you had once been.

The morning it happened you had once again been in the bathroom going pee. When suddenly, your head felt heavy, too burdensome for your shoulders, so you leaned back against the wall to relieve yourself of some of the weight. Black dots filtered in your vision as you cleaned yourself up, the toilet flushing as you stumbled to the sink. The water rushed from the sink as you stood in front of the mirror, barely able to make out your own reflection and going fuzzy when you walked out of the bathroom, forgetting to turn off the water or the lights as you left. You didn’t remember even opening the door.

Someone had been walking by at the moment, although they didn’t know it, you felt like your mind was underwater, unable to think let alone speak as you tried to go back to your room. It was your mother. She stared wide eye at you stumbling around the hallway like a drunk and when she called out your name, you didn’t even hear her.

She called your name again. Then a third time. It was on the fourth that you looked over at her, your mouth moving and filled with sand, only nothing come out. The last thing you saw was her running towards you. Then it was dark.

The next time you’d open your eyes it was with a stark realization that you were no longer at home. A glance to your left revealed box monitors and tubes of all types, one of them connected to the IV in your arm and the other going to a monitor that was attached to your pointer finger. The bed wasn’t comfy and at some point, someone had changed you out of your PJs and into a light green hospital gown.

The door opened as a nurse in blue scrubs walked in, her blond ponytail pulled high up as she carried a chart, smiling when she saw you.

“Good to see that you’re awake,” she said, coming to your side to read the numbers, marking some notes down. “How are you feeling?”

Wetting your lips, you tried to speak but like always, your throat was dry.

The nurse glanced over and seeing your struggle, held up a finger as she walked to the connected bathroom, water suddenly running before being turned off as she came back with a plastic cup.

“Go slow,” she instructed, helping to bring the mattress up so you were sitting as she gave you the cup.

It took a few minutes, but when your throat wasn’t so dry, you tried again. “What happened? Where…where are my parents?”

She was changing out the IV bag for a new one, and you wondered if your body had really emptied that packet dry. “You passed out hun, but don’t worry, your parents just went to get some snacks from the vending machine. I’ll go get them and then the doctor will be right in to explain everything.”

“Am I okay?”

Her badge turned right side, showing her ID and that her name was Jenna. “Everything will be fine. The doctor will explain and answer any questions.”

You watched as Jenna connected a new IV bag, once again reassuring that she’d be back with everyone before leaving the room as the cold liquid entered your veins, surprising you with how good it felt.

Jenna kept her promise. First bring round your parents who hurried to hug you, telling you how worried they were about you and asking how you felt. In only a few short minutes the doctor came back with the nurse, smiling as she pulled out a chair to sit on.

It wasn’t cancer, nor was it anything uncommon that would puzzle the doctors on how you got, but rather something that you had heard of all the time in health classes.

You were diabetic. Type two to be exact.

They had run some blood tests and from what they were able to tell, your blood sugars had dropped low during your sleep and hadn’t gone back up when you woke. Combined with the loss of weight and dehydration you were experiencing, your body’s natural instinct was to protect itself and, in this case, that meant passing out.

The doctor reassured that it at least explained the various changes you had been experiencing, and as grateful as you were to finally understand what was going on, it now meant that your way of life was going to change, again.

Now your life revolved around using a glucose meter to check your blood sugar throughout the day, taking medicine that would help regulate your numbers, cutting back on sweets and various other foods that had tended to make them high. Slowly but surely you were able to gain back some of the weight you had lost, and the trips to the bathroom slowed down. You were living a new life trying to find the perfect balance.

One thing had been made clear by the doctor that day. This was lifelong. It was never going to go away; it was something that could only be managed.

So, you managed. All through high school, and then all through college, you managed to maintain your numbers, discovering that when you felt sluggish and off it usually meant your blood sugar was either really high or really low. Besides that, you normally felt fine and took shots at mealtimes and before bed to help regulate your levels.

That was the second, biggest change in your life. Every pill and medicine that the doctor prescribed to help with your levels had its side effects, and the world must have had a grudge on you because every single one made you ill or have a reaction. Usually insulin was a last resort option, but in your case, it was the only thing that appeared to help.

Downside to taking the shots were the prices, they were the true killer, but like everything in your life, you managed it all. Your parents of course worried, and the day you had moved out was perhaps the most nerve wracking for them. You were going to be on your own for the first time ever, it was a big moment, and as much as you appreciated and loved them, it was time for you leave home.

Having this new lifestyle didn’t mean you couldn’t do anything; your life was perhaps more or less the same as any other adult that you knew who was your age. Went to work five days a week as a dental hygienist, spent the weekends catching up on chores, and binge watching the latest shows on Netflix.

The only thing missing, was a love life.

It wasn’t that you didn’t try. There were multiple first dates and a couple second dates, but rarely was there a third. No matter what you did or how you tried to explain it, they all got uncomfortable when you mentioned that you were diabetic. At first it didn’t seem like it would be an issue. But when you’d get up a few minutes before the meal came and you’d explain that you needed to take a shot, they all clammed up. Like they were suddenly realizing that what you were more trouble than you originally appeared to be. That you actually had a condition that affected your life.

After that they’d stop calling, the texts they’d send were more apologetic and that they were busy. There were never anymore dates after that, and unable to help yourself you’d check their social media, not surprised when there were new pictures with a new girl, usually captioned with some type of heart emoji.

If they were dumping you for something that was out of your control, then you were the lucky one for avoiding what could be a toxic relationship. At least, that’s what you told yourself. It was good that you were waiting for the right person, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. How could anyone decide that you weren’t worth the time simply because you needed to take insulin?

You were a human being. Nowhere did it say you didn’t deserve love.

Despite that mindset, you once again found yourself coming home from a date that had no future of a third. Tossing your keys on the bed, you rummaged around your purse for the two cases stashed inside, still dressed in the cute outfit that had taken a majority of the morning to decide on. The cases themselves were adorable, and pretty cheap on Amazon. The first was purple and no bigger than your palm while zipped up. The second one was a light blue wristlet that was slightly longer.

You sighed while setting them on the nightstand, resentment filling your heart. The purple bag contained your pen and glucose meter with the test strips, and the other had your insulin, alcohol wipes, and spare needles. They were the very things that you needed to stay alive. They told you your numbers, it was how you decided on how many units to take with meals, and yet, they appeared to be a part of the reason that you couldn’t seem to hold on to a relationship.

It just fucking…sucked.

No longer caring that you had spent several hours to get the curls just right, you ran a hand through your hair. Mike had made it clear after your explanation for why you needed the light blue case just to go to the bathroom, that there wasn’t going to be a second date.

Which is fine, you thought, kicking off your heels and pulling your legs up to sit criss cross on the bed. He only talked about himself the entire time. And his ex-wife.

Maybe it was because you were telling them early on. Wasn’t there some unwritten rule about not talking about medical things on the first couple dates? Granted, a majority of them wanted to go out to eat for the dates and you couldn’t exactly not take a shot, but it wasn’t like you were doing it right there at the table. You always went to the restroom and used the stall with the changing table to be able to lay everything out.

Glancing at the two cases, you pressed your lips together. This was a major part of your life; it was part of your identity. But maybe…maybe if they didn’t know? What if you hid this from the next guy? It probably wouldn’t do much, if it did, were you really going to hide such an important part of yourself in the name of love?

They always seem to run off when I tell them, you thought. What’s the harm in waiting, and seeing if it’ll last more than a few dates before I tell?

It seemed pretty extreme. But there was only one way to find out.

As you settled back against the pillows, turning on Netflix once again, you couldn’t but hope that this didn’t backfire on you.

“You did what?”

Pressing your lips together, you rested your forehead against the fridge. It was a bad idea to tell you best friend what you had done. You knew that she’d say it was wrong to lie, to hide such an important part of your life from him. She was the voice of logic and reason, which was terrifying at times, but that was Kayla.

Grabbing the milk from the fridge, you glanced over your shoulder. She was staring at you, eyebrow raised as she tapped her nails against the table, waiting to hear your excuse.

“I…I haven’t told him.”

“And you’ve been dating for how long now?”

You stirred the mug until it was caramel in color, starring down at the coffee and partially wishing that you could shrink and run away from her reaction. “Three months.”

“Dude!”

Wincing, you stashed the milk away to carry the two cups of coffee to the table, setting Kayla’s down on the cozy you had out. She thanked you, absentmindedly stirring the spoon out of habit.

It was a Saturday ritual the two of you had since meeting in college. The two of you bonded while waiting in an excessive line for coffee on campus, and despite it being ridiculously long, neither one of you was willing to leave. Coffee was what you considered your life blood, and funny enough, so didn’t Kayla.

That day forward, the two of you always got coffee together before classes, and on Saturdays you bought a box of munchkins with iced coffee before retreating back to the lounge to relax and bitch about anything and everything. She knew about your diabetes, didn’t mind that you could only have a few treats before stopping, and when she hung out in your dorm room, she hadn’t been uncomfortable with seeing you having to take a shot.

After that semester, the two of you became roommates for the reminder of college. Even after graduating and moving out in the real world, getting real jobs, Saturdays were still for coffee and bitchin’.

“Walk me through this decision again?” She asked, reaching over for one of the glazed munchkins.

You lightly tapped the spoon against the rim of the coffee mug, slouching in your seat as you wrapped your fingers around it. The warmth spread through your fingers instantly, soothing a few nerves for the moment. Kayla was your best friend yes, but she also had very strong opinions.

“I was just, sick of finding dead ends,” you answered, staring down at the mud colored coffee. Just the way you liked it. “Every time I had explained that I needed to take a shot to manage my blood sugar, they all froze up. And then they’d tell me after the date ended that it wasn’t going to work, or they’d ghost me without any warning.”

It sucked. It really did, but for once you just wanted to be with someone and be happy. There had already been too many times that you’d gotten your hopes up over a guy only for it to end, without even an explanation no less.

Kayla covered your hand with hers, gently squeezing when you looked up at her. Her red hair was pulled up in a ponytail, her freckles scattered across her face and body. She refused to cover them up with makeup, and even then, you wouldn’t dare let her do so either. As much as you treasured her, you had witnessed first-hand her attempting to do makeup so badly that it nearly sent you to cardiac arrest.

“Hey,” she softly said. “Those guys were dick bags, there’s no need to beat yourself over them.”

Chuckling, you raised the mug to your lips, glancing in the living room. The apartment wasn’t the largest or the fanciest, but you were able to leave a piece of yourself in each room. Sunlight streamed through the bay window and through the dream-catcher you had hanging on the lock. Bailey, Kayla’s little teacup terrier, was taking advantage of said light and was napping on the couch.

“I’m guessing I should have sent them all to you?”

“Of course,” Kayla agreed, leaning back in the chair. “I would have kicked their asses and told them what type of scum they are.”

You reached over for your own munchkin, placing it on the saucer to break it in half. “Sorry, but I think you’ve missed your chance.”

“Dammit.”

Amused, you popped a piece into your mouth, enjoying the sweetness of the chocolate. Life had certainly taken the two of you in directions that neither of you expected, but you treasured these Saturdays. It was like nothing had changed and you were back in college, talking about the classmates that annoyed the crap out of you, pointing out the cute ones, and procrastinating on the assignments that needed to be done.

“So, are you going to tell me about him?” Kayla asked. “Last thing you said was that your neighbor was setting you up. Does he deserve the best friend approval?”

At the thought of Jimin, you were grinning into your coffee, coyly trying to avoid eye contact with her as she squealed. Her reaction was so strong that it woke Bailey up, causing her to bark a few times. Which was more adorable than it was intimidating like the dog probably thought.

Flipping your phone screen side up, you went to go find a picture of him for her. “He’s very, very sweet,” you said, handing the device over for her to scroll through. “And kind. He works at the animal shelter in town, loves to take Polaroid pictures, and he indulges in my coffee addiction.”

“I love him already.”

You grinned at that, taking a drink as she cooed and laughed at the various photos, and you began to tell her the story about how you met him.

As much as you hate to admit it, you had been apprehensive about your downstairs neighbor set you up with his friend for a blind date. It wasn’t that you were complete strangers with Taehyung - the guy was pretty chill and kept things interesting with constantly dying his hair - it had been more along the lines that you didn’t know much about him besides the conversations the you shared before going your separate ways.

According to your neighbor, your dating life – or non-existent one – hadn’t gone amiss on him either, and conveniently had a friend who was also in the single pool for quite some time, so he thought it would be nice to help you out. Actually no, he flat out told you he was setting the two of you up for a date. With only a moment’s hesitation were you able to say no dinner dates before he disappeared inside, tossing a thumb’s up over his shoulder for you and shut the door.

The next morning when you left for work, there was a sticky note on your door telling you to be at the 10th annual Flower Shower festival that Saturday for one. Jimin would be waiting at Paws for Days, the animal shelter.

The Flower Shower festival the town’s way of sharing their love of flowers and nature with everyone. Every shop that decided to participate in the event was assigned a different type of flower, and with that, they decorated their stores with it. They were then automatically entered into a contest to see who was the most creative with their assigned floral. First place was given a trophy stating that they were the winners of that year’s festival, and second and third were given ribbons and a plant of their choice.

What made it such a hit, was perhaps was the event that gave it its namesake. During the day, not only were there flowers decorated on the storefronts, but each company was able to hand out coupons for their flower that could be turned in at one of the many floral shops in the area. There were stalls for making and selling flower crowns, jewelry, perfumes, anything and everything imaginable that could incorporate flowers into a product filled the streets to be sold. Even food vendors went all out with all the stops.

Filling in any empty spaces were local artists, using any and all varieties of flowers to create sculptures, sometimes of small animals that a person could hold in their hands, to ones so large that it required ladders and multiple hands to help. Face and body painters had kids and adults of all ages waiting in line, eagerly handing over the few bucks to be decorated with flowers and various other decorative forms of flower power.

It was like the hippie movement met modern times for a day.

Perhaps the most beautiful of all the events, was the parade that happened at the end of the day. The festival couldn’t last all night since it would be hard to see the flowers, so the ending parade occurred at six. All the contest participants and winners walked along with the vendors and painters, each carrying baskets with flower petals or single flowers to throw out to the crowd, and while they held the attention of everyone, up on the rooftops of all the buildings were volunteers who waited for their to cue to toss buckets of petals on to the crowd below. It was as if the entire world was hitting pause on the bitterness of life, to enjoy a moment of beauty to take a shower, made out of flowers.

You never knew what it was about flowers that had the entire town obsessed with them, there were at least six shops dedicated to flowers and bouquets – one at least in particular focused mainly on gardening tools, sculptures, and fountains – within the downtown area.

Which made having your first date with Jimin at the Flower Shower festival all the more pleasing. It was more exciting and had plenty of things to do than going to another restaurant, but at the same time, a bit nerve wracking. Not only was it another first date, with a guy that you’ve never met in your life, hoping that your neighbor hadn’t set you up with some weirdo. This was the first date you were going on with the decision to not tell him about being diabetic.

Even though you weren’t going to bring it up, you still packed the cases into your purse, not wanting to risk needing it and not having them on you. After dressing in shorts and a loose flowery blouse with sandals, even doing your makeup lightly to match with the summer theme, you were ready to go out. Butterflies were fluttering in your stomach, but your hand had been shaking to the point that you had to set down the mascara brush or stab yourself in the eye with it.

This was your first chance at seeing if it really made such an impact on your love life, making it felt like you were stepping into the dating scene all over again. That was what made it terrifying. This simple date would tell you whether or not you weren’t able to hold a relationship because of your lifestyle, or if it was because of you.

If it was because of the needles, then that you could understand. Not everyone was fond of them, and dealing with having to give yourself shots four times a day can be annoying at times, but if it was because of you in general…well, that was the ultimate sucker punch to the gut.

Before you could let yourself get lost in the sink hole of self-doubt, you forced yourself to leave, locking the door without even thinking to double check that you had everything that you needed. Luckily, you did.

It was to your advantage that you lived downtown. Walking to the shops only took five, maybe ten minutes if you were feeling lazy and with the location of Paws for Days in mind, you headed down the street in its direction.

The sun was high in the sky, occasionally blinding you when you passed by the tall buildings and gaps in the trees, but you felt the heat of the sun on your arms, and saw the clear bright blue sky overhead. It all helped to take your mind off what Jimin was like. Hell, you didn’t even know what he looked like. All that Taehyung wrote was that he would be outside by the shelter’s sign.

Nearing the heart of town, you weren’t all that surprised to see that nearly everyone in town was walking the streets, making it almost impossible to tell them apart from the people who were working.

Paws for Days was a street down from being smack in the center of town, and resembled a large farmhouse with floor to ceiling windows on the front entrance, allowing everyone to look in and see the cats and occasional dog walking around the front of the store. They took in animals of every breed, and were also a no-kill shelter. During the warm months it was common to hear dogs barking in the larger fenced in area behind the building as the animals played and ran about, enjoying the time out in the sun.

As you neared the shelter, it was the sound of barking and kids laughing that made you smile. In their front lawn, staff had set up play pen areas for the smaller dogs to sit out on the grass and roll around. Parents with babies carefully held them as they leaned down, allowing their child to gently pet animals and laughing as their palms get licked. There were other areas for the larger dogs, but a large banner that was attached to the shelter’s roof stole your attention.

Paws for Days 10th Annual Adoption Day!

You hadn’t realized that in addition to it being the tenth anniversary of the Flower Shower festival, it was also an anniversary for the shelter as well. Staff was walking around with blue shirts with the name of the shelter written in black, a little black paw print serving as the period. Flower crowns made out of orange cream roses sat on everyone’s head, and as you looked around, a group of people around your age appeared to be constructing a giant sculpture of a…well, it had paws and the lower half of an animal body.

Maybe later you’d come back and see what it turned out to be.

Continuing towards the shelter, you tried to look for the sign, but with a swarm of people walking in your way so they could either play with the animals or actually go inside to adopt, it took a little longer to reach your destination.

When you finally broke through and stepped away to the side to catch a breather, you were able to see the shelter’s wooden sign. To no one’s surprise, there was a stone statue of a cat and dog sitting next to each other, with a bird on top of the dog’s head. It was adorable.

The man standing next to the sign however, was godly looking.

“No, fucking way,” you said, taking advantage of the fact that he was looking at his phone to stare at him.

The fact that his hair was dyed wasn’t shocking – you had partially expected that considering Taehyung was always dying his – but the mix of pink and orange hues suited Jimin so perfectly that it appeared natural on him. The sunlight glinted off of the silver chained earring he wore along with the silver rings on his fingers, all while standing out in a black t-shirt and jeans despite it being warm out. To top it all off, an orange cream rose flower crown that matched his hair color perfectly, was carefully placed on his head to resemble a halo, and he held on to a spare in his free hand.

Taehyung had completely, and utterly, forgotten to mention that his single friend, was insanely hot.

Maybe…maybe that’s not him, you thought, carefully wetting your lips as you walked over to him. Maybe this is some other guy, standing right where Taehyung had said, and was waiting for someone else.

He slipped his phone into his pocket before you were able to reach him and looked up, meeting to meet your gaze. The wire framed sunglasses he wore were tinted with pink lenses.

“Hi,” he said. His voice was soft and gentle, putting your nerves at ease as he smiled widely when you got closer. “You’re Taehyung’s neighbor, right?”

You shyly smiled, nodding as you supplied your name, which only helped to make the corner of Jimin’s eyes crinkle as he repeated your name. To you, your name was just that, a name. Nothing more and nothing less. But hearing he say it, it was like a pretty melody slipping out of his mouth.

Jimin held up the spare flower crown, pressing his lips together as he chuckled. “I hope you don’t mind, but I got you one. Is it okay if I…?”

“Of course,” you answered. It was sweet that he had gotten one for you, and as he stepped closer to put it on your head, you felt your cheeks warming up at how close he was. You were even able to catch a whiff of his cologne, just the faintest scent that wasn’t overwhelming like how some people tended to bathe in perfume.

“They’re roses,” Jimin explained, adjusting the crown so it sat on your head like his. “Orange roses. I had to ask for them specifically in case any of the animals tried eating them. Roses at least, are not as poisonous as a lot of other flowers.”

“They’re still toxic to them though, right?”

Jimin leaned back, quirking an eyebrow as his smile softened to grin. “Well, I don’t recommend eating them, for either animals or humans. They’ll probably make you sick...”

“He’s a smartass just like us,” Kayla interrupted, grinning as she handed you back your phone.

Laughing, you nodded in agreement. “Yeah, he can be. But he’s just, one of the sweetest guys I’ve met.” Double tapping your phone, the lock screen revealed itself to be a picture of Jimin. You had taken it one day when you went and visited him at the shelter. He had been holding one of the calico cats, even rubbing his nose against hers, and your heart melted at the sight. Now your heart melted every time you turned on your phone.

“And he really has no idea?”

The room fell silent then. Which wasn’t surprising considering that the two of you were introverts at heart, but together, you were loud and proud. Add in coffee and the entire world better watch out.

“Jimin’s seen me check my blood,” you slowly answered. The phone screen went black when you didn’t swipe it. “He saw the meter one day, so I explained that with my family history, that I have it as a way to monitor my blood.”

Usually, you had been so good about hiding your meter and needles when Jimin came around to your home. For some reason on that day, it had slipped your mind and the next thing you knew, Jimin was holding it up and asking about it.

You weren’t outright lying. The family history wasn’t that decent, and you did have to check your blood, so it was more of a partial truth. Maybe it was because he had seemed curious and interested in the item, but ever since that day, guilt had been gnawing away at your heart. You were still avoiding the truth, and if you wanted this relationship to work out, the only way it could would be if you told him.

Looking away from the coffee, you pressed your lips together upon seeing the way Kayla was gazing at you, her eyes softening as she opened and closed her mouth repeatedly. There were no words needed however. You knew that it wasn’t going to end well if you remained silent, but the lingering fear was still there.

What if it was too much for Jimin? What if after you told him, he decided that it wasn’t worth it? That you, weren’t worth it?

It was all just…terrifying.

“You know,” Kayla gently said, reaching out and reassuringly squeezed your hand. “If for some reason, it doesn’t work out…Bailey and I got a spare room for you to have.”

She had offered you the spare room more times than you could remember, especially after graduation, but you loved the town you grew up in. It was home and had everything you always wanted. But you squeezed her hand back tightly, looking up at her with a smile.

“I thought that was Bailey’s room?”

“Oh, it is. She’s fucking spoiled rotten. You’re the only human being I’d sacrifice my queen-sized bed for a bunk bed.”

Laughing, you shook your head as Kayla joined in. Even Bailey tried barking at the sudden noise.

You had to tell Jimin the truth. There was no if, ands, or buts about it. For right now, you were willing to pretend for a little bit longer, wanting to savor in his love before it all came crashing down.

You leaned over Jimin, stretching your hand out for the wine glass on the coffee table, his palm sliding down your back to your hip as you moved about. When you settled back against his side, the wine glass in hand, his chest shook as he chuckled when you tried to take a sip only to realize that you would have to sit up to get a decent drink.

“Oh shush,” you murmured, lightly swiping at his shoulder.

It only made Jimin giggle even more though, and a glance at his own wine glass that was sitting on the wooden floor by the couch revealed it to be empty. You were still on your first, knowing full well that there was a chance that a glass of your beloved Witching Hour Red Blend wine might spike your blood sugar, but Jimin had finished his first one within a half hour after arriving for dinner.

Not that you were going to judge. It was Friday night, neither of you had work tomorrow, and it was so damn good. There was no harm in letting loose and indulging in the fun adult drinks.

His keys were on the coffee table next to the black wine bottle along with his phone, and you must have eyed them for longer than you thought because next thing you knew, his hand was trailing up your back as he pushed himself up, capturing your attention.

“Sleepover?” Jimin said, locks of his pink hair falling into his gaze.

Smiling, you hummed in agreement, partially relieved that he wouldn’t go out driving, and partially thriving at the idea of waking up next to him tomorrow morning.

“Good, that means I can do this then…”

You frowned at first, suddenly gasping as the glass clinked against the rings on his fingers when he took your glass and raised it to his lips, successfully drinking about half of it in one gulp.

“You have your own glass,” you whined, pouting at the small amount he had left for you.

Jimin only grinned, setting the glass down on the table before pulling you close until he was able to claim you for a kiss. His lips tasted rich like cherries, and whether it was the wine talking or not, but he felt more intoxicating than anything you’ve ever had.

He swiped his tongue against your bottom lip before slipping in, his arms wrapping around your waist as the kiss grew in intensity, your hands unashamedly going under his t-shirt to roam up his body. Before you were able to crawl on top of him, he broke the kiss.

“No offense,” Jimin said, kissing your forehead to make up for suddenly stopping. “But your couch sucks to have sex on.”

That put a halt to where you mind had been going, recalling the one time the two of you ended up fucking on the couch. It had been rushed and both of you were too horny to even think about going to the bedroom.

“Yeah,” you agreed, giggling as you stood, taking the bottle and slipping your own glass between your fingers. With a coy smile, you walked backwards to your bedroom. “Good thing I have a fucking awesome bed though.”

His laughter filled the room as he swiped up his own glass, hurrying after you, and not just because you were holding the rest of wine hostage with the promise of sex, but because you were the one sweetly carrying his heart.

Blinking your eyes open, you frowned as you stared up at the ceiling, cold sweat making your hair stick to your forehead, the sheets wet underneath your back. You glanced to your side, the bright red numbers of the clock reading 3:00 A.M in the dark room, and on your right, Jimin’s soft snores reassured you that he was still asleep.

So why were you wide awake?

With careful movements, you moved so you were sitting on the edge of the bed, ignoring how the air hit your wet back. It was as if someone had turned up the heat despite it being summer. Everything was pointing towards a bad dream, it wouldn’t have been the first time that you woke up from a nightmare, unable to recall it but be drenched in sweat. It was with that mindset that you leaned down to pick up Jimin’s shirt, slipping it on to go to the bathroom, but the moment you stood on your own feet, the world slanted.

You barely caught yourself against the wall as you stumbled forward, feeling lost in a haze as you kept walking until you felt the sharp coldness of wooden floors on the bottom of your feet. The faint glow of the orange nightlight in a socket was blurry, acting as a guide as you stumbled around, trying to reach the kitchen table.

The meter. You needed your meter.

Head heavy, your heart raced in your chest when you suddenly felt the floor underneath you. A sharp pain slicing through your hip and a harsh whack had your leg aching, but it cleared away the haze, allowing you to think as you leaned against what you felt to be the couch.

Your eyes had adjusted to the darkness but you didn’t dare risk standing, but you couldn’t just sit there. There was nothing within your reach for you to grab and make noise. The last time something like this had happened was back in high school, and that had been when you ended up in the hospital. Whimpering, your body felt heavy as you tried to move, the soft pap sound of footsteps echoing in the short hallway barely catching your attention.

“Baby? I heard a thud, you okay?”

The light suddenly came on, burning your eyes as you tried to move, but like when you had first stood up, your head felt twenty pounds heavier, forcing you to lean back against the couch.

“What the fuck? Baby?!”

Jimin’s feet slammed against the floor as he hurried to sit in front of you, eyes wide awake as he cupped your cheek and wrapped an arm around your waist to bring you to rest against his chest. His fingers were blissfully cold compared to your heated skin, and for several moments, all you could focus on was his touch, unable to hear him call out your name several times.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you shakily inhaled as you tried to focus and ignore the way the world seemed to suddenly tilt again. “My meter,” you said, your voice hoarse. “I need to check my blood. Something…something’s wrong.”

Vaguely you pointed towards the kitchen table, but luckily, Jimin had seen you place the meter there on multiple occasions. After leaning you against the couch again, he hurried to the table, pushing random notebooks and mail out of the way to find the purple bag. With a tug at the zipper, it revealed the meter and pen you needed.

“Hey baby, stay awake, please.” Jimin said, gently touching the side of your face, still holding on to the bag and its contents. Despite having watched you use them; he didn’t understand how to work the machine.

Maneuvering his way behind you once again, his legs were on either side of you as he pulled you to his chest. The shirt you wore was damp and he tried to move your hair off your neck and forehead.

It took a few moments, hands fumbling as you put a test strip into the meter and using the pen to prick your finger, the blood pooling up without even having to squeeze the area. The screen beeped as it calculated the glucose level, beeping again with a final result.

“It says fifty,” Jimin read aloud. “Is that…is that not good?”

“No,” you said, eyes wide as you stared at the meter, knowing that it would get worse if it got any lower. “It’s too low, I need…sugar. Orange juice, ice cream, something.”

Lifting your hand up to the arm of the chair, you tried to pull yourself up to get something, but Jimin’s heart raced at the prospect of you trying to walk around in this state, so he held you tighter to keep you on the ground and stood up himself.

“I’ll get it,” he said. He didn’t even give you a chance to argue. Instead he hurried to get the food you had mentioned, already figuring that you needed stuff that either had natural sugars, or were found in the junk food.

His arms were full with food and dishes when he came back, not knowing what exactly you wanted or would be best for this situation. Even though he wanted to help out, wanted to make this easier and go away, he had no idea what to do. Never in his life had he come across a situation that was like this. All he knew was that from the way you were moving so slow and how there was little to no color to your skin, this wasn’t normal.

This wasn’t how you wanted to tell Jimin. Out of every scenario that you’ve mulled over, this wasn’t even in the top twenty. To find you in a state like this so soon in the relationship must be a scene out of a nightmare for him.

Seeing the Ben and Jerry’s ice cream he had gotten out, you reached over and grabbed it along with the spoon. The treat was rarely touched since it was stashed away for special occasions that you treated yourself to, but this time you took a spoonful of the Half Baked delight, wishing that this was a chance where you could relax and enjoy it.

While you were eating that spoonful, Jimin quietly removed himself from you. He didn’t speak as he went into the bathroom, the water running loudly in the otherwise silent house before it was turned off just as quickly, and returned to his place behind you. It was without a word that he gently gathered your hair, bringing it into the messy bun that you always threw it up in when the two of you decided on having a lazy day. The task at hand was almost all but forgotten when the cold cloth was set on the back of your neck.

The gesture itself had your eyes stinging, the reality of everything suddenly crashing around you and how this could have gone if Jimin wasn’t here. The shirt was originally Jimin’s and while his clothes usually hung on you, had been clinging to your skin and making it impossible for you to forget about. It hadn’t been the biggest concern you had at the moment, which forced you to put it to the back of your mind for the time being.

A stray whimper escaped your lips, capturing Jimin’s attention as you set the ice cream container down to cover your face with your hands, silencing the cries and trying to hide from him. He wasn’t running away or staring at you like something was wrong, nor was he accusing you of lying and deceiving him. Instead, he simply rested his chin on your shoulder, leaving soft kisses on your neck and cheeks.

“Don’t cry baby,” Jimin murmured, tilting his head to add a kiss to your shaking shoulders. “We’ll discuss this later. Right now, let’s get your blood sugar where it needs to be.”

As reassuring as that was, it only made you cry harder, the tears slipping through your fingers and dripping on to your thighs. He was right. You needed to focus on your blood sugar, but his soft whispers and the way his hands gently rubbed and squeezed your legs meant so much more.

For the first time in so long, a guy wasn’t disgusted by you. Instead he was here, doing the things that he could to help, and he was loving you.

When you finally felt like you could keep going, you sniffed and lifted your head, the lightest of touches caressing your cheek had your heart thumping. Again, you checked your blood. It went up ten points, but you sighed, and scooped out another spoonful of the ice cream in an attempt to raise it. It would probably be sky high by the time morning arrived, but it wasn’t going up fast enough at the moment.

Over the course of an hour, you sat on the floor in-between Jimin’s legs, checking your blood every ten minutes to see if it had gone up, and alternating between spoonsful of ice cream, cups of orange juice and peanut butter crackers, a combination that had your nose scrunching up every time.

Jimin stayed the entire time, only getting up to put away some of the food that you weren’t eating. Even after that he retook his spot and held you just tight enough to remind you that he wasn’t letting you go.

By the time it finally reached one hundred, you pushed the container of ice cream away from you and leaned back into Jimin’s embrace. It was still low. No longer did you feel out of control of your body, the sweat had dried to your skin and if you were to stand, you were certain that there wouldn’t be any more stumbling on your part. Although you doubted that Jimin would let you out of his sight for the next few days.

Neither of you spoke right away.

Wide awake in the dead of night, apparently not seeing any other option, Jimin reached out for the ice cream and took a spoonful for himself. The gesture itself was so simple, so ordinary, as if the two of you always woke up at the hour dedicated to artists who found solace under the stars and moon, to share a pint of ice cream on the living room floor, that you giggled.

Raising an eyebrow, the corner of Jimin’s mouth curled upwards at the sound of your laugh. He hadn’t realized that this scare would make him miss such a pretty sound so much. Licking the rest of the spoon clean as he maintained eye contact with you, he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively to make you laugh once more.

As much as you would rather spend the rest of the time making each other laugh and eating to your heart’s desire, you knew that he was owed an explanation to everything that’s happened.

“I was diagnosed in high school,” you said. Your gaze fell from his face to the floor, only then noticing that Jimin didn’t have any pants on. He had come rushing out in only his boxers and stayed in them this entire time. “I’m a type two diabetic, which means that my body produces the insulin that it needs, but for some reason my body doesn’t process it and rejects it.”

Jimin patiently listened to your explanation. As you spoke, the invisible weight that had settled on your shoulders when you decided to hide this part of your life was being chipped away at, piece by piece until it felt like you were free. The nerves didn’t fly away, instead they settled nicely in your stomach for the time being, not making themselves known until you closed your mouth, waiting for his reaction.

He took a deep breath, moving his hand to run it through his hair. “Does this happen a lot? Your levels dropping like this?”

“No. This…” you set a hand on his thigh, shaking your head. “I don’t know what happened. I took my shot before dinner, and then I took my night one.”

“Baby, I never saw you take any shot.”

Pressing your lips together, you closed your eyes, the butterflies having found the perfect moment to take flight right then and there. This was it, the moment you had been dreading this entire time. “I… I had my bag with my insulin pens and needles hiding in the bathroom.” You admitted.

His eyes scanned over you, making a mental note that you wouldn’t look at him and how your kept on rubbing your arm. Suddenly it made sense why you were always sneaking off to the restroom anytime the two of you went out to eat, and how you’d tap your nails and watch for the waiter when it took longer than you expected for the food to come out. “How long have you been hiding this?”

“Since we started dating.”

Jimin’s arms tightened around your waist, the reassuring weight of his head on your shoulder was now gone, and in that split second, your heart stopped. He was moving away, he didn’t want this, he didn’t want to be with you anymore, he—

Suddenly you were no longer staring at the floor in front of you, but Jimin’s bare chest until his fingers lifted your chin, forcing you to look him straight on. His dark brown eyes that usually disappeared when he was smiling and laughing, appeared to be drowning in the tears that slid down his cheeks.

“Why…why wouldn’t you tell me?” He asked, his voice light and cracking with every word while his bottom lip trembled. “What if I wasn’t here? You…you could have been on the floor until morning. And if this is how you get when it’s this low, it would have been worse if you waited to get help, or until someone found you.”

His hands were roaming around your back as he spoke, unable to settle down, like he had to constantly reassure himself that you were conscious and talking to him. It was only when he shook his head, a soft coo leaving his lips as he cupped your cheeks to run his fingers underneath your eyes, that you realized that you were crying too.

Leaning down, he pressed his forehead against yours, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that you had hid this from him. All he could think about was you being alone when this happened. It tore at him the possibility of you ending up in the hospital, or worse, you laying on the ground until you either made your way to a phone, or someone stumbling upon you on accident.

It plagued his heart, making it ache as he tilted his head to gently kiss your forehead. “Baby, why didn’t you tell me?”

It was such a simple reason for why you didn’t, but one that was without a doubt, rooted in your own selfish desire to protect yourself. Most importantly, to protect your heart from having to deal with constantly being let down by the men you let into your life. The idea had sprung out of fear and doubt, but every day that you spent with Jimin was enough to set those thoughts aside.

All the silly dates. The terrifying night where he let you help him dye his hair, the way his fingers traced your body with paths he long since memorized, and an afternoon where the two of you stayed inside while rain pattered against the windows when he suddenly said I love you, were enough to make you realize that Jimin wasn’t going run away.

Your eyes stung and tears slipped faster down your cheeks as you moved to press your forehead against his chest, his arms hugging your tightly. There was nothing for you to grip on to except his body, but you held on to him anyway.

Sensing that this ran deeper than you were ready to admit, Jimin gently kissed your cheek, resting his head against yours as he held you, softly stroking your back. His own back was sore from being hunched over for the last hour or so, and sitting on the floor was starting to leave an ache in his ass, but he was going to stay right there. As long as you needed him, he was going to be there, wherever and whenever you wanted him.

“It’s okay baby,” he said once your tears slowed down in volume. “We’re in this together, I promise.”

Those words had you wanting to cry all over again. For the first time in so long, someone wanted to stay with you, to help you, to love you for you, and that included the fact that you needed to constantly check your blood sugar and take insulin with your meals, and an additional one before bed. It was terrifying, a first, but so freeing at the same time.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, shakily kissing his chest in an attempt to fix some of the damage your secret has done. “I’m so sorry Jimin.”

He didn’t speak. Instead, he kissed your cheek again, his arms tightening just the slightest. Condensation from the ice cream was pooling on the floor and the mini candy bars that he had found were scattered about. Your meter was right beside him. Outside, the birds that had made their homes in the trees near your apartment were singing their sweet lungs out, a noise that usually made both of you want to bury your faces in the pillows. This time, it had Jimin looking towards the bay window and the sheer yellow curtains.

It was still dark out, but within an hour, the night sky would give birth to morning.

Glancing down, he saw that your legs were already wrapped around his waist. With no other reason not to, Jimin carefully stood up, using one arm to pull himself up by the couch and the other keeping a hold on you. He ignored the yelps and questions that left your mouth.

Instead, he settled down on the bay window and stretched his legs out in front of him, only loosening his grip on you when he was certain you wouldn’t slip and fall on the ground.

“What are you doing?” You said, cautiously letting go of Jimin to straighten up. It wasn’t the first time that he ever picked you up without warning, in fact, his habit of doing so was close to becoming normal. That didn’t mean you wouldn’t like a warning in advance occasionally.

He leaned backwards against the window pane, drawing his right leg up until he was able to prop his arm on his knee as he smiled at you. “Have you ever seen the sun rise?”

The question was so random, so opposite of everything that had been happening for the last hour and yet, your mind honed in on it and took advantage of the its simplicity. Shaking your head, Jimin’s smile grew as he tapped his thigh. His own way to gesture for you to turn and rest against his chest that you had learned early on in the relationship.

“The ice cream’s going to melt.”

You turned around however, once again leaning backwards against Jimin’s chest as his free arm encircled your body, pulling you firming in place.

“We’ll take care of that later. We’ll take care of everything later, I promise. Right now, I just want to watch the sun rise, with you.”

“You’re not mad at me?” You suddenly asked, staring at the early morning sky.

The other apartments and houses in the neighborhood were nothing more but shadows for the time being, and you weren’t entirely sure if the living room was facing the east or not. You didn’t tell him that though.

“No baby,” Jimin softly said, staring at the sky as well. “I’m a bit disappointed, and honestly, I’m still a little scared about what happened. But I’m not mad at you.”

Feeling his chest lift with a deep breath, you relaxed in his embrace. This wasn’t the end of the conversation. He deserved a real explanation for why you never told him, and he would get it this time.

As you shifted slightly, Jimin adjusted his arm with your movements, a soft chuckle escaping when you played with some of the silver rings that he had forgotten to take off before going to sleep.

“I love you.”

Your fingers paused, watching his fingers move and lace themselves with yours, calming your heart so it was no longer racing. Any butterflies that had been hanging around in-case there was a to be a second round of sudden doubt finally settled down, allowing you to enjoy this moment with Jimin. Instead of fear, a blanket of content draped itself on top of you.

“I love you too,” you said, bringing his hand up to your lips to kiss.

Somewhere out there, a bird was returning the melody of another song under the moonlight, and running on only a few hours of sleep wasn’t ideal. While it wasn’t the night that you planned or expected to have, as you waited for the sun to rise, Jimin occasionally running his thumb over your knuckles, there wasn’t anywhere else you wanted to be.

It wasn’t planned, nor was the leading up to it ideal, but it was pretty damn perfect.

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