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padfootagain · 4 years ago

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The Ocean

Here we go with a new request for my 5k event! Anon asked for a drabble for Caspian with the prompts :

2. "Don't worry, it's just a scratch… OUCH!"

26. "I'm the luckiest though. I have you."

This is a lot of fluff, just cute fluff… I hope you like it :)

Pairing : Caspian x reader

Word Count : 1898

Caspian's love for the sea was not a secret. You were aware of the nickname given to the king. The Seafarer. And that name made by the men under his command, and since adopted by all in the Kingdom, took roots in a true trait of his character. The ocean was just as much his lover as you were, in a way, to the point where you sometimes were a little jealous of the oceanic waves. He sometimes stood on the edge of a cliff, staring at the horizon where two hues of blue met and mingled, without moving a muscle for hours on end. You could read it in his expression every time he was on a boat, by the way his features lit up and his eyes glimmered while the wind batted his hair against his cheeks that he was home. That he was where he belonged, more so than on any throne, more so than in any divine hall of stone, more so even than riding with you through the forests of Narnia as leaves cracked and shivered under your horses' hooves. No, the place that felt like home to him was the ocean.

You couldn't fight his love for the moody waters, and couldn't temper his passion for the salty waves. You had given up on this attempt a long time ago, before you and Caspian even got married. It made him happy, after all. And even if the sea was a treacherous companion, there was little you could do against such a passionate love.

Caspian was well aware of your worry every time he left for the sea, but he always promised he would come back to you, and in his mind there was no doubt that he would. He had never broken a promise made to you - or anyone else, for that matter – and he intended on keeping his word once more.

He hoped that one day you would look at the sea with a friendly eye instead of one of rivalry, but it was difficult for you to share his excitement for the deep waters. It was difficult for you to see anything else in the waves than a force trying to take your husband away.

But you loved him too much, and whenever he was home, you walked down the length of the beach of white sand that ran along the cliffs of Cair Paravel. In the distance, the harbour protected the boats during the low tide, and the purple and golden sails of the Dawn Treader glimmered under the bright sunlight. You remained at a fair distance from the busy port though, seeking with your husband some private time to share, filled with tenderness and breathy giggles, with shy touches of fingertips and stolen glances. You had been married for several years, and yet, you still felt giddy whenever he was around, and his heart still skipped a beat whenever he laid eyes on you. You knew that you were lucky, both of you were well aware that this kind of love was rare, even more so for people of power like the two of you. There must have been someone looking after both of you with magical powers in their hands to guide the two of you on the same path. Caspian always said that Aslan himself must have made sure you found each other, and you had to agree.

You were walking down the beach over the edge of the water, your ankles kissed with the salty water slowly crawling up the sand, the tide rising once more to claim back what was its own kingdom, untamed and wild. Caspian was carrying your shoes and his, his other hand tenderly holding yours. It was warm on this summer afternoon, and Caspian had left his coat in Cair Paravel, choosing to leave for a walk with only a white shirt with large sleeves puffing around his muscles and letting the fabric open upon the upper part of his chest. The medallion you had offered him as a protective token the first time he went off to sea after your marriage was still hanging around his neck, the golden circle moving across his chest with each step he took. His long dark hair was messed with the wind, the light getting caught in his long eyelashes and the beard covering his cheeks. His eyes, so dark, showed a little bit of brown under the bright sunlight instead of their inky usual shade. He looked soft, domestic, so different from the kingly demeanour he had to wear in the castle. Instead, he was just your husband, and you couldn't refrain an enamoured smile to grace your lips at the sight.

The bottom of your dress was drenched with salty water and clung to your calves, but you didn't care. Caspian's brown trousers were wet too, patches of darker shades of fabric marking where the waves had climbed up his legs. You knew several dignitaries who would have been shocked by the King and Queen of Narnia behaving so mundanely, but none of you minded, as you simply enjoyed each other's company. When the two of you were alone, it was so easy to just be yourselves.

You reached a patch of golden rocks emerging from the water where seagulls rested after their long flights. Thanks to the low tide, the beach reached the rocks carved into sharp shapes by thousands of years being beaten by the waves. Caspian's eyes lit up at the sight.

"Would you mind a bit of adventure, my love?" he asked, a mischievous smile brightening his handsome features.

"What do you have in mind?" you asked back, yours eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Follow me."

You could have tried to fight back and pull him back towards you instead of following him as he hurried towards the rocks, but there was no need to delay the obvious. You would end up yielding anyway.

You let him guide you to the rocks, and you climbed on top, Caspian helping you up and giggling every time he had to catch you as you lost your balance. You spent some time staring at the seaweeds that covered the rock, and the tiny pools carved in that hid tiny crabs that ran away when you came too close. You looked for seashells on the edge of the water, and laughed as Caspian came too close to the edge and was drenched by a particularly strong wave, his shirt now clinging to his body, the fabric turning from white to see-through. His hair dried quickly under the warm sun though, tangling in the wind.

He chased you around with seaweeds in his hands, trying to put them on your head, and you laughed so hard you could barely breathe.

It was a perfect afternoon, really, and for a moment, you weren't so angry and jealous of the sea. Caspian had a gift to make you forget about everything else in the world but your love for him. Until your husband, in a clumsy step, slipped onto some seaweed and fell head first across the rock.

You heard him letting out a loud grunt as he hit the ground, and you hurried back to him, crossing the few steps that separated the two of you, all traces of laughter now gone from your features.

"Darling! Are you okay?" you asked with worry oozing from your every words.

"Yes," he nodded, sitting up. "I'm fine, just…"

You kneeled by his side, noticing that he was holding his forehead.

"Let me see," you ordered, and Caspian didn't even think about arguing.

As you pulled his fingers away, a gush of blood ran down the side of his face. But you quickly saw that it was nothing serious. You cut a piece of your dress to press the fabric against his forehead, but Caspian rolled his eyes, trying to wipe the blood away with the back of his hand.

"Don't worry, it's just a scratch… OUCH!" he jumped as you forcefully pressed the clothe against his cut.

"Don't start arguing with me. You hit your head pretty hard."

"It is really nothing to worry about, my darling. Just a little cut. I have seen much worse."

"Don't remind me!" you scolded him.

He rolled his eyes with a cheeky smile.

"You are adorable when you get worried about me. I like it."

"If you want me to take care of you, dearest, I would advise you to watch your words!"

"It is nothing, love."

"We should go back to the castle, clean your cut properly," you ignored him.

"Not yet," he complained. "We still haven't seen the sunset!"

"Caspian, you're hurt…"

But he took your wrist in his hand, pulling your hand away from his forehead, before guiding it to his lips to drop a tender kiss to your pulse on the inside of your wrist. His wound had stopped bleeding already, and now that you could properly see the damage, you had to admit it was nothing serious, a little scratch that would be gone in a week or so.

"I am fine. It's nothing. Let's stay a little longer, please," he asked with begging eyes you knew you would be unable to refuse anything to. "You promised we would watch the sunset together tonight. So, let's stay. Please, stay."

He pulled you closer and closer until he could kiss your lips, making you forget everything about the world around you, goosebumps running up your arms and making your knees shake under you.

"Please, stay," he asked one more time, knowing he had won already, knowing that after such a kiss, he would have broken your will for anything else but your desire to stay in his arms like this.

You heaved a sigh, resting your forehead in the crook of his neck and running your fingers through his messy hair.

"You're lucky you have good arguments in your favour," you yielded, making both of you laugh.

He hummed in agreement, tightening his hold on you and pressing you to his chest as you sat down and got comfortable in his arms.

"I am the luckiest though. I have you," he added, looking down at you before dropping a chaste kiss into your hair, making you smile and close your eyes, relishing in his wooded scent and the steady beating of his heart under your palm.

Caspian's eyes moved back to the sea, resting once more onto the untameable waves, and the infinite possibilities that laid over the horizon. Lands to discover, and monsters hidden, and so many people waiting on the other side. So many mysteries to uncover.

Caspian was well aware people sometimes called him Seafarer. Sometimes, his own men claimed that the ocean was his true home, that he belonged there, on the sea. That instead of a castle, he belonged on a boat. Caspian never paid too much attention to these words, and he never bothered correcting all those that thought the sea was his real and true love, the place he felt truly himself, that the ocean was his home.

Because he knew where his home was. He held it in his arms now.

You were his home. And no matter where the sea would try to take him, he would always come back to you in the end.

#caspian #caspian x reader #king caspian #king caspian x reader #caspian x you #caspian x y/n #caspian fanfic #caspian fanfiction #caspian imagine #narnia #narnia fanfiction #narnia imagine #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #imagine

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polishksiezniczka · 4 years ago

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Camerlengo Patrick McKenna Smut ABCs | Camerlengo x Female Reader

Some smut for our favorite priest ❤

As I was writing this, I couldn’t help but think that our favorite ~il camerlengo~ shares the trifecta of smut with Obi-Wan Kenobi: religious devotion, dramatic robes and pure, raw sexual energy. 🔥

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Patrick is oh so attentive and considerate. He strokes your body softly, listening as your heartbeats gradually slow and fall in sync together. He’ll softly whisper declarations of love to you in his luscious accent, making you flush even more.

Bonus: When you’re in each other’s arms bathing in the afterglow, he adores it when you carefully play with his crucifix necklace (you better believe he wears it during sex after you *accidentally* let slip how turned on you get when he wears it).

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Patrick loves to hold you using his upper body strength—his arms are deliciously strong and toned, but not in an overly-muscular way. He can’t help but groan and roll his head back when you cling to them for dear life during the throes of passion, your nails lightly digging into his skin.

It’s difficult for him to choose—you’re too perfect to pick just one element. If he had to, he’d choose your hair, your neck, or your breasts.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically)

Because he was brought up in the Church, he doesn’t really do that sort of thing. Not to mention he views the practice as somewhat degrading to you.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs).

Obviously, you. He’s a priest and supposed to be “married” to the Church!

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Patrick is somewhat experienced. While serving in the army he had a few exploits, but he’s still relatively inexperienced. Not that you could ever tell though—he’s the best lover you’ve ever had.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying.)

Missionary! (HAHAHA…I’m going to hell for this.)

Patrick loves any sort of position where he’s able to see you fully. He treats sex as if it were a sacred rite: he wants to be able to watch the desire cloud your eyes, thoroughly kiss your soft lips, devour the creamy flesh of your torso, and do nothing less than worship you.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

It depends on the situation. Patrick will usually take things pretty seriously—intensely pleasuring you, maintaining fervent eye contact, going slow and sensual—but sometimes you find yourselves in a giddy mood, especially after something good has happened to one of you. Then his playful side will come out: little nips at your ears and neck, gentle tickling of your sides, low chuckles, and a lot more teasing than normal. You delight in rendezvous like these, batting your eyes and telling him how much you want him.

H = Hair (How well-groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

OH GOD. You know how well Patrick takes care of himself. His hair is impeccable, always neatly combed and styled. You adore running your fingers through it and lightly scratching his scalp, though you’re careful not to muss it up too much.

The sight of his bare chest makes your heart flutter every time you see it. You love to card your fingers through the lovely patch of curly ginger hair which grows there, a huge turn-on for Patrick. The same hair starts again just below his navel, creeping down his stomach and past his waistband. It’s another part of him that never fails to make you swoon and unconsciously lick your lips.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Patrick is so romantic. He constantly whispers you how much he loves you, how much you mean to him, and how he can never be without you. Despite the unimaginable pleasure he provides you, his words sometimes make you teary-eyed during the moment—something you find extremely embarrassing but he adores.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Patrick suffers from SERIOUS Catholic guiltiness when it comes to masturbation. He’s done it before (when he was younger especially) but would never admit so to you. He only resorts to pleasuring himself when you’re apart for extended periods of time and always feels the need to confess to his sins of “taking his flesh” afterward.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Praise: Patrick’s need to praise you is insatiable and he does it constantly when you’re together. He loves to tell you how good you feel, how perfect you are, how sweet you smell, or how well you respond to him as he leans close to your ear, kissing and sucking. Although he can be reticent to accept compliments himself, you can tell how much it affects him when you whisper how only he can bring you this amount of love, pleasure, and satisfaction.

Priest: Patrick goes mad when you play into your priest kink and loves it when you call him “Father,” especially because you don’t often do so. As gentle as he is, this drives him wild, animalistic almost.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

On the bed or couch, especially with your hair splayed out across a pillow. You recently introduced him to shower sex, something he enjoys far more than he expected to. And of course, always somewhere private.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Your soft, innocent touches that lead to lingering thoughts and desires. When you run your hands across his chest and through his hair. Whispering how much you love and want him.

Oddly enough, your modesty also makes him hot under the collar (literally). The idea that you conceal your beautiful figure to others and only allow him to see and adore it awakens a deep and primal lust in Patrick.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He doesn’t swear that often and never uses the Lord’s name in vain. He also would never do anything that could hurt you or in some way degrade you.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He strongly prefers to give. He loves to huskily tell you how much you taste like sin when he’s between your thighs and caressing you with his mouth.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Slow and sensual—it’s called lovemaking for a reason.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

You and Patrick don’t really engage in these because of the nature of your relationship—there are few moments when you can spend time together during the day. Patrick doesn’t like the idea either, as he can’t properly worship your body as much as he believes you deserve and derives so much pleasure from taking his time with you. He is never one to complain about stolen kisses, though.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Again, due to his position and all the publicity, Patrick prefers to keep risks to a minimum. He never would demand anything of you, but he requests that your liaisons be kept private out of concern for you and your relationship.

Once, however, you admitted a shameful desire of yours, and he gave in. So, late one night you made love in a confessional. Although he felt like he would be cursed with eternal damnation, he couldn’t help but admit how arousing it was.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Patrick’s stamina is intense; he never seems to tire, even after the care and attention he puts into each and every round. You teasingly attribute this voraciousness to all his pent-up lust while in seminary. But when you’re exhausted, he completely respects this and would never push you beyond your physical limits.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

No; why would he defile perfection by using anything other than his body?

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

This side of Patrick really comes out when he’s feeling frisky or playful. He relishes that he can turn you into a puddle of goo with just one look—your eyes glaze over, your breath hitches, and you suddenly have difficulty maintaining eye contact. He’ll then begin to touch and kiss you slowly, almost chastely, until you’re a whimpering, sobbing mess beneath him.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Volume-wise Patrick tends to be on the softer side, though he can surprise you. What he sometimes lacks in volume he makes up for in quality. Patrick makes the most delicious and sinful sounds you can imagine: gasps at your expert ministrations, moans when you kiss him deeply. Your personal favorite? The sound of him purring into your ear as he showers you with praise and words of affection.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

The man’s scent alone makes you goddamn feral. It’s clean and masculine, with just a hint of spice. You love to bury your face in his neck and chest, inhaling him as you litter his skin with reminders of your devotion.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Patrick is incredibly well-endowed. In fact the first few times you were together, you were in slight pain (much to Patrick’s agony) and felt sore for days afterward. Oh but Patrick made it all better: drawing you warm baths, scooping you up, and tenderly massaging every inch of your body with his large hands. 😏

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

On the higher end, but it’s completely attached to you.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

When you’re in each other’s arms, he feels completely relaxed and can usually fall asleep within a few minutes, but he likes to wait for you drift off to sleep and then silently watch you in your most peaceful state. Your breathing steadies, your brow relaxes, and your hair softly falls about your face, still glowing from physical exertion. As sleep begins to take hold of him, he whispers that you look just like an angel.

Taglist: @seraferna @lemairepstuff

#ewan mcgregor #smut #patrick mckenna #camerlengo #angels and demons #patrick mckenna imagine #forgive me father for i have sinned #obi wan kenobi #ewanfuckinmcgregor #carlo ventresca #obi wan smut

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springtimebat · 4 years ago

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The Uneventful Life of Alan Walker

It was a bright summer day. Alan Walker was stepping out of his house to greet the rich morning sun, milk bottles chiming in his strong hands. Alan Walker is Little Patch of Heaven’s milkman. Its only milkman. The others vanished a long time ago, one by one. Except for Alan. Alan somehow got away with it. Alan’s also a Walker and anyone who knows anything knows that Walkers can’t be trusted. He’s the only Walker left. Sometimes that’s a problem but not today. Not during his rounds.

He makes his way around town, delivering and collecting milk bottles. He occasionally leaves newspapers too, on the streets closest to the newsagents. He stops on Portland Drive around noon to watch Angel Jones undress in front of her bedroom window. Sometimes he’ll climb the tree in her front yard to get a closer look. But on this particular day, her parents are home, so he just leaves her a pot of strawberry ice cream on the doorstep instead.

At four, Alan stops his truck on the corner between LPH elementary and LPH high. He puts the ice cream banner up in the left side window and presses the stickers of ice pops and lollies onto the screen door. Then he talks to the children as they come out of school. Alan gets along better with children. They’re polite to him and they flatter his ego occasionally. He gives them ice cream because they want it. He enjoys their company. It reminds Alan of old times, playing with all his brothers in the mud, before they got told to stop and had all the grit scraped away from them.

Sometimes he’ll dislike a kid that comes up to him. Maybe they’ll say something stupid or disgusting, make him uncomfortable. He’ll deal with them when the crowds fade away. Or a higher up will deal with them later. Either way, they won’t make Alan uncomfortable again. And they’ll have some story to tell their stupid friends the next morning. They’ll stay away. That’s good.

Around five, Alan drives across town towards the Kendall Woods, directly below the Devil’s Thumb. He collects herbs from the water’s edge. Rosemary, thyme, basil, oregano. It all grows by the Black Spots’ banks. It goes nice with all the things Alan eats at dinnertime. As he leaves, Alan Walker will see the shadow man, watching him from behind an oak tree.

His eyes will be glassy and his trenchcoat will be tattered. He’ll be angry, as usual.

“Are you going to the Joneses again?” The shadow man will ask.

“Yes I am,” Alan Walker will reply. He always does, no matter the weather. He won’t break his routine for anything.

The shadow man will shake his head, “You’re a bad man Alan,”

“Am I?”

“A terrible man,”

“Is that so?”

“You’re split down the middle. Your brothers were too,”

“Oh really?”

“You were all too clean. Your brother’s got caught. They got punished for all the filth they spewed. You will too.”

“Someday?”

“Someday soon.”

Then the shadow man will walk away, back towards the Kendall Woods. Alan will collect his herbs, throw them in the back of his truck and wipe the mud off of his boots. He’ll then drive back into town. Back to Portland Drive.

Three times out of seven Mister and Missus Jones will be home by six and Alan Walker will be invited in for dinner. Very welcoming couple, the Joneses. They have such interesting things to talk about. Mister Jones was an engineer at the power plant nearby just by Cowhorn and knew all sorts about the Devil’s Thumb caverns. Missus Jones knew all about fashion and elastic. She worked at a flower shop on Geek Street. They both liked Alan Walker. He was an interesting fellow and so polite whilst at the dining room table. Alan Walker liked the Joneses too. Still, he looked forward to the times Mister and Missus Jones were not home. Because, four times out of seven Angel Jones will be left all alone at the house when Alan calls around six. She’ll bring him into the kitchen and fix him a cup of tea. Afterwards, Alan will bend her over the counter and just make love to her for an hour or so. They’ll lie on the floor for a while after, Angel wrapped in Alan’s strong arms. Alan couldn’t always predict what she’d say. That’s why he loved her. Still, she’d always start a conversation with the same thing.

“How’s your day been?”

“Fine,” He’d say, “Much better now.”

She’d smile and pull herself closer to his chest so she could listen to his heartbeat.

“Do you love me?” She’d ask.

“I adore you,”Alan would reply. And he would mean it.

After that she’d giggle and they’d either have one last roll in the hay or she’d talk some more. By eight or so, he’d be told to pack up and go home. Angel would walk him to the front door and kiss him on the cheek as if the last few hours hadn’t happened. Then she’d wave him goodbye as Alan got into his truck. Then Alan Walker would start up and head home for the night.

Alan Walker’s house is grey and soulless. He doesn’t live there. He just sleeps and eats there when he needs to. People like Alan don’t need homes. They live wherever they can, appear wherever they’re needed. And at around nine, Alan was needed down in the basement. Because on this particular day, he has a guest. They’ve been down there for a week, sleeping in the dark. Now it's time to wake them up.

The first splash only startles them. It’s the waterfall that cascades down their deformed skull that makes the creature open their eyes and splutter. The thing’s disgusting, bulbous eyes. Alan Walker stares at his guest, a bat in his hand. He waits for it to notice him, sitting on an old box. Finally, after what seems like hours, the guest twists its head towards its host, its ghastly, wrinkled skin making Alan wince.

“Who are you?” Alan asked, his voice no higher than a whisper.

The thing chained up in his basement groans, stretches and releases a hideous, piggy squeal.

“Excuse me?” He is answered with the same actions, perhaps a little more strained than before, as the creature begins to cough in the dark. Alan sighs. This one is far less intelligent than the...things before it. That changes things quite a bit.

The creature shivers in the cold and Alan can see black feather uncoil from its withered shoulders. Huh, wings. Who would have thought? Alan lifts himself from their waiting spot, swinging the old, oak bat in his left hand. The guest’s eyes narrow and stare at him, as if he’s realized what will happen.

“I don’t know how the law works where you come from,” Alan begins, “But here, where I was born and raised, we have specific rules about trespassing... very, very specific rules.”

The thing begins to frown. Good.

“Our law, our basic human rights, state that a man can defend his land from trespassers with any means necessary. Nod if you understand me,” The thing nods, “Now speak if you’re capable of speaking. It’s rude leaving someone to have a conversation with themself.”

The thing gurgles but can’t seem to form any words. Alan gives it a small smile.

“Ah well that’s a shame. No use holding off the inevitable. Let me just go get the lights.” Alan Walker, the only milkman in town, strolls back towards the basement door and reaches out to flick the lights.

“I’ll give you a few moments to think.”

Light flashes in the abomination’s eyes for a brief moment. However, afterwards it can see just about everything. The blood staining the carpet, the boxes, the dresser. It sees the cracked mirror on the opposite wall. It sees the rusted saw and Alan’s retired baseball bats from his younger years on the old workbench; tired, worn, covered in guts. Most importantly, he sees his captor’s large collection of shrunken, severed heads; twisted and marked by pus, their eyes swollen, wide open and empty. That is when the creature seems to realise what is going to happen. When Alan approaches him again it makes no vile attempts to communicate. No, much to Alan’s surprise he holds his head up high, sticking his pointed chin into the stale, basement air. He dies, soon after, without a fight. Alan leaves clean up duty for later.

And thus ends a day in the life of Alan Walker, last of his kind. Tomorrow he will do the same things, follow the same routine. And when he drifts off to sleep, Alan will dream of the same thing he dreams of every night. The Shadow man, in his rotten trench coat, his eyes like little suns.

“You’re a bad man Alan. A terrible one. All split down the middle. One day you’ll get caught. Everything will be at peace. Until that day, the loop will continue.”

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writefightandflightclub · 5 years ago

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Departures

What is this? 7 of 14 prompt requests for my follower celebration!

What is the prompt? “For your drabbles I got an idea from a video I saw where a dad shaved his beard and him and his wife do a face reveal for their toddler and the kid doesn’t recognize him and starts crying, it was the cutest thing. What if Poe and reader do something similar with their kid/s?” This was hella specific (which is all good, ILY) but I reinterpreted it a little- hope you enjoy and thanks for the request, Anon!

Author’s note: This can be read as a sequel of sorts to Arrivals but can totally be read as a stand-alone.

Summary: dad!Poe, husband!Poe, modern!Poe domestic cuteness.

Word count: 1977

Warnings: pregnancy, fluff, wifey x hubby flirting and light sexual innuendos, and typos.

GIF credit: here

“I’m not ready to say goodbye. You’re really going to shave it off?” you ask, with a pet lip, as you run your fingers through your husband’s glorious salt and pepper beard one more time. “It’s just so hot. You look distinguished, like a... hot Duke or something.”

Poe’s eyes twinkle with amusement. “But you like me without a beard too, right?”

“You’re hot all the time. It’s infuriating, actually. Just maybe I’m gonna miss the tickle of your beard on my skin.”

“Between your thighs, you mean?” he teases, his voice a low rumble. It’s not meant to turn you on -his tone is light-hearted- but it does anyway.

“Maybe.” you sing-song, nipping your lip between your teeth.

“You’ve forgotten how much you liked my stubble grazing you there. I’ll be happy to remind you, sweetheart.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” you promise, hopping up on the counter as Poe continues his application of shaving cream and takes his shaving blade in hand.

Ok, maybe you could get used to him without a beard again. There’s something disconcertingly hot about watching him shirtless, shearing the stubble from his chiselled jaw. Something about the smoothness and then the roughness which follows. The smell of those lotions on his skin.

You watch him fondly for a while, careful not to distract him as he moves the blade precisely over the more sensitive contours of his neck. He hums as he does so and, you realise, you’re glad to be reminded of this morning ritual. You tune-in to what he’s humming, and smile as you realise he’s unconsciously humming the theme from your little one’s current cartoon of choice. This man can go from sinful to adorable in the bat of an eye. He really has it all.

“Do you think Juno will like your new face?” you ask, and Poe’s eyes soften immediately from the mere mention of your daughter.

“She’s been strongly encouraging me to shave it off. In fact, she keeps trying to yank my beard right off. Yesterday, she hated it so much she mushed porridge into it and it was stuck in there for hours.”

“Gross, Poe.” you chide and he throws you a feigned angry look. “What if she doesn’t recognise you?”

“What?!” your heart grows several sizes upon hearing how concerned Poe sounds at the suggestion. “She’ll know me, I’m her Papa!” it’s more of a plea than a statement of certainty. He drops the blade down, seeming as if he might halt right there and remain half-bearded if there’s even a slight possibility Juno wouldn’t recognise him.

“I’m sure she will, Poe.” You say, hopping down to rub circles into his shoulder blades. “Just don’t be surprised if she gets a shock when she wakes up, ok?”

Well now he looks more than a little glum. “Maybe I shouldda kept it.” He keeps going, the other side of his beard disappearing stroke-by-stroke. The only patch which remains sits on his top lip. “Should I keep this bit?”

You smile warmly at him in the mirror. “It’s gotta go, Poe. I can’t take you seriously with a moustache.”

“Do you ever take me seriously?”

You respond by giving his ass a squeeze through his relaxed joggers. “You’re seriously sexy.”

He smiles and you think you might be distracting him a little too much now. “I’m gonna go start on the laundry. Come remind me what that handsome, cleanshaven face feels like when you’re ready, baby.”

You mosey out of the room, swaying your hips as you know he’ll be looking to catch a glimpse through the mirror.

***

You are pottering in the utility room downstairs when you hear Juno’s cries from the bedroom. You keep an ear out, but you know Poe is up there and likely rushing to her. Still, you wander into the kitchen so that you’re on hand if you’re needed, and so you can greet them when they make their way down to you.

The crying doesn’t subside and you get a little furrow in your brow. “Everything ok, honey?” you call up the stairs.

You look up at the mouth of the stairs with light concern, and you see Poe approaching across the landing, a bawling little poppet slung at his hip. Juno spots you and stretches her arms towards you with cries of “Mama! Mama!”.

Poe looks upset as he hands Juno over to you and you bundle her into your arms. You give her a gentle bounce on your hip. “Jungle ‘Juno’ Dameron. What’s got you so upset after your nap, huh?”

You look at Poe’s face and he is so distressed that it’s almost comical. You’re not sure who to comfort more - him or the child. “She doesn’t recognise me, honey.”

“Aww. Course she does. Don’t you Juno?” You rub you palm over Poe’s cheek, feeling the smooth skin and the sharp contours of his jaw. “Look Juno, it’s Daddy.” You give Poe a friendly kiss on the cheek. “We love Daddy, don’t we?”

Juno wrings her chubby little hands together, a tremble in her lip as she looks between the both of you, her cries having stopped but crystal ball tears still lingering on her cheeks.

He reaches out to Juno, brushing her tears away. “It’s me, baby.”

“Do the song she likes.” you nudge him, knowing she’ll respond to his familiar and soothing voice. He begins to sing to her and immediately, her face brightens. Although she still looks a little apprehensive, her cheeks apple with her gummy smile.

To your relief, Poe’s face brightens too and soon they are both smiling again.

Now that she’s settled, Juno wriggles against you and signals she wants to be put down. “Ok, baby girl. Shall we get some fresh air in the yard? Where’s Beebs?! Shall we go find Beebs?”

Juno claps her palms together and toddles in the direction of your yard. You follow closely behind her, momentarily confused as to why Poe isn’t following too.

“You coming hubster?”

“In a second. I just need to do something upstairs.”

You shrug and tootle outside, perching yourself on your back step and smiling softly to yourself as Juno plays in the grass with Beebs at the end of your garden. You pick up the stuffed animal strewn on the patio by your feet -a blurrg Poe had custom-made for Juno’s birthday- and your smile spreads further as you give the ridiculous creature a little snuggle.

Eventually, you hear the approach of Poe’s footsteps through the kitchen and you turn to look up at him as he plants a warm, broad hand on your shoulder. Now you might actually be able to appreciate that clean-shaven face of his.

You squeal as you turn towards him, however, and observe that he has something inexplicable and black and furry strapped across his chin.

“Woah.” You startle, pressing your palm over the shocked “o” of your lips before a hearty laugh filters through your fingers.

“I made a beard.” he offers by way of explanation. “I did not like upsetting Juno.” He perches himself by your side on the step. You think he’s smirking beneath the monstrosity strapped to his face, crow’s feet radiating from around his eyes. “Do you think she’ll buy it?”

You laugh. You laugh at this ludicrous man. Your fingertips coming up to tug at... whatever this is. You see he’s been quite creative, hair ties hooking it around his ears.

“What is it?”

“Ok, don’t tell Juno.” he leans in to you as if confessing a secret, his voice dropped low. “I maybe cut up a stuffed animal from that sack of stuff destined for goodwill.”

You feel overcome that he would do all of this, just so he didn’t upset her. Happy tears brim in your eyes at how loved your daughter is. You run a hand over his makeshift beard. “You are the sweetest man on earth, you know that?”

He gently presses a hand to your rounded, expanding belly. “Anything for my joint-favourite kiddo.” Your pending second child was about to be the joint-luckiest kiddo in the world, you could swear.

You look at him again in disbelief, so utterly wonderful and so utterly ridiculous. “Poe, you know you have a stuffed animal strapped to your face? This. This is one of the reasons people don’t take you seriously.”

“I thought I was seriously sexy.” he purrs, dipping his head towards you to steal a quick kiss from his wife while Juno is happily occupied.

The fibres of the fabric tickle at your nose.

“Just to be clear, honey. There’s no way you’re getting that beard between my thighs.”

You are joined in laughter until Poe’s attention is diverted by Juno making loud, nonsensical noises and tracking her way across the garden to you both. Her hands make a grabby motion as she toddles.

“I’ll take care of you later.” he promises, with a swift press of a kiss into your hair as he stands. “For now, let’s see if Juno recognises me again. I gotta be honest, it broke my kriffing heart when she didn’t know me.” you smile at his newly invented swear word to use around the little one.

You feel warm inside as he runs to Juno and lifts her in the air, joined in a happy moment as he aeroplanes his baby girl around in his arms, Beebs snapping joyously at his heels.

You reach for your camera phone. You must remember to take a video of him in that ludicrous beard. You don’t want to forget a single, silly, loving moment and you know it is impossible to capture them all. But this one? This one is far too good to let slide.

You stand and mosey down the garden, until you fold over with a jolt of discomfort in your belly. Poe catches it instantly and turns towards you. “Honey?”

“I wasn’t sure earlier. But now I’m pretty confident I’m having contractions. Pretty regular.”

His eyes scold you for not saying anything sooner but at the same time they are only full of love.

“It’s happening! Honey!” he looks like he might smile and cry and freak out all at once. He slings Juno on to his hip so he can wrap his other arm around you, his thoughts evidently going a mile a minute. “I’ll drop Juno next door with Finn until we can get hold of Grandma Leia and Grandpa Han. The bags are in the car. We can do this.”

You look at him in shock. “It’s happening. We’ve got to go. Meet our new baby.”

He presses a loving kiss to your lips, despite that infernal fake beard still adorning his jaw. “I love you so kriffing much,” he says, voice cracking with emotion, “and I’ll be right back. Call your mom, ok?”

He dashes through the yard and you call out to him. “Poe!”

He looks back at you over his shoulder.

“Take that thing off your face, or Finn and Rose will never let you hear the end of it.”

“There’s no time, sweetie! Plus, I wouldn’t want people to start taking me seriously.” He flashes you a grin before resuming his dash through the house.

You stand in the garden alone for a moment, saying softly to yourself. “I love you so much too, Poe Dameron.”

Then, you remember that you’re not quite alone as Beebs rubs up against your calf and yaps at you, as if to helpfully yank you from your slight panic and disbelief as the reality of the situation hits you. It does the job, and you remember suddenly that you need to call your mom, Leia.

When you look down at the phone in your hand, you’re delighted to see you never hit the button to end the video you were recording. You’ve captured that whole exchange.

Tears brim in your eyes, overwhelmed by the family you already have, and the family you’re about to have. You are so glad for every moment.

THE END

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wincore · 5 years ago

Note

In the rain, sad or hurt feelings, and Hendery please~ thank you~

theme: rich kid!au, fake dating!au

You should’ve known. You should’ve known. You should’ve fucking known.

You swallow the bile rising in your throat along with the anger of unsaid words that leave hot patches as they trail down to your stomach. Even the thought of his face gives you a headache, stupid smile and kind eyes. He’s not supposed to look like that to you. You’re not supposed to see someone beautiful in a person like him.

You pull your jacket up so that it doesn’t droop against your shoulder anymore. The air smells like rain and although it stopped a while ago, there’s chances for it to begin once again, a watery envelope for a world that doesn’t bat an eyelash at its own people. It’s only a few more minutes till you reach the subway station, Shanghai winds trying their best to drag your body in the other direction. People pass you by in a hurry, some with children, some with a lover and some alone. You dare not look; there’s a certain fear that you might see something else in them altogether. You grit your teeth. The nauseating classical music’s still ringing in your ears, from a party you wish you hadn’t attended.

You look down, the dirt on your shoes catching your eye. You found it distasteful, always scrubbing them clean whenever you got the chance but Kunhang, he never saw it that way. He’s a fascinating person, you thought, far from the self-destructive, artificial rich you have the image of. You want to swear at yourself for thinking of him and his voice, always, even now.

“It means you’ve got the world on you,” he says, laughing. “Wherever you go, the earth will remember you when you come back.”

“Kunhang.” You pause to join in his laughter. Sunlight in his eyes shouldn’t be having this effect on you. He shouldn’t be saying things that make you adore him more. This isn’t real. It’s not real. You struggle to enunciate the words in your head these days.

“Kunhang, you make no sense ever. It’s brilliant.”

“My pleasure.”

You hear loud footsteps behind you and make the mistake of turning around.

“(name),” he breathes heavily, hands on his knees as he tries to look up at you. There’s the bruise on his cheek that hasn’t healed from last week, the makeup over it already worn off in the rain and wind. His dress shirt is soaked through, jacket shrugged off and mud on the hem of his pants. There’s a cut on his lips that you’re sure wasn’t there before. What did he break now? you think. Apart from your heart, of course.

Wong Kunhang looks disheveled, worried and everything that he is not.

You turn back round and keep walking. It’s you who gives him space in your heart like this. You can just walk away. You can just walk away. You try to keep the inconsistency of your breathing in check.

“(name), please!”

You hear the footsteps get quicker and louder till there’s a hand on your shoulder and you immediately shrug it off before turning around to shoot your worst glare. Just like you used to. It can go back to being the way it used to.

“Leave me alone.”

You should’ve had the courage to say those words earlier, when he hadn’t tied you into this mess. You should’ve yelled at him, thrown a few punches, anything but complied with only a scoff to accompany.

“Look,” Kunhang waves his hands around with a spaced out look on him, “It’ll be good for the both of us.”

“Oh? How exactly?” You roll your eyes. “Pray tell.”

Resident rich kid Wong Kunhang shouldn’t be pulling you, of all people, into a desolate corner after classes. You don’t think you have more than fifty dollars to your name, your parents own a floor of a city mall that’s about to shut down and you work in customer service, for fuck’s sake.

“The old city mall. I can get it back in business.”

You quirk your eyebrow up. He somehow manages to sound in high spirits despite whispering to you as if he’s spilling secrets. Why does he smile like that, so honest?

“I don’t want to be engaged when I’m barely out of university,” he continues, “and you don’t want your mall to get shut down. Am I right?”

Kunhang simply breathes, at a loss for words. You catch the hurt in his eyes before he straightens, eyes flitting to anywhere but you. His hair is a mess, dark locks straying out of place and his nose and cheeks are a noticeable red; you don’t want to see him like this. You correct yourself. You don’t want to see him at all.

“I’m sorry—”

“Save it.” You feel the anger growling out of you. “This was a mistake.”

“Please don’t say that.”

You look him in the eye, biting your lip so you don’t immediately curse him out. What gave him the right? Because he’s richer than you? Because he has more power than you? Because you are clearly no more than a scheme to him? He thinks he’s clever—he’s right, but he doesn’t have to be painfully so.

“I’ll cancel the plans. I’ll pay for the damage. I’ll renew the entire place. I’ll do anything,” he blurts. “Please, please don’t go.”

Kunhang steps forward, the distance between you less than a foot. It kills you to see him begging like this—and for what? A marriage he desperately wants to call off? That doesn’t mean you’re something. You’re nothing more than a means to an end. It’s what people like you are for.

“And if I stay?” you speak, voice seething in a pitch lower than you’re used to. “How long do I have to keep doing that? How long do we just pretend I’m not a pawn in a game you’re playing?”

“I don’t play games,” he says, lips pressing into a thin line. “I- I just…”

It starts to drizzle. The people around you take out their umbrellas the previous showers had prepared them for, a flurry of nylon sounds around you. The pavement, not yet dried, is once again a dark ashy color, water pooling at the edge of the sidewalk. You want to look anywhere but at him.

When Wong Kunhang asked you to be his lover, you expected a catch. You didn’t expect a betrayal.

“This place is giving me a headache,” you say, wrinkling your nose. “Why are there so many people?”

“Eh, the press isn’t even here,” Kunhang responds, a smile playing on his lips. “Let me tell you, the tarts are the best thing.”

You pick one up from the large tray placed carefully on the pristine white cloth covering the table, the scent of chocolate making you hum.

A sense of peace entangles the two of you in warm, golden ribbons. Unnoticed by the rest of the crowd, all they’ll see are two ‘lovers’ smiling and laughing by the dessert table like children. You might just tell him tonight.

Of course, when Kunhang’s father announced their company’s purchase of the old city mall, your parents’ and many other people’s hard work—you had nothing but hurt and embarrassment in your chest as you walked out the doors. You’d doubted someone would notice your absence. But you couldn’t stay there without making some sort scene, something too unsightly for the likes of them.

You suddenly remembered why you hated Kunhang and people like him.

“You used me, Kunhang,” you say, giving up. You’re tired. “That’s a fact.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I won’t let anything happen to that place, I swear. I didn’t know this would happen.”

You sigh. It hurts, it hurts. You can’t do anything about it. You want to believe in him, the sound of his voice. Your lips tremble, the ringing in your ears louder as you try to hold your tears back. You’re not weak. You don’t want him to see what people in his status see you as.

Kunhang places his hand against your cheek and you’re surprised at yourself for not shying away. There’s an emotion in his eyes you can’t quite decipher, something melting, something sweet. He brushes the hair out of your face, the cold quite forgotten in the warmth he gives off.

Kunhang is kind, and you hate him for it.

“I love you,” he says.

You hold your breathe for a good few seconds, taken aback.

“Are you lying to me?”

“The only time I lied was when I asked you out on expensive ass fake dates,” he answers, a short laugh escaping his mouth before his voice hushes to a whisper. “You always dragged me away from those places anyway. Thank you.”

You scoff, the tears silent in their path across your cheeks. He presses his fingers against them, wiping them off and whispers an ‘I’m sorry’ once again.

“May I?” he asks, leaning in his face closer to yours.

You nod weakly, suddenly relishing the warmth that comes with his lips against yours. It’s not fireworks or the taste of chocolate. It’s a little wet, to be honest, and something close to gentle. You melt anyway, the sensation dizzying you with its warmth, reassurance and feelings you wanted to throw away minutes ago.

It’s different from when he’d almost kissed you by his swimming pool, his sisters giggling and teasing him about it. What they didn’t know was your fist against his stomach, and the weak sound he’d choked out while his arms still encased you and the laughter that bubbled up in him afterwards. He’d apologized. He didn’t mean to do it. You hated yourself for wishing you’d let him.

Kunhang slips his arm around your waist to pull you closer, giving you full cover from the soft drops of rain. It’s suddenly hard to get rid of the fragrance of him, cassis sorbet and redcurrant, annoyingly rich and yet of course—he’s more than that. Kunhang, to you, smells faintly of sycamore, running around in secret neighborhoods of a cosmopolis, and vaguely of antiseptic cream, with all the self-inflicted injuries he gets from his ‘miscalculations’. Kunhang, to you, feels the opposite of betrayal and hurt. Kunhang, to you, is more than you’d ever say.

The downpour gets heavier, startling the two of you away from each other. You look at his face, eyes to lips and feel the dense knot loosening in your chest. His lips are a little swollen and his eyes lowered, as he breathes softly in time with you. Why does he always look that way, so paradoxically honest?

Kunhang tries his best to shield you from the rain as you run for shelter to the overhang of some shop door, hands over your head and you sigh at the futility. You’re so stupid, you want to say again, after falling into the habit of it at his everyday chaos.

“Stop doing that,” you say instead. “Protecting me.”

“I know you’re strong,” he says, grinning. “And smart. I just think you don’t have to defend yourself all the time, you know?”

You bite your lip but the smile comes out anyway. You look to him to find his smile grown wider. The sound of rain against the pavement gets louder and you sigh at the warmth of his hand entangled in yours.

“I feel like a mess, Kunhang,” you say softly, “I hate feeling this way.”

“I know,” he responds, “but we’ll figure this out.”

He looks around, large eyes darting around at the sky, buildings and people around.

“Hopefully before we get pneumonia,” he adds.

You laugh, regaining strength after the emotional meltdown you just experienced. Your head feels a little dizzy but you grip onto Kunhang, reality soaking in drip by drip. Is it love, to feel this way? Anger and adoration side by side?

“Kunhang,” you say quietly. “What’s going to happen?”

“We can go to that fried chicken place if you like,” he says, a goofy smile on his face before it turns serious. “Is that a date? I wanted the next date to be nicer- I mean I could ask you to marry me right now too but there’s like issues to sort out I guess—”

“No, idiot,” you say, ears suddenly too warm at the mention of marriage, “I meant the mall. Our mall.”

He falls silent for a few dreary seconds, and your heart drops. This wasn’t just…for show, was it? That’s not like him. He smiles again, the curiously cheerful light twinkling in his eyes once more.

“We can explain together at the next company meeting.”

#nct blurb #wayv blurb #hendery blurb #nct scenarios #wayv scenarios #hendery fluff #hendery angst #hendery scenarios #nct au #wayv au #kunhang x reader #moonwrites #kiss prompts #lets pretend i know anything at all about business #enjoy this cliche kdrama scene kboos :*

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our-smooty · 5 years ago

Text

Flowerbeds and Fertile Soil: Chapter 13

Fandom: Good Omens

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens, )Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer

Tags: Kidfic, Mpreg kind of, they can choose to present however so idk, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has A Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has A Vulva (Good Omens), OCs Galor, parenting, using your snake form to avoid confrontation, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Pregnancy, if I missed a tag lemme know

Summary: They could do anything, go anywhere, all without the worry of Above or Bellow making a fuss. Even so, they mostly kept to their little patch of Eden, their cottage and garden and the simple life they’d carved out among the locals. Aziraphale opened a book shop in town, where he only occasionally sold any books (and the ones he did sell, were all modern and stocked specifically for that purpose). Crowley focused his attentions on the garden, and if he occasionally helped their elderly neighbour with her disobedient willow tree, then that was a secret no one needed to know. Lately, however, they had both been feeling rather restless, unbeknownst to each other. Aziraphale tried reorganizing his store, changing the way he tied his bowtie and even ate pizza –something he considered to be far too messy for him personally. Crowley had branched out into birdwatching, and then car maintenance (the human way), and even reading. Nothing scratched the itch for either of them.

Ao3 Link

The next day, Aziraphale woke up first. He’d nodded off sometime in the early morning, after finishing his book and being tempted by Crowley’s soft sleeping face. And even though he fell asleep second he woke up first. Crowley was still completely unconscious, his face mashed into the pillow and both hands tucked up under his chin. In the dim lighting and abundant, soft bedding Crowley looked extremely comfortable. Almost like he could keep sleeping for hours, which just wouldn’t do. As much as Aziraphale liked visiting the bookshop, and was relieved that everything was safe and sound, he did want to get back to the cottage and the nursery. The sooner Crowley woke up the sooner they could ward the Mayfair flat, then get back home.

But Aziraphale knew if he just woke Crowley up with a shake or by calling his name he’d be cranky all day. It was always better to let the demon wake up on his own. Except... There was one way he could wake Crowley up that had an excellent chance of putting him in a better mood than if he got to sleep in. The angel grinned to himself, then slowly slid under the covers.

Since it was getting later in the year, Crowley had once again taken to wearing his warmer flannel pyjamas instead of slinky silk or nothing at all. Luckily Aziraphale was well-practised at stealthily undoing the buttons and wiggling the loose trousers down past the demon’s bum. Crowley’s cock was soft, which was good. It meant Aziraphale could take his time, riling Crowley up until he awoke, drowning in pleasure.

His first stop was the demon’s nipples. They were already crinkling up now that they were exposed to the cooler air. Aziraphale tweaked each one between his thumb and forefinger a few times before lowering his head and sucking one into his mouth. Crowley twitched, puffing his chest out into the touch. He wasn’t making any noises yet, so Azirpahale decided he needed to escalate the situation by getting his teeth involved as well as bringing his thigh up between Crowley’s legs to grind against his member. That forced a tiny, mewling noise and another, larger twitch from his lover.

“Are you waking up dear?” Aziraphale asked, his lips brushing against Crowley’s ear. Another little sound as Crowley nuzzled further into Aziraphale’s chest and bucked his hips. “There you are, don’t you want to come for me?”

“'Ziraphale?” Crowley gasped. His cock was drooling now--no matter what form Crowley took he was almost always extremely wet and responsive--and making a mess of Aziraphale’s sleeping trousers. Which Aziraphale couldn’t complain about, as his own member made a damp-patch inside the trousers

“Good morning lovely. Did you sleep well?”

“Nnnngh…”

“I’m terribly sorry I had to wake you, but the sooner we get up the sooner we can ward your flat and get home. I am so looking forward to getting home and back to our little project.” He wasn’t sure if Crowley was listening, but that was alright. He seemed to be enjoying himself, at least, if the rapidly rising moans were anything to go by.

“A-angle--! G-going to c-come!” he whined, squirming back and forth against Aziraphale’s thigh. The movement made the angel moan as it reached his own cock. He was close too, but he needed Crowley to let go first.

“Yes, good boy. Come for me, let me see you--” Crowley’s orgasm seemed to hit him all at once, and he bowed into Azirpahale’s grasp, his entire body trying to get as close as possible. After watching the demon work through his pleasure, Aziraphale thrust hard against his still-trembling thigh then came as well, completely soiling his pyjamas. As soon as they both stopped trembling he miracled away the mess and straighten out Crowley’s clothing.

G’morning,” Crowley mumbled, finally opening his eyes to gaze drowsily up at Aziraphale. “That was… nice.”

“Oh-ho,” Aziraphale gasped dramatically, kissing the blooming indignant look on Crowley’s face. “Don’t get mad, dearest. I only wanted to wake you up in the most enjoyable way possible so we can get a wiggle on.”

“You’re only saying that to needle me,” Crowley groaned, nipping sharply at Aziraphale’s jaw. The angel retaliated by blowing a raspberry against Crowley’s cheek, which made him yelp and try to get away. “Angle!”

“You started it,” Aziraphale giggled. He soothed his demon with a chaste kiss. “How about I go make us tea and some toast. Or are you feeling ill again?”

Crowley settled and took a moment to assess himself. After a few seconds, his face lit up with a relieved smile. “No nausea, I feel… fine.”

“Splendid!” Aziraphale kissed him again, this time on the nose before pulling back and sitting up. “You’ll meet me in the kitchen in 10 minutes?”

“Of course angel. If I don’t fall back asleep.” Despite his teasing Aziraphale know Crowley would be downstairs, dressed and ready for the day, in far less than 10 minutes. Especially if he was feeling better.

“Thank you, love. Don’t push yourself too hard please?” They parted with a final kiss, then proceeded to go about their morning routines. Aziraphale made the tea, and the toast, then sat down and read to the morning paper. He set the comics aside for Crowley. The demon lazed about in bed for a full 5 minutes before finally getting up, snapping himself into appropriate clothing, and sauntering into the kitchen. He picked at the toast and sipped the tea, both of them enjoying the nostalgia of breakfast at the book shop.

After breakfast, Aziraphale took the time to get dressed the human way while Crowley browsed the funnies. When he was finished, they cleaned up together, then locked up, ensuring one final time that the newly extended wards were perfect.

"Ready to go, angel?" Crowley asked as Aziraphale paused at the door to the Bently. The angel looked back at the bookshop once, his eyes lingering on the door where the damage had been, before turning to smile beatifically at him.

"Yes, I'm ready. Do try not to speed too much though, I don't think my nerves can take it today."

Driving up to Crowley’s old flat was stressful, the fear that they would find more vandalism, or something worse laying heavy on Aziraphale’s mind. But when they arrived everything was fine. Crowley’s own wards had either held up, or whatever had happened at the bookshop really had been caused by mischievous humans. They still spent an hour improving the wards as they had at the book shop, just in case. When they were finished, Aziraphale suggested they check on the plants, using the excuse of not having seen them in a long time. Really he wanted to see Crowley with them, knowing that most of the greenery here were the demon’s favourites.

“Hello lovelies,” Aziraphale whispered to the plants while Crowley went to fill up the mister. Every single pot was filled with a perfect specimen, and it was easy to see that Crowley doted on these plants far more than any of the others. In fact, as the demon sauntered back into the atrium, every single leaf and stem seemed to bend towards him, seeking his touch.

"You better not be spoiling them, angel," he growled, brandishing the mister like a weapon. "This lot will take any excuse to slack off."

Crowley didn't seem to notice the way the plants were leaning into him. One particularly brave ivy even swung one of its tendrils out to brush lightly against the demons side. Aziraphale realized the plants might be reacting to Crowley's… condition, with a start.

"Perish the thought dear. Though they do seem rather interested in you right now. Are you sure you haven't been spoiling them yourself?" Crowley glanced down to the ivy now trying to wrap a vibe around his waist and the bleeding heart stretching itself as far as it could go just to brush a few of its blooms against the back of his hand. The resulting blush and stammering practically forced Aziraphale to walk over to Crowley and kiss his cheek.

“What--why are they--?” Crowley was hissing and stuttering up a storm. He went to bat the plants away, but Aziraphale grabbed his hands, pinning them to his chest gently and making him drop the mister.

“You aren’t going to like this, but I think they may know,” he said softly, running his thumbs over the demon’s knuckled soothingly. Crowley was red as a tomato and wiggling in Aziraphale’s grip.

“Ssso that givess them the right to get their dirty frondss all over me?” It seemed like Crowley couldn’t decide between being furious, embarrassed, or moved, which Aziraphale found unreasonably adorable. One of the vines had trailed up Crowley’s side then reached over to curl near the angel’s ear. A gorgeous, purple bloom the likes of which Aziraphale had never seen blossomed from its end.

“They’re only curious dear. Let them get their… look? Plants don’t have eyes, but I assume it’s sort of the same thing…” He trailed off. Crowley wasn’t listening anyway; his eyes were trained on the plants flittering around them. Some of them kept to a respectful, but curious distance while others were brave enough to briefly touch him. After each plant that could reach had the chance to examine Crowley they withdrew, returning to their pots and quieting down. Only when the last one had retreated Aziraphale released him, but not before pressing an apologetic kiss to each wrist.

“Angle…” Crowley grumbled. He had the air of someone trying very hard to seem upset, rather than embarrassed. “You can’t just let them get away with that shit! Next thing you know they’ll be thinking it’s alright to wilt a little when no one's looking!”

“There there, I’m sure they still fear you enough to stay in line, isn’t that right dears?” The plants shuddered in horror (or mock horror, at least), which made the demon relax a little. Shooting them all one last look of disdain, Crowley picked up the plant mister and began dolling out criticism and vitriol, though none of it seemed to land properly. Aziraphale wandered over to a far corner, where some of Crowley’s oldest plants made their home. He liked to visit them when he could, it was almost like meeting with a group of Crowley’s most trusted friends.

“Hello there, you’re all looking hardy as usual,” he whispered, making sure his demon lover couldn’t hear him. “I think he appreciated the welcome, even if he didn’t show it. I’ll make sure to bring the baby here to visit, once they’ve arrived.”

An ancient hydrangea to his right curled it’s leaves slowly, something Aziraphale hoped meant it understood. He wasn’t as well versed in sentient-plant body language as Crowley was. To pass the time he fussed about with their pots, making sure they were adequately turned towards the sun until Crowley made it obvious his task was completed by tossing the mister aside.

“Done filling their heads with your sentimental shite?” Crowley quipped, giving these plants the side-eye as well. “We could go for lunch, somewhere you’ve missed since we’ve been away?”

“You aren’t tired?” Aziraphale made sure his question wasn’t too prying, or too fussy. But he really was worried that the last few days may be taking a toll on Crowley’s energy levels. The demon had barely even put up a fightback when Aziraphale had held him still which was unusual.

“I’m fine. Might actually be, uh, a bit peckish?” Crowley answered, eyes daring around everywhere but Aziraphale. “Can’t be sure, but, I think that’s it? Dunno what I’d want to eat though, so if you have any suggestions…”

“Oh yes, of course.” Aziraphale had an entire mental list of places he’d like to take Crowley for lunch, given the opportunity and the rare event the serpent was hungry. It happened maybe once a decade and getting to check a place of his list was truly exciting. “I have just the place dear, somewhere I think you’ll enjoy. It’s not too far from here if you’d like to walk?”

“Think I could walk a few blocks, yeah.” Crowley took a step forward so he was within grabbing distance, which Aziraphale took advantage of by wrapping an arm around his hips and squeezing gently. “I want to take this one with us, though. S’not doing well, but I think maybe the cottage might have a better place for it.”

The small, only slightly withered, ivy trembled in its pot as Crowley held it out. This wouldn’t be the first time Crowley brought an ailing plant to the cottage, especially since Aziraphale expressed his discomfort with his original disposal techniques. It wasn’t in the worst shape Aziraphale had seen, but Crowley knew best when it came to his plants.

“That space by the kitchen sink?” He’d seen Crowley messing with the plants already on that window sill a few days ago, so he wasn’t surprised they were getting a newcomer.

“Maybe. Needs somewhere with more shade. I’ll just…” he snapped and the plant disappeared, presumably back to the cottage. “There, now we can walk.”

The walk was really only ten minutes. Aziraphale wouldn’t have suggested they make the trek if it had been any longer because Crowley would have most likely still agreed, and then been uncomfortable all night. Something about the slight changes to his body from the baby was playing poorly with his already loose and bendy snake nature, and more often than not Aziraphale spent a good hour each night massaging aches and pains from his lover's spine.

When they got to the restaurant Crowley made a happy noise. Aziraphale had known exactly what Crowley would be craving because every time he was the least bit hungry he always wanted the same thing.

“Is this… a burger place?” Crowley asked gleefully, ducking through the door Aziraphale held for him. The waitress waved at them from a few tables away and motioned for them to grab a seat. There were already menus on the table, and Crowley dove into his immediately, looking over the options with excitement.

“Happy dearest?” Aziraphale asked, watching Crowley coyly from over top his own menu. “I remember how you were just a few years back when you ‘got peckish’, and this place was so close to your flat…”

“How have we never been here before?” Crowley wondered, eyeing the cheeseburger section with something like wonder. “I guess--I know I don’t eat that much, and this isn’t really your thing--”

Aziraphale raised a hand to cut him off before Crowley could send himself into a guilty tizzy. “They have some lovely chips here, and their milkshakes are probably the best in London. Don’t worry about me, love, go ahead and enjoy yourself.”

Crowley hemmed and hawed for a few seconds before the waitress came over and asked to take their order. Then it seemed like his self-control broke as he ordered at least enough food to feed a small human family and their dog. The waitress took it well though and didn’t even flinch when Aziraphale made his order, confirming that yes, the skinny gentleman in the dark sunglasses was about to eat himself to death during her shift.

“Thanks, angel,” Crowley said, eyeing a neighbouring table’s order. “Kind of snuck up on me. Didn’t feel anything until we started with the wards, then boom!” He tossed a few of the salt and pepper packets he’d been fiddling with up in the air, scattering them around the table. “Feel like I could eat a horse.”

Aziraphale could see the waitress coming around the corner behind Crowley, his shake and fries on a platter, with one of Crowley’s meals beside it. “Their service is fast too, clean that up so she can set the plates down, there’s a lad.”

For once Aziraphale got the pleasure of watching Crowley eat. Normally if the serpent was going to partake in a meal he’d nibble on a bit of deli meat, or fresh fruit. Now he was gleefully digging into a greasy, fatty, messy burger while occasionally stopping to shove fries in his face. It was cute, watching Crowley get so excited and act so out of character. He’d already finished his first meal and looking around for the next course before Aziraphale was half-done with his shake.

“I guess this means the morning sickness is gone then?” He got a glare and a minor hiss for his comment.

“Don’t even mention that angel. I don’t want to be revisiting this meal in a few hours. How’s your shake?” They chatted as usual over the meal, the only difference being that Crowley more often than not had his mouth full and could only gesture. Much to the horror of the waitress Crowley finished his meal easily, even ordering a milkshake for himself at the end. The cook in the back even poked his head out to get a look at the monster who could eat enough for three then order dessert.

“Maybe we should have taken the car,” Crowley groaned, patting his belly. It didn’t look much more distended than usual, especially with the baby bump, so he must have been using some sort of demonic wile. He still looked a little drowsy though, the golden slits of his eyes barely visible under his sunglasses even in the cheery fluorescent lighting of the diner.

“Don’t think you can make it? We can stay another night at the bookshop if you want. Or at your flat if the drive back home is too much. I don’t mind.” Aziraphale paid the bill while Crowley hefted himself to his feet and stretched.

“No, no. I can do it. Besides, I sent that ivy back and it needs to be repotted ASAP.” The walk back to the Bently was a little slower and the angel found he couldn’t keep his hands off of Crowley. As they walked he slipped his arm around him, pressing their sides together, only letting go to instead loop an arm around his waist to guide them the last few meters to the curb.

“If you say so. Was there anything else we needed to get while we’re in London?” Aziraphale gave the flat one last angelic once-over--the wards were as strong as they could possibly be--before turning to the Bently. “I guess we weren’t exactly thinking about shopping lists when we left yesterday.”

“No, was a little more concerned with the shop being broken into. And I can’t think of anything right now,” Crowley answered, sliding into the driver's seat and wiggling a bit until he was comfortable. “It's not like we can’t poof back here anytime, you know.”

“I know, I know. Let's go then. We can always stop at a coffee shop on the way, if we need a break.” He got into the car as well and settled in. "You're My Best Friend" began to play on the car radio, the classical CD that had been in there before finally submitting to the Bently’s strange magic. Which was fine really, he’d grown fond of Queen, and even fonder of the way Crowley would mouth along to the words as he drove.

#fbafs #fanfic #ineffable husbands #ineffable lovers #aziraphale/crowley #crowziraphale #azirapahel #crowley #tw mpreg #good omens #gomens

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vagrantblvrd · 5 years ago

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PreFAHC Battle Buddies where Ryan is an ER nurse & ends up treating his neighbor Jeremy when he stumbles into the apartment, bleeding & bruised. They end up going out for coffee when Ryan isn't dying & Jeremwood happens. Flash forward, Ry is the Vagabond & someone gets hurt, they're stuck at a safe house & he ends up treating the crew member & has a ~shockingly~ fantastic bedside manner. Just, some soft Jeremwood FAHC & breaking scary Vagabond expectations with soft ER Ryan, Jeremy & crew.

Okay, so like.

Jeremy’s got these cats and maybe some plants and whenever he’s on a job or whatever for a while he knocks on Ryan’s door and asks if he’d mind looking after them while he’s gone?

Just pop on over to feed and water them, play with them to keep them from wrecking the place? He’ll pay him and everything.

Ryan just, ahaha, because cats usually aren’t that fond of him but sure, sure, and no need to pay him because neighbors, right? Maybe return the favor with Ryan’s own bunch of houseplants when he’s working doubles or what have you.

This goes on for a while without incident, they give each other copies of keys to their places and it’s a No Big Deal for either of them.

Like, sure. Ryan sometimes comes across a set of knives or brass knuckles. (Every so often there’s something that looks like it could be dried blood, but it could be something else? Paint??? He’s certainly no an expert, hahaha.)

He finds a gun once or twice, all of them left out by happenstance, like Jeremy was just so damn tired from whatever it is he does he put them down and kind of forgot. Had to leave at a moment’s notice and forgot to put them away properly most likely, since the texts he sent Ryan asking to look in on things seemed a bit frantic?

Anyway, surely Jeremy isn’t up to anything untoward.

And then one day Ryan gets home from work later than expected, feels guilty because he promised Jeremy he’d look after the cats and plants for him while he’s out of town, right? Only it’s been a shitshow of a day, this clusterfuck that was on the news. Gang war or something and they were short-staffed to start with so he ended up working a – hell if he knows? He’s pretty sure he had a morning shift, but that was a day, two, ago maybe and everything between then and getting home is a blur.

He heads straight to Jeremy’s place because the cats have to be starving by now and oh, God, please don’t let them have gone feral. Wreck the place and destroy the plants and everything in their path because they’re horribly spoiled brats.

Ryan walks into a war zone, shit knocked over everywhere. Pillows shredded and bits of toilet paper trailing out from the bathroom because of course they’d go that that first. Plants overturned and somehow they they to the food, dragged the bags and containers out and tore into them, evidence everywhere and the cats?

Loudly making their displeasure known because the wet food has proven a most formidable foe, will not come out from their metal shells no matter how many times they get knocked off the highest of kitchen counters or batted into the wall.

“Jesus Christ,” Ryan mutters, because what even happened while he was at work?

He sets his bag full of important things like balled up jacket because summer and hot and too tired fold it like a human being. Tupperware for the lunch he packed however long ago and eaten who knows when. (Can’t remember the last time he ate, but surely it can’t have been more than a day?)

Bits and bobs and phone that’s at fifteen, maybe twenty percent charge left at this point.

Goes to get a brook and dustpan after he sorts out the food situation for the cats and does his best with the plants. (A little battered, sure, but they look like they’re going to survive.)

And then!

Just as he’s rooting around Jeremy stumbles through the door, all fucked up because reasons?

Bleeding and hobbling around and generally mini flesh wound injured a la every action movie ever. (Shot or stabbed, but only enough that it’s cause for worry but not cut scene death worry?)

Ryan comes out, broom and dustpan in hand – thinks at first he didn’t fully close the front door thanks to his exhaustion or maybe the cats are acting up again, but no, no.

It’s Jeremy standing in his living room looking like shit, gun out and aimed at Ryan who’s like, “Uh...” because okay, wow yes.

All that plausible deniability he’s been working on regarding Jeremy and his everything is kind of pointless now, you know.

Jeremy and this general feeling of well, shit because no way Ryan doesn’t turn him in or whatever after this.

Definitely no way Jeremy’s going to kill him because talk about rude, and also that hardcore crush he’s got for the guy, you know? A shame he’s going to have to move though. Go to ground somewhere until the cops stop looking for him and all that, that he won’t get to see Ryan anymore but it’ll certainly be the smart thing to do.

And then Ryan’s like, “You’re kind of bleeding. A lot.”

Jeremy’s aware of that, thanks???

Ryan looks at the broom and dustpan he’s still holding and just sighs, because he, too, has this hardcore crush on Jeremy and also the whole medical professional business?

“If you don’t shoot me I could do something about that,” Ryan says, and waits until his words register with Jeremy, Jeremy lowering his weapon to set the broom and dustpan aside.

Waits until Jeremy puts the safety on and sets his gun aside and gives Ryan this crooked little smile he takes for permission before he gets the first-aide kit he remembers seeing in Jeremy’s bathroom. (Big old thing, obviously gets used a lot. Because reasons?)

When he comes back out Jeremy’s got sitting at his kitchen counter, got the lights on and everything and Ryan heads on over. Notices the gun Jeremy’s set on the counter a little ways away and while it should feel like a threat, it doesn’t?

Jeremy’s oblivious though, busy trying to get out of his jacket, but his injuries and the whatnot make that a whole Process, so Ryan has no choice but to help at this point.

“Need a hand?” he asks, because the last damn thing he wants is to spook Jeremy, do something he doesn’t like.

Sure, sure, Jeremy’s pretty easy-going most of the time, right? Bright and friendly and just overall great kind of guy, but this isn’t the usual scenario for the two of them and all that.

Jeremy sighs and gives Ryan this pitiful look, and Ryan snorts as he helps Jeremy out of his jacket, this horribly purple thing and up to that point he’s not been thinking about Jeremy’s fashion choices, right?

But honestly, the purple and orange with this pop of yellow is all-over horrible and he may or may not say something to that effect.

Jeremy huffs, because rude, and also it’s a fashion statement. (What kind he doesn’t say, and Ryan chooses not to ask because he’s not sure he’d like the answer?.)

Jeremy watches him work, Ryan muttering to himself here and there, and Jeremy amused by it because Ryan is personally offended by some quick patch jobs Jeremy did himself that are in various stages of healing. Crooked, uneven stitches that are a goddamned mess and infected and other atrocities. Just grumbles as he goes about dealing with those once he’s got the newer injuries fixed up and such.

When he’s finally done he just sits back and looks at Jeremy, all annoyed because what incompetent asshole has been stitching him up before this? Ryan wants names.

Jeremy is just grinning at Ryan because dear God is he an adorable asshole.

“That would be me,” he says, and doesn’t explain that he’s maybe been in trouble for the past few days. On the run from some enemies he made a while back and kind of forgot about?

Patching himself up in some shitty little safehouse somewhere and then more running and hiding and shootouts before he got rid of them for good and stumbled on home. (Was totally involved in that clusterfuck that had Ryan at the hospital for forever going from patient to patient with no reprieve.)

Ryan eyeing Jeremy because he suspected as much and is just.

“Alright then,” and assuming Jeremy doesn’t just kill him makes a mental note to teach Jeremy how to piece himself back together properly.

And then it gets a little awkward because oh, right, Jeremy might just do that?

But Jeremy’s not reaching for the gun or one of his knives or anything along the lines. Is just looking at Ryan with this dopey little smile and Ryan isn’t sure what to do with that?

So.He cleans up. Packs the first-aide kit back up and puts it back where he found it after he scrounges up some paper and writes down the stuff Jeremy’s going to need to restock plus a few things he didn’t have on hand that he probably should?

And then he comes out to find Jeremy about to fall asleep and bullies him to his feet and puts him to bed because he needs it?

Stands there and stares at Jeremy after the idiot falls asleep, the cats popping up out of the woodwork to snuggle him. Sighs as he closes the bedroom door and finishes cleaning up the mess the cats made while they were both out.

Stares at Jeremy’s gun on the counter for a long, long moment – he really should call the cops, do something about finding out Jeremy’s a damn criminal, but he’s too tired to deal with all that at the moment.

Cleans around the gun and dithers for a bit before he digs through Jeremy’s freezer and transfers one of the tupperware containers of leftovers out of Jeremy’s freezer to the fridge to thaw so he’ll have that on hand whenever he wakes up along with a note telling him to fucking eat, only more politely worded?

And then he grabs his bag and locks up after himself to go to his place down the hall.

Plans to take a shower and all that? (He’s got the next few days off thanks to the clusterfuck and extra hours at the hospital and plans to use them to catch up on missed sleep.)

But he’s so fucking tired and just passes out the moment he stops moving. (Sits down on his crappy couch to get his shoes off and all and bam, lights out.)

Wakes up to a blanket draped over him and note taped to his glasses that are on the coffee table, simple little thank you and something about food in the microwave?

And when his brain is kind of in working order again he gets up to check and finds one of Jeremy’s many, many tupperware containers of food and a smiley face on a post0it note and is like, huh.

Has no idea what to make of it, but he’s starving and Jeremy’s an amazing cook and since he didn’t kill Ryan in his sleep they must be okay???

So he eats the food Jeremy left him and then take a shower and deal with dirty laundry and other everyday things.

Runs into Jeremy on his way up from the laundry room and it’s this awkward little dance in the hallway – that thing people do when they try to slip past one another and keep going the same way and all that.

Jeremy still looks like shit, but less so, and Ryan’s in old sweats and his dork glasses and it’s just.

Weird?

And then Jeremy is like, “So, about the other day?”

Ryan expecting a threat to keep his mouth shut if he knows what’s good for him, but nah.Because Jeremy just wants to thank him for fixing him up and it’s the most awkward thing ever?

Somewhere in there Jeremy blurts out a thing about getting coffee sometime? And Ryan is just “I’m not much for coffee?” because awkward, and Jeremy is like oh, thinking Ryan’s trying to let him down gently, but!

“There’s this new burger place downtown?” Ryan says because dork who loves his food, and he and Jeremy had this whole discussion about best places to grab a burger around town and anyway, anyway.

Short story short they go out for a lunch date a few days later and that leads to other lunch dates and dinner dates (coffee a few times, even) and then all sort of things.

First kisses and so on and both of them head over heels for the other. Ryan patching Jeremy up when he does something dumb or someone gets the drop on him. Finally getting around to teaching Jeremy how the patch himself up that won’t leave scars, or much of one anyway.

And, you know.

Some situation wherein Ryan ends up as the Vagabond.

(Someone at Ryan’s work or one of their neighbors ratting the two of them out and Ryan in a tight corner – has to choose and of course, or course he chooses Jeremy.)

The two of them going on the ~run, leaving whatever city they’re in until they end up on Los Santos and it’s Jeremy’s turn to teach Ryan a few things since he’s in Jeremy’s world now.

Jeremy used to take him to the shooting range before things went to shit on them, brought him down to the gym and all that? Wanted to be sure Ryan could defend himself if something ever happened, you know? (And of course there was the whole thing where Jeremy would pin Ryan, grinning down at him until Ryan cheated like a bastard and kissed him to put him off-balance, reverse the tables on him and all that. Sexy wrasslingand all that, both of them laughing like dorks and so, so in love. Those times at the shooting range where Jeremy had to readjust Ryan’s grip on his gun and so on, get all up in his personal space and both of them super aware of it? The whole shebang.)

But now it’s a bit more serious because if they’re not careful they’re going to get themselves killed and Ryan’s a good student. Fast learner, and while he thinks the dumb mask Jeremy gets him as a joke is overkill he goes along with it anyway since Jeremy’s got his own face mask and Rimmy Tim bullshit going on.

Everyone in Los Santos hears about the Battle Buddies after a while, this Vagabond character and Rimmy Tim.

Look at Ryan as the bigger threat because of the skull mask and never really seem to pick up on the fact he’s really not? Like sure, he’s good at his job and all, but mostly a disaster.

Rimmy Tim’s the one to look out for, but since he insists on the horrible fashion choices and friendly nature they see him as the bumbling sidekick, and honestly?

That’s exactly what Jeremy wants.Wants people to underestimate him because they won’t see it coming when he puts a knife in their back. Will be looking to the Vagabond and forget all about him.

And while he’d rather Ryan not be in that position? It’s easier to protect him, counter intuitive as it might seem.

The Fakes pick the two of them up at some point, and it’s an uneasy situation for the two of them at first.

Yes it means bigger, better opportunities for them, but it also means these assholes have the potential to fuck them over but good.

Learn about the two of them if they’ll be working together. Find their weaknesses and exploit them, but it also, also means better protection for them too. (Everyone knows the Fakes look after their own and all that, but the Battle Buddies are a bit on the paranoid side of things at this point, so it’s a whole Thing, them settling into the crew.)

And then!

There’s a botched heist and the Ryan going to ground in a crew safehouse with Geoff and Michael. Geoff’s a little bit stabbed and Michael's a little bit beat up and eyeing Ryan warily because the Battle Buddies are still kind of a mystery to the crew, you know?

Ryan who ignores the way Michael's watching him as he goes to patch Geoff up, all, “Looking kind of rough there, boss,” and “I’ve got some experience patching people up,” and “If you lose any more blood you’re going be super dead, but sure.” when Geoff insists Ryan fix Michael up first.

And since Geoff would rather not be super dead he’s just fine, alright, fix me up.

So Ryan does, you know? Ropes Michael into being an extra pair of hands and tells them what he’s doing every step of the way, patient as hell with both of them even though they’re idiots?

And when Geoff’s as patched up as he’s going to get he deals with Michael who’s all fluffed up like Jeremy’s cats when they bring the vacuum out and all, but he calms down when Ryan continues on without batting an eye. (They assume, because he’s still wearing his mask.)

After they’re both patched up Michael eyes Ryan again because the moron’s bleeding a little bit himself, and offers to fix him up. Won’t do as good a job as Ryan’s done for both of them, but better than nothing, right?

Ryan’s a little surprised at the offer, but agrees. Talks Michael through the more serious stuff while Geoff watches them, all hmm because the rumors about the Vagabond don’t match up with this side of him, you know?

And after they get back to the penthouse and things go back to normal the others start to see it too, realize he and Jeremy aren’t that bad.

Time passes and the crew realizes that okay, wow, Ryan is in fact a disaster of a human being and while Jeremy’s not quite so bad they’re both the crew’s kind of disastrous, and then, idk, shenanigans?

#deleriousfromcoffee #ragehappy #jeremwood #battle buddies #fahc au #prompt fills #not!fic #technically not a fic #vagrant fic

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gyromitra-esculenta · 5 years ago

Text

‘Jack the Stag, and Other Works Penned by the Esteemed Songstress Sombra’. It’s an inside joke, probably. Kind of Part 3. Unedited. Personally, I’m liking this story more and more.

Otherwise: a bad Witcher AU but not because of the TV series (rest is somewhere here either under totally not witcher au or murder-deer tag)..

Warnings: blood, animal death (implied but not really), Jack has a thing against dryads only he does not, discussions of the price. Bad puns. (also, we are nearing towards one of the resolutions \o/)

Gabriel broods foregoing any further attempts at having a conversation and this time he's thankful for Jack ignoring him - until the brief vibration of the medallion when they pass through the boundary of the dryad grove brings him out of the dark reverie.

The air Gabriel inhales is rich with the smell of berries and coniferous trees, the light comes from no obvious source, and in front of him Jack suddenly whips back as an arrow flies past him.

"Oi! You stupid bitches," he screams in retaliation, "at least hit or miss proper!"

True to his words, some blood trickles down from the gash on his arm, and Jack almost dives forward to evade the other arrows fired at him while still shouting profanities, at least until a sort of a reverent whisper carries on the breeze as dryads emerge from their hiding spots.

"Wasn't that hard, was it now? I want to speak to your tree-mother." Jack strides forward, ignoring the way the dryads congregate around and try to touch him in passing - which absolutely has nothing to do with the patch of blooming flowers springing up from the bloodied stone.

Only it does have everything to do with it, and Gabriel pauses on the way to pick two of the cornflowers not sure what he intends them for. When he catches up, Jack sits in the grass surrounded by a circle of the adoring dryads responding to his every question.

He finds a spot away from them but close enough to hear the indistinct chatter, some of Jack's words carrying over the murmur of the other voices.

Gabriel turns the flowers in his hand, a gesture to keep himself busy paying only the nominal attention to his surroundings.

The touch sliding over his shoulder and fingers wedging below the hardened leather comes as a surprise. He glances at the dryad tilting her head now at him, her eyes half-lidded and parted lips stretching in a little smile. Gabriel just raises his eyebrows as she moves closer.

Soon, her arms circle his neck and she almost sits on his legs.

"Hands off and where I can see them, you tree harlot," Jack almost snarls from where he stands above her and the dryad shies away with haste, coy and supplicant, stealing glances and them both. "Scram! Now!"

"Fucking tree whores thinking they can touch anything they want only because they want to!"

Gabriel slips the flowers behind the pack as Jack sinks to the ground next to him, still ranting, keeping his eyes steady on the visibly pouting dryad slinking back to her sisters.

"The pond is there, you need to clean yourself so I can dress your back properly."

This grabs Jack's attention and he tries for the same sultry expression the offending dryad wore on her face. It's ridiculous, even without the dried insect viscera in his hair.

"I remember someone offering to wash my back in exchange for his sword?"

"Not like this. I'm serious," Gabriel adds seeing Jack bat his eyes, adding whole layers of absurdity to his attempt to act seductive. "Stop it, you look about as captivating as Sombra put in a gown."

"There's really no making you happy, is there?"

"I'll be happy when your back is taken care of." He nudges Jack's arm with his hand. "C'mon. You can tell me all in the meantime."

"All?" There's a flicker of darkness swiping over the blue and white of his eyes and Jack smiles.

Gabriel doesn't deign to answer and points in the direction of the pond, watching Jack get up with a groan and plod to the bank where he proceeds to make a spectacle out of losing his boots and pants. Several of the dryads hiding in the reeds are certainly appreciative of it.

"Get into the water, no stalling," Gabriel mutters gutting the bag to find everything he needs. Truth be told, he could use a bath too but he's not going to risk it, especially not with the same dryad slowly inching closer. "Vatt'ghern. Infertile," he tells her in low voice.

Any pretense of interest she might have carried is immediately extinguished by an expression bordering on offended. The scoff coming from her is drowned by the sound of water splashing and a scream.

"Melitele's tits, it stings!"

"And if you don't do it, it will get worse!"

"I'd rather sleep in an ant nest!" Jack sputters between dunking himself under surface and vigorously rubbing his hair to get the crusted remnants of the centipede out of it. "Or have my mouth stung by a bee!"

"Do I want to know?"

"No. It was embarrassing, the honey didn't help."

The image of Jack with his lips all swollen and puffy is enough to elicit a snort out of him. When he looks up, Jack's staring back at him from the water with an amused tilt to his head.

"Made you laugh, little cub."

"Are you done?"

"Oh, I don't know about that."

"You're crazy if you think I'm going to look." Gabriel turns his head back down to the preparations, mixing the crushed herbs with the lard.

"Fine, be this way," Jack huffs, splashing some more before he decides it's enough, and he marches out of the pond.

Without any additional prodding he sits in front of Gabriel with his back turned to him. Droplets of water and some duckweed stick to his skin and Gabriel brushes them off with the cloth before he starts applying the ointment.

"So why did they let the bugs run off the leash?"

"Tree-mother's been asleep for generations, and now she's dying, so their control over the grove is slipping."

"They're not true, are they?"

"Mixed. They have a cozy agreement with the men in the village, once a year they get a kid or three out of it, some other in-between."

"You'd think there would be more of them." Gabriel puts finishing touches to the burn and moves to the graze on the arm.

"Do you see any boys here, cub?"

"This much, I've guessed. They're not going to keep this place for much longer."

Jack turns around and shifts to his knees.

"I could give them time. A lot of it, to last for generations more."

"Could, not would," Gabriel notes while slicking back blond hair from Jack's face to inspect the wound on his cheek, reddened and hot but bleeding no more.

"They have nothing to offer in return that I'd want."

"You could ask some to lie with you, they'd probably fight one another for it."

"The key is want. But," Jack looks at him expectantly, and his palm covers Gabriel's fingers resting on his cheek, "I could do it for you, little cub. Do you call upon the Covenant and pay the price?"

"I do," Gabriel answers after a moment of hesitation, remembering the last time Jack had asked him the same. "Wait."

He reaches for the cornflowers and fits them behind Jack's ear - making sure the stems hold in place. The smile he is given in return is full of unspoken words.

"You'll make me think you care, cub," Jack drawls in content tones. He moves closer and splays his fingers on Gabriel's thighs, their noses almost touching.

"Pants."

"Do I have..."

"Yes, you do," Gabriel cuts short the petulant whine by thrusting the bundle of cloth in his face.

"Since when do you always have a spare pair?" Jack grumbles under his breath - backing off and getting his feet into the pant legs.

"Since you insist on promenading buck naked all the time."

Jack freezes with the trousers around his knees and stumbles a bit.

"Was that a pun?"

"Maybe."

"Commit to it, then, so I can hate you proper for it."

"No." Gabriel raises his eyebrows.

"Careful, cub, you're like a spring's fawn on November’s ice." Jack pulls up the pants, ties the strap, and stretches before turning on his heel. "Coming?"

"Wait," Gabriel calls out after him, following closely behind, "you didn't name the price."

"And you had not asked before agreeing," Jack flashes him a wry smile over his shoulder. "I'm trusting you to keep the word given and pay back what is owed, little cub."

"I can't do that if..."

"Hush, little cub."

Jack leans down and picks up a broken stone barely breaking his stride. The dryads flock to the sides but keep their distance as he stops in front of a wilted tree, looking at it attentively with his head tilted back.

The gnarled branches spread in canopy above the clearing, the aged roots pierce the ground around the massive trunk except for the path free of any growth on which Jack stands with his bare feet braced on dirt and stones. His left palm smooths over the cracked bark.

The impression Gabriel has that Jack in his vindictiveness aims to teach him a lesson evaporates when he begins to speak.

"You're so old that you remember the time before them. You've earned your peaceful sleep, many times over. But you left the children alone without guidance."

He grips the stone in his left hand and with a wince cuts the inside of his right palm with it, slow and deep.

"So sleep longer and dream, and from those dreams let the seed come that will grow a sapling to continue in your stead so the children are taken care of."

Fingers smear the blood on the trunk before Jack presses his hand to it. Into it.

Gabriel's medallion jumps violently straining against the cloth of his shirt and the chain - trying to break free before it falls slack as suddenly as it had started to react to the magic.

Gabriel finds himself moving even before the bloodied stone slipping loose from the grip Jack had on it registers fully in his mind. He almost slides, ending in a crouch with his arms outstretched and catching Jack's full weight before he hits the ground in a dead faint.

He's cold, so cold, wracked by shivers, and his breath burns Gabriel's cheek.

"I need something to warm him up," Gabriel barks an order at the surrounding dryads, undoing the buckles of his armor with one hand while he cradles Jack to himself with his other arm.

He throws the chestpiece awkwardly to the side and strips his shirt - hands are holding out furs and worn out blankets. Gabriel grabs as many as he can and wraps them around himself and Jack, pulling him closer, tangling their legs together before he lies back on the ground.

Jack, with his face cradled in the nook of his neck, is still running hot and cold, skin frigid to the touch and each exhale scorching, trembling with no respite in sight.

"Fuck." Gabriel purses his lips unsure if anything he does, and could do, is even helping.

Above them, the dead branches sprout green leaves and flowers bloom filling the air with sweet aroma but he can only think about running his hands over the hair on the neck of a great old stag gasping painfully for its breath, of curling his fingers around the arrow shafts.

He remembers the weight of the knife he had plunged into its flesh, no, not the swiftest of deaths, and the blood pooling beneath them - seeping into the ground to give birth to a miracle - and it is the knife he feels between his fingers twined into blond locks.

Where he sat at the edge of the river, Jack had laid with his head in Gabriel's lap unaware of the attentions of rusalkas and nymphs focused on him as he trembled with the same kind of chill clinging to his skin, lips blue at the edges and warmed on the inside by his breath.

Gabriel had asked then, bound by the curiosity, and the one with the crown of water lilies in her damp hair almost laughed at his question.

"Silly man," she whispered with the shimmer of a stream spilling over the rocks, her dark eyes glinting, "it is no fun when he sleeps."

As enigmatic answer as ever, and no less he came to expect from creatures of her ilk - speaking in riddles unless they want something - but one that explained enough. He had spent the rest of the night with fingers tracing the jagged grey scar under which a steady pulse ran.

And in the same fashion Jack's skin slowly warms as his breath cools and shiver subside. Soon, the hand resting on his chest shifts slowly to touch the leather pouch on the string.

"Never take it off," the voice in which Jack speaks is barely audible. "Never tell anyone."

"I won't. I wouldn't." Gabriel looks at his face where under the lashes only a sliver of blue glimmers. "What did you take for it?"

"I wanted you to catch me," Jack murmurs against his skin.

"You couldn't have..."

"I trusted you to catch me, little cub. And you did."

"That's fucking ridiculous, you twat," Gabriel laughs - it's strained and leaves his throat raw and hurting. "And I was asking about the flower. What was the price for the flower?"

"A kiss."

"A kiss," Gabriel repeats after him because it is even more preposterous than anticipated

"Now," Jack puts a finger against Gabriel's lips, stopping whatever he might say, "a kiss had been asked, and a kiss had been given. It is not for you to decide what makes a kiss."

"A kiss. Was it worth all of that?"

Jack shifts and moves so that his elbows rest on the sides of Gabriel's head, and he looks down at him.

"Why do you want me to tell you it was not?"

"Because when you get what you want..." Gabriel swallows past the dryness in his throat. "You will leave, won't you?"

Jack chuckles with his lashes lowered and his head inclined curiously to the side, lips pushed forward almost in a pout.

"My foolish little Gabriel, why, oh, why would I leave if the only thing I want is you? Have I not made myself known?"

#sometimes I write #r76 #reaper76 #murder-deer #totallynotwitcher!AU

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sick-raven · 5 years ago

Text

Ghosts of the Present - Chapter 9

Chapter 1 + warnings

AO3

Previous chapter

Chapter 9

The fire got his attention right away. Batman was on his usual patrol when he learnt the house is burning – normally he would leave this to firefighters, but the address was well known to him. That’s where Miranda Bradbury lived. She gave him few wrinkles these last two months. Since he helped her, she was like and uncontrollable force, killing people left and right either working with Crane or just being paid for it. It looked like someone got her back for it.

He arrived just in time to see a woman run away from flames. She stumbled, looked very wobbly and unstable. Batman jumped to the street – trail of mud was left behind her.

Clayface. Basil Karlo, sometimes Betty Karlo. What was she doing here?

“Betty, wait,” he called.

“Shit,” Betty replied and tried to fasten up. Her leg tore off and she fell face down with wet splat. “Shit,” she commented weakly.

“What happened here?”

***

“Witch, destroying everything! She will pay for it I tell you!” Edward Nygma angrily restarted his puzzles Banshee messed up with her entrance. He smashed codes into numeric pads and moved around giant chess pieces he prepared as a great war puzzle for Batman.

Sweating like a bull he pushed queen to her place. “Thinking she is better than me,” he huffed. The queen got stuck on something. He moaned in frustration and kicked the stupid thing.

Queen staggered and leaned on one side. “No!” If it falls, he will never pick it up again! Edward ran to the other side to catch the bloody thing.

“Nooo!”

It was heavier than it looked.

Batman found him pinned to the floor by giant chess piece repeating swear words alphabetically in several languages he didn’t even speak properly.

“I’m looking for Banshee.”

“Witch! That damn wench, I’ll get her!”

“I guess that means she was here.”

***

Staff of Arkham gave him empty looks. As if they were drugged and didn’t even see him. The League of assassins hired several Gotham rogues to do their bidding. That sounded too complicated for Ra’s al Ghul. He always hired people he knew won’t mess up their job. That can’t be said about Clayface or Riddler. Not even mentioning Killer Croc. Ra’s was playing dangerous game and as it looked it already went out of hand when Miranda got involved.

What was the point?

Batman took the elevator down and entered chaos.

Assassins were running around in panic shouting at each other, pointing to different locations, arguing. None of them paid attention to the new visitor. Batman has never seen these top-level killers so unfocused.

Among the people he noticed top hat running to the elevator. Mad Hatter screamed in high-pitched voice when he collided with Batman. Jervis fell on his butt, looked shocked, his chest rose and fell under frantic breathing.

“Bat!” he shouted. Then he caught his head, looked behind himself, then forced his stare to the ground and rattled his teeth. “What to do, what to do?”

“What’s going on here, Tetch?” Batman awoke him to reality.

Jervis clumsily stood up and dusted his butt. “Bandersnatch…” he started and gulped loudly. “Bandersnatch…” he started again taking desperate look to the tunnel he just ran out of. “What to do?” he whispered again.

“Focus.”

“Bandersnatch said you need to meet the head of demons,” Jervis said so fast, Batman almost didn’t recognize the words.

“Ra’s al Ghul is here? Where?”

One last look to the tunnel and Jervis danced to different path. “This way, Bat. Scary swordsman is waiting for you, we mustn’t be late.”

The crowds of soldiers were still running amok, but Batman has decided to follow the Hatter. The further they got the more focused assassins were. Finally, a sound of hammers and wall crumbling invited them into hall where Ra’s al Ghul stood, angry look on his face. He turned to Batman and any sign of annoyance disappeared.

“Ah, detective, welcome. I planned to greet you more properly, but as you can see, we have little… disruption. Nothing we cannot deal with.”

Batman didn’t let any confusion show on his face but didn’t know what to think. Clayface told him she was working for the League and they were supposed to catch Banshee. At first, he thought Miranda will need help, but it seemed more like she stumbled into something bigger by accident. And now she gave the same wrinkles to Ra’s.

“What are you planning?” asked Batman. Sound of crumbling wall almost buried his words.

Ra’s smiled. Batman didn’t mean the wrinkle metaphor literally, but it seemed like the Demon’s head will become the Demon’s grandpa soon. “I’ve come to prepare a place for you. To be the judge, to be the leader you were meant to be. I came to offer you the League!”

If Batman didn’t want to keep his face, he would cuss Ra’s out of the Gotham. “We’ve been over this. I will not join your cult full of killers.”

“No, not join. Lead!”

“That neither.”

With last hit whole wall crumbled and showed dark tunnel hidden behind it. “Finally,” Ra’s commented. “That will be the first gift to you as the new Demon’s head. Lazarus pit! Hidden all that time under your own city!”

“I had enough of your games, Ra’s. Leave my city!”

Ra’s sighed dramatically and shook his head. “I expected this result.” With a snap of his fingers two dozen soldier entered the room with the same blank expressions Arkham employees had. Two of them carried TV showing a mall in Narrows, full of people going about their day.

“You have two choices,” Ra’s said. “You kill me and take my place, or I will release the toxin to all those innocent people and order them to kill themselves like this.” He snapped his fingers again and one of the soldiers stabbed himself in heart. Batman couldn’t even react, it happened in light speed.

“You are sick, Ra’s!”

“They were supposed to be ordered by Mr. Clayface with my looks, but I am sure most of them are desperate enough to want to die without his voice or Mr. Tetch’s hypnosis. Narrows are such depressing place, most suicides in Gotham are from there, did you know? They will follow my orders.”

Jervis nervously laughed and rubbed his hands. “Gas,” he whispered. “Gas.”

Batman clenched his teeth.

“What’s it going to be then, detective? Strike me down. Kill me, take my place!”

“Gas,” mumbled Jervis eyes set on Batman. “Gas.”

Batman had experience that taught him to never trust his enemies. They were ruthless and crazy. They went to terrible lengths to get what hey wanted. But many of them had honour and tried to get better. He adored them for that and hated he couldn’t help, and they always slipped him and went back to causing harm. But he has seen how it looked when they tried to help and, in those instances, he knew trust in them will not be misplaced.

“Gas,” whispered Hatter again.

“Do your worst,” Batman decided.

That answer shocked Ra’s. His eyes widen. “I am not joking around. Those people will die, and their blood will be on your hands! One way or the other you will become killer, you will be one of us.”

“I am not bluffing.”

Ra’s face turned in anger. “Do it!” he ordered.

The screen showed the mall filling with white gas. Batman felt a stab of uncertainty. Maybe he shouldn’t have trusted the Hatter. Did he make mistake? Did he just kill…

The people waved their hands around to get rid of the smoke and laughed. Then laughed some more. No hysterics not like when you let Joker in chemical lab, but they obviously got very high and very happy.

“What is this?” Ra’s grinded his teeth.

“Bandersnatch fixed the formula,” Hatter grinned. “You do not harm friends.”

“You little!”

Batman attacked. Ra’s never got to Hatter. He had to protect himself. Strong fighter like him never had problem with it. But as he grew old, he grew weaker. And Batman was at his peak.

Ra’s al Ghul lost very soon.

And Batman will have to clean all this mess.

***

“I had to clean all your mess.”

Batman stood on roof of a small apartment complex in cheap part of town.

“They started it,” Miranda answered. Even after two days she looked tired. Her hand was patched, she had trouble moving and what was the worst, she was heartbroken as hell. When she didn’t wiggle in pain, she cried over lost property, lost books and Jonathan. This is not what she wanted when she got her feelings back.

“You killed many people.”

“Are you going to jail me?”

“Unfortunately, there is no evidence against you.”

“Yeah, I won’t tell everyone I can cut people with my mind. Oops.”

“I already know.”

“I figured. Why are you here? Just to teach me a lesson?”

“If the League is ever back in the city, you need to tell me, Miranda. I have my disputes with them. I must know.”

“You never gave me your number.”

“Just start the bat-signal.”

“What’s up with that thing anyways? Are you seriously looking up in the sky all the time? That’s tiring.”

Batman smirked. “Get better soon. Stay out of trouble.”

“Don’t count on it.”

He grappled away. Miranda stayed alone on the roof looking at stupid blimps flying overhead. Using ghosts exhausted her. Constantine warned her – every time she uses them, more of her life energy will drain. Count on them too much, bam, you are dead before you turn forty. That wasn’t her goal. She just wanted to be the one in control and she showed those bastards she can. A prison, a prisoner and now a warden.

Yet she felt empty.

And she hated that feeling.

***

Jonathan needed long sleep. He didn’t leave his bed for days. Even if police would threaten to take his door down, he wouldn’t bother getting up. The work for the League has left him mentally drained and what happened with Miranda has left him angered at world and mostly himself, for he is an idiot.

So, he slept, ate and slept some more. Only Jervis tried to call him to figure whether he was cut to pieces under Arkham.

“No, I am alive,” he said tired to the phone and turned it off when Jervis started crying loudly.

All that sleeping and eating allowed him to settle his thoughts. He put on long gloves and dug through them one at the time, awake, in dreams, asking himself hundred questions and properly answering even the most stupid ones.

“What did I do wrong?”

“You are insecure prick.”

“Elaborate.”

“You think everyone hates you, you cannot be loved and therefore you expected to be betrayed and you just waited for that gotcha moment.”

“Ah. Fuck off.”

“Next question.”

“How do I fix myself?”

How does he indeed? He tried in the past and the path of good locked forever and he threw the key to acid and then cemented over it. That didn’t stop him from improving himself for himself though, right?

Right.

He slept and ate and slept some more and days turned into week and then two. So, after two weeks he finally managed to get himself together. He shaved, brushed his hair and he looked like a human again and not a wreck. He also had all the answers and he was ready to put them to good use.

And if it doesn’t work, he won’t act like a little child. He promised that to himself every night.

Bound in nervousness, yet confident, he knocked on the door. A person opened and looked at him like a murderer just entered the hall.

“The fuck you want?” asked Terry needlessly. They folded their arms blocking his view inside.

“I want to talk to Miranda.”

“Let me thin- no. You are not talking to Miranda, you jerk. She had enough of you,” Terry stood their ground. “You can be on your merry way, bye.”

“Let me talk to her.” Jonathan didn’t plan to give up either.

“Or what? You will scaaare me?” chuckled Terry in mocking way. That will definitely go on the list of complaints.

“No,” Jonathan scoffed. “I will come again and again. Every day until she is the one who opens the door. So, save me and you the time and get her.”

Terry rolled their eyes and closed the door. Jonathan waited. It almost felt useless, but the door finally opened again and there she stood. Miranda looked at him with the same mixed feelings he felt inside. He wouldn’t back off now.

“Miss Bradbury, good afternoon,” he said thankful he is a jerk and can control his voice as if nothing ever happened. “You left this at our last appointment.”

He handed her The Martian Chronicles. It must have burnt with her flat and he didn’t manage to get the same print, but he figured it’s a good excuse.

“Ah. Thank you,” she said little awkwardly. “Did you like it?”

“Yes, it was thought inducing book.”

“I appreciate you brought it back, professor. I missed… it… dearly.” She didn’t smile, but she tried her damnest to look him in the eyes. He had similar problem.

“To be honest, it’s not the only reason I’ve come.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No. Now, I know it’s not really appropriate for a doctor to do this, so feel free to say no. I wanted to ask whether you would consider going out on a date with me?”

Miranda smiled a bit. “You are right, that’s not really good patient-doctor relationship.”

“I know. But I would love to talk outside office hours. And to get to know you better.”

“See, professor, I was in a bit of pickle not that long ago. Cost me four fingers. My temporary landlord won’t let me come home after ten.”

“I will ensure you are home on time,” he smiled. “Lunch tomorrow?”

“Okay. I will wait for you.”

She shifted a bit as if she wanted something, but only said silent goodbye and closed the door behind herself. Jonathan breathed out all the nervousness. Yes! It worked.

“SERIOUSLY?” he heard Terry shout and smiled.

Yes. Seriously.

#batman #fanfiction #jonathan crane #clayface #writeblr #ghosts of the present #sick raven writing #and that's all folks #this story is done

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smallgayblanket · 5 years ago

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New/revised/whatever- List of stuff

Egos (Marks/Jacks) that I have written for or at least actually have thought about HCS/other universes for: (Just some brief rambles about them, please don't hesitate to ask about them :3)

-Anti, Two takes really, I like him soft, like him mean, hes just fun to write, plenty of different ways to spin why he acts out, what he is and all that. My current fav way to portray him is a missing piece of Seans soul, which means hes unstable as a ‘person’ (cough, not really a human but not, not human either.) And how he has static filled blue eyes but usually hides them with the scary emerald green...

-Jameson, I will always stand by this kinda universe i created with a friend aages ao that Shawn took away Jamesons voice when being puppeteered by an awful ink creature that shares his body. Giving Jameson a lovely fear of knives, some scars, and some very damaged vocals..

-Crank, Oh my fucking boi, a near dead human spliced with a bunch of robot parts..human skin tangled with wires and a heart incased in metal..hes a right mess, a voice in his head that makes him feel all sorts of bad.. He tries his best..he cries oil, I hardly get to write him but I love him.

-Blank, another big fav oi, black hollow eyes..a tendency to faint... My Hc involves him having been in an accident that almost killed him, leaving him with a very rare heart condition. He also has an aura which..kinda ties into him having a few abilities and stuff.

-Nes.. He started off as my own kinda Ethan ego, basically Ethan who was mistreated and really lost his marbles..hes great for the real twisted messed up kinda stuff, so dependant on others, a minor murderer, and has been eyed off by a certain ice cream driver for quite some time...

-Were eth, Okay granted this was literally just kinda an idea that..Eth became a were wolf boi, fangs, tail, ears. Hes just a fun lil pupper

-Eden. Succubus Ethan basically, but well, he again kinda turned into his own thing separate from Ethan. He's got a tail and wings, and hes a lovely lithe thing. He doesnt dare do things without consent, just gets a bit touchy-feely when hes gone without any energy for too long. Very wide stunning saphire eyes.

- Jackie Oh my lad..Buff, trans, adorable, sweet. I always love tinkering around with how/what powers he has tbh..and like- I’ve always had the hc that his eyes are lilac?? or gold. Depending on things.. and he works either at a comic book store, a gym, or at the counter of a gas station. Gives the best hugs. Also I love AUS where hes a phoniex because of uhm?? Big fucking red wings??? YES.

-Hen, Getting his accent right is tough but other than that I love writing about the tired doctor living off coffee and ignoring himself in favor of others.

-Chase The fucking best dad, sunshine lad. Running a vlogging channel and doing his best while combatting depression..I hc him to have chronic fatigue so he has to push himself extra hard. but He does well in trying to get better and look after himself and only slips up like any other helpless human. Very fun to write.

- Robbie. Sof.t zombie lad. Drown in a sweater. Stutters and is v quiet. Slow with speech. Struggles to see sometimes. Loves soft textures.Loves attention. Overall soft fucking lad.

-KOTS, To mean known as Simon. Actually v smart, big brain, very scattered n shy and nervous and squirrelish. Loves books n plants, loves nature. Red is his best colour. Warm sweaters and nuzzling and cuddling up. I always get torn between him being a hybrid of human/squirrel or just a lovely soft guy.

-Yan ! My fem nb/trans gal! They’ll kick ass with their katana, have the hots for Bim, and looove Japanese culture and stuff. Very adorable. Loves pink. 10/10 love to write.

-Technically I do have a muse for Mark, or..idea? I’m thinking about shoving it into my own oc/thing..but basically he got tortured n abused by Authy so hes not quite like the real life markimoo..just a nervous mess whose dealing with his traumas..

-Bing, Skater lad, yellow/orange eyes, sunflower vibes. Tries his best, clumsy as fuck, great for a laugh when hes not cowering under google.

-Edward iplier, Gah my doctor lad.. I have a hc that he Lost arm. In fire..or by dark n wilf. He has heterochromia too!! One cho ceye one blue one. He is a fucking nerd (Minor adhd lets be honest) He fucking loves space and science and space/science related lights. He has a bat plus with spacey wings. He likes reading, likes being clean and is quite a quiet indulger in food which has left him with a big of a softer figure. Super gentle nature..nothing like the arrogant portrayal we got in some videos.

-Angus I love this man!!! Part Aussie, part irish, a whole lot of gruff old dad with a soft spot for nice people and animals, has his own big place, next to a large ass forest. Loads of scars. Loves boots and cameo coloured clothing. A lovely guy when you get past the rough edges.

Aand onto all my ocs as of writing this (cause you name well know I be writing new ones like..all the time.)

--------------------

OC’S (My original characters!)

-Jessy, Cowboy- Choker with gold bell. Lil ears/horns. Spots. Shy but sweet. Hands and feet different colour to rest of skin. Kinda fur ish feeling rather then just straight-up skin. Pear shaped figure. Shy lad. Likes to take lots of naps, anxious easily but a big people pleaser too.

-Ailan and Keros. Moth n butterfly boi. (Literally just made up with a friend, just a random soft pair of lads tbh nothing too fleshed or spesh)

- Louie - Followed by a dark being/creature/spirit... Yet to determine what else about him, but hes got brown hair, pointed ears and looks lovely in green.

-Quinton A Hybrid of Demon and Angel otherwise called a Guardian. Quirky, Pan as shit, great dress sense. Extremely calm. Can see auras. Lovely black feathered wings. Bright blue hair. Kind smile. Works at a little coffee shop in his spare time.

-Ori Very pure angel boy, previously owned and not very well treated by a god, came crashing down to earth with no memories but his wings intact. Some help him.

-Lumi Ghost boy! Died years ago under awful circumstances..now lingers around on earth, sometimes meeting humans who happen to be able to feel or see his presence, he has the ability to make himself solid for short periods of time.

- Lucio Witchy..dragon soul something or other- Deaf.Paralyzed? In the arms??They might use alot of energy trying to hover around instead of having to use a chair..(I mean how many witches do you see with chairs??).. Although they could not have use of their arms instead, like..paralyzed from the shoulder down- they still have them but theyre effectively useless and easily sore.. (which might make magic really hard, cause theyd have to master it again without their hand gestures.)

- Eztli, Bit of a prick. Basically got cursed to have really weird blood that replished and rejuvinated too fast/too much by a witch he angered. So he turned the curse into a good thing and basically goes out offering himself as a human blood bag for vamps willing to pay in info, items, cash or uh..other services..

- Gallio Photographer, has hypocalcemia. Haven't really done much else with him tbh.

-Aomi Warlock/witch in training. Downright awful at it. Young and lives in a nice lil cottage outside of the village he was abandoned in.

- Lucas A moonstone gem perma-fusion, he kinda has SPD/DID but he doesn't, cause..hes two gems that became one but not fully. Leaving him to be a bit of a mess and not as strong as other moonstones.

- Kiyan. A little assistant android!! Created to assist, he can make portals!, He works at a post office. Hes under surveillance by the company that made him and isnt yet aware of many human customs/emotions..

- Alex A very confused, overly optimist Alien who doesn’t know what they are. Come from the planet Eutychia, 4'3. They fucking glow. You know Kilowatt from space chimps? think that. But hair n freckles and more human and just as bubbly and energetic.

-Locus Mer/Fish boi! Transparent fins, glowy patches, plays harp + loves music.

-Lir A Tiny Octopus/Human hybrid lad. Makes little burble and trill noises. Quite harmless. Needs a home.

Benji (Strawberry shortcake boi- Cursed tape /bandages. Demi half god.? One eye. Uses notes. To communicate but also sign. Really. Good sweets maker)

Small bois (A collection of tinys because G/T is fucking great okay?)

- Tobias. Literally Made of hair gel. cleary, adorable, aaand Eats soap..amoung other non food items he probably should not ingest but does..

- Hinto Guy made of foam slime. Very chill n laid back.

- Glowstick bubs. (Alo/aloke - Green and blue + Siro - Yellow n pink. + Mavi (Vi) Red and silver. + Roxy (Ro) - Orange and purple ) They’re a cross between glowsticks and lava lamps and its epic- asides the fact they have like.half a brain cell each. Lots of sleeping n lazign around.

- Theo A tiny ink creature. A clever little lad, who likes to drawn and write n paint in ink and leave cheeky little black splotches everywhere. A very good writer companion tho.

- JellyBubs! A collection of tiny sentient jelly babies, hungry lads will raid your cupboards.

-Miel A tiny little bee boy! Loves flowers <3

Apocolyse Squad:

The planet Keres, Left uninhabitable after the invasion that ruined the air and killed almost the entire race.

Sameal o’Ceirin (Being of smoke- partly blind.)

Mallory Thomas (Part cat. Vet, partner to Sam who ends up dying in the canon of their story)

Hamrish Benat (Hayden. 4 eyes, soft tongue. PTSD. extra tiny heart in wrist. Quite fem/soft. Likes soap cutting vids and stuffed toys/teddies.)

Joshua who cares (An asshole. Staight up. He dies. Fuck him. He sucks ass.)

Andy peters (Strong, kind. Kinda like Tyler shied. Big, tol, but actually pretty soft.)

Adrian Géarán (Tail, fire abilities, likes to make little robots. Very weak n has a couple of disabilities that leave him tired n such, which aint great for his esteem or his team when the apoc hits.)

Wyatt ???? ?????????????????

Pace- Nerdy. Finds a cat. Observer for the aliens. Is immune to black goop.

Four - buff. Scary. Deadly.

Apocolypse Squad Part 2 Small lads who dont derese to be in danger:

-Apep, Naga boi Legs mutate into a cool tail. Hisses, fangs. Adorable loves the sun. bout 20 years old.

Chris. Camp leader! Biig dad type, redhead, buff, likes gardening and camping, very outdoorsy. Little awkward but great.

Small child Talise- nickname tails? .. Blind and slightly traumatized by the car crash that killed his mother and ended up with glass in his eyes, very sensitive to noise n textures. Ends up mutating tails. 6 v young n smol blocks n colourin

Shirin Parvis. Crystal boi .. trained solider/ royalty. Tried to warn people before the apoc hit and failed. Now tries to protect the small group of surviors he stumpbles across.

Zephaniah, mutation turns him into a Chameleon basically, just.. a human one. He Prefers Zeph. Big gamey Nerd- gets a pet gecko. 16. Quiet. Loves Lazar skirmish and lazers.

Moyachi, Cactus boi!! Plant bab. Loves water and has clear/lime green tinted aloe/herbal helpful blood. Spikes up at defense from bad people 18/ 19 likes drawing. Pretty grumpy and needs a break.

Colin, nicknames: Coco, Lady bug lad, who is baby trans mutation resulted in a weird Red/Orange skin condition basically. Can predict weather v accurately. Ballet/dance, 14 Likes cooking.

Hotaru , Firefly bby - Glowy bub with antenna, possibly mutates wings.. Sassy and tired. Turns nocturnal as the apoc progressed. Also becomes Colins first love <3

Zeno A Siren of sorts. DC/ hip hopper/ Lost his arm in apoc. He loooves music alot. Very purple aesthetic and checkerboards.

Liren Pichi, deaf peaches n cream aesthetic boi- Nickname Pichi. He is alone during the apoc, sneaks aboard and ship and goes missing..

Neighbours AU:

They all live on the homeworld, Ermioni.

Lesbabs:

Blake Aglaia A human with a gift of being able to put emotions into glass balls.. Red head, quite fem, but gay, sweet, but not mousy.

Lynx ?? An alien and human, the alien somewhat resides inside its host but they coexist. Sometimes goes feral. Alien half likes to go by Perse (Percy) They have cool looking saliva- viens that run down their arms that are pretty cool- sharper nails/claws. Tendrils. Large ol mouth. Lots of pointy ass teef. Lynx likes to train,go to gym, and kick ass. Big ass butch energy.

Demon fam:

Hyacinth A six-armed demon with serious parent energy. Big gardener, his body grows flowers depending on his moods/strength of emotions. Purple neck length hair. Great at comfort and cooking.

Rhys A Demon with a great curiosity about humans has a sibling, Feri. Rhys is a big nerd, but very hard to get to know. Not great with emotions, comes across a tad distant and cold without always meaning too. Loves candles and lots of autumn aesthetic.

Anthos, AKa Ant. Rhys and Hy’s accidentally created/summoned a toddler.. and hes fucking adorable.

Vato - V Hy has another bub later on who's more purpley blue with red curled horns and 4 arms.. No tail.. 4 eyes. V cute and inquisitive. Less noisy and wreckless than Ant.

Roommates:

Douglas Connelly A regular chubby human bean! Learning to become a chef. He loves food, loves cooking and also loves dancing. Hes a big guy, big cudddler, but a little shy and akward at times.

Donovan Amores Real fricking cool and smokin hot Bartender with a love for dogs. Dougs roommate. Has glowing fuckin orbs- donates his heart to a fucking god is smooth as fuck, background heavily Spanish, moved when young.

Haris Alaksim Real name (lost in translation, Huitzilopochtli God of sun and war) ) - A god whom Dono is very close with and donates his heart two one every 3 years during the day of the highest sun. He is a god / Mouros. Donovan refers to him as “Dios gentil” or “ Viejo colibrí sabio” (“El viejo colibrí sabio es un dios gentil” (The old wise hummingbird is a gentle god.)

Donovans Family

Rem (Looks after magical creatures- Cane is from Haris)

Oscar (Not sure what trinket or power but He’s just a casual store worker w/ good arms. Surprisingly good with knives- perhaps has one from Haris?)

Nicole (His only sister Makes clothes..possibly got some ability to do with seasons..? Perhaps earrings or a bracelet from Haris)

Javi (Makes jam, cute boy, wears cloaks. Maybe has a cute little jar necklace or magic jar??)

Luca (Trans bookkeeper- Talks to Haris most often and likes to ask questions..Has precious books...Possibly a special pen..)

Forest bois!!

Cypress The soul of the forest - Mentor of Rem. Very calm, very wise. Kinda like master oogway type.

Unicorn boi, Hes rare, missing a chunk of his horn. Dont hurt him. He doesnt even have a name.

Fyn. Mushroom boy. Protects a gate. Lost his twin during a human-caused fire. Very mad about it.

Fie. Bat boy. Loves fruit.

Moh. Fairy/incubus hybrid.

Tucker. Bunny boi, Best friends with Ainsley. Got some like, punk vibes about him, piercings n such. Not as soft as one would expect but still nice at heart.

Ainsley. Fawn boi, clums, shy, round glasses, Looks smart but doesn't always know stuff. Very unsure of self.

Experiment AU:

Izekiel Iris A being of Paint. Hes made of paint. He has trauma from being experimented on. Slightly depressed. Loves art, loved creating. also regresses to try to deal with said PTSD. Hard to get to know at first.

Matty (Matthew Libelle) An experiment, part human, part lizard, part dragon. Much smol. Hes fucking baby and i adore him alot please do ask anything and everything about him.

Cult bois:

-Nero Aakil (Means Genius/Orange blossom) Orange bub - Leader. Smart. Telepathic link with all cult members. V corrupted… (Parents were rich and ignorant)

-Mao Cerise Pink - Ditzy, Looks after their ‘little bird’ (aka Jey)

-Jey Michael Cherubim Fallen angel - Corrupted..desaturating and weak.. Was summoned by the cult and captured as a trophy.

-Jaden Hirav Looks after a garden of plants both harmless and some not for master. Previously Neros old pet..His The family was alright but he was moreso raised by like his mum and bro. He was kidnapped from his garden and never seen again. The cult ritual to initiate him into the group failed and he was spliced with plants making him near useless to the cult.

-Rowan maverick - Now known as Rogue- Red. Lost their tongue. Does Not follow orders to the T but gets their job done. Has another voice/god/soul looking out for them… Very assassin ready, very perceptive. Wants to get out the cult but knows theyre too far in.. Cool glowy words in the air because they don't have their tongue. Possibly only lives of medication and vitamin pills..possible OD? Possible addiction. They struggle alot with it.

P - Pax - God who watches over Rowan. Was killed by the Master but their spirt lives on.

Cato. Purple - Another smart one.. Possible Wiccan? Sadist. Mean. Tall. Scary. Abuse. Twisted. Loves being in the cult. Eventually wants to host Masters soul..

Gin Short for Ginger but the real name is Xanthe. Blind. Also another assassin like Rogue but more obedient. Doesn't talk often out of fear.

Benjamin Brandy (Benji. B) is Gins friend, Gin is trying not to get him involved in the cult but was too late as B had previously already been cursed and dealt with mythical beings..

Silver bub. Demir. A demon summoned by the cult to complete the collection. Wants out, very stressed.

Adopted AU: (This is like a mess of some of the boys but younger and in a different timeline to their universes smushed together intoa kinda cute school/adoption au idea.)

Matthew is smol autistic, malnourished and heavily abused both mentally and physically, leading to selective mutism and being a small fragile easily tired bab. He loves hanging in the library once he gets used to going to some schooling. Gets tutored by Chris? Goes to camp and helps around n has fun..

Jaden, loves the school garden, and likes science class. His family is alright, However he ends up mostly raised by his sister? Or brother?

Iz is the lil art bab, also in foster care of a big family, not so much abused but semi neglected. Quiet.

Nero is the gifted nerdy child..Parents ignorant. They love history and fictional books and reading and learning.

Benji is the slightly older kid whos possibly maybe a little behind or delayed or..something, they help out with other kids as a buddy? They like to do cooking classes.

DA AU

So this Au was like..the Septic tank births all the egos.

Angus first- He has..some kinda strength I imagine/..

Then Anti, Hen, Jackie. Marv.

Chase - He kills himself because of Glitch- also falls in the tank a second time and ends up with odd powers.

Glitch Starts off as very bad and misunderstood. Turns out they were just highly unstable and required medical treatment. Their real name is Arius and they cant stomach solid foods all the time. Mostly a liquid diet. They have glitchy fits/static seizures. Very unpleasant. Can enter tech, and its not so great, can get trapped. Can absorb certain amounts of electricity because of this they Got hit by ightning once and has epic lighting scars!! Up arms..some on neck. All over his chest and back.

Septic clone AU

Sean giving up bits of soul to make clones ends up in coma

Experiments and torture and odd shit with the egos ensues??

Minecraft AU??

Yeah i had weird ideas for a cute minecraft gang of minecrafters who had accidents involving getting merged/recded with other creatures traits ect.

Vail. -Vex / Human

Snow golom hybrid? Or Blaze?

Slimey boi

Kitsune

Panda lad.

Pokebabs au

Mainly for Matty, Iz and Blank.. were they have pokemon forms and when bonded with a human long enough can evolved into human forms??

Horned AU (With Troiseh/Glitch-in-the-static)

Shiro -Prince lad (This is their lad :3)

Junji - Battery..whump/slave/lost prince

Isao Asuka - Shiros Royal Guard

Alien AU

Hami if he were..alien instead of being a human in an apoc basically.

Angel AU stuff:

Good omens inspired boi

Leo Halvar Part..humany..demon..Cambion are according to google "In late European mythology and literature, a cambion is the offspring of an incubus, succubus, or another demon with a human, or of an incubus and succubus"

Ryan Hot archangel guy: One wing, demon hunter thing.. Good kinda reforming from a less nice lifestyle previously.

Mute angel possibly demon idk- - Latif? Emmet? Evan?

Long fringe shy boy- Cael / Lox

#list #ocs #egos #ideas #hcs #blu rambles #blus list #its fuckigng 2 am #im sorry if this makes no sense #but here are a fuck ton of lads #and a fuck ton of aus and ideas #if anyone ever wants to ask XP

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emoboijk · 7 years ago

Text

JHS | Catastrophe

He doesn’t want to save the world. He wants to save you. —angst, sci-fi astronaut!hoseok, tw: major character death

6,536 words

gif cred

Whenever Hoseok came back from a mission, he slept for nearly twenty-four hours without waking. The doctors told you this was perfectly normal, healthy even.

“Going to space is quite an ordeal, Mrs. Jung,” they said, their voice haughty with condescension, “Sleep is just what your husband needs after an extended stay.”

You believed them, of course, they were doctors. But their tone never encouraged your cooperation, and seeing him so comatose made you…nervous. But, in all the time you’d been married to Hoseok, there was always a day, after a mission, when he woke up from his sleep, wrapped his arms around you tightly, and said, “Good morning, Mrs. Jung.”

This time that traditional scene played out in the kitchen. You’d picked him up from HQ yesterday at 7AM with a clean bill of health from the doctors and a classified debriefing from his bosses. He was still wearing the sweats and t-shirt from that morning, which was now—you glanced up at the oven clock—twenty-seven whole hours later.

He put his chin on your shoulder and looked down at the breakfast you were making. “Pancakes?” he grinned, turning his head to place a delicate kiss beneath your ear.

“Blueberry pancakes,” you said, turning in his arms to hug him tightly, “Welcome home.” He leaned down and pressed his lips to yours, cupping the back of your neck so that the kiss, the first one in a month, felt like fire. When he pulled away, he kept his forehead pressed to yours.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you,” you agreed, turning after a moment back to your pancakes, “How was space?”

Hoseok snorted a laugh, his hand dragging across your skin as he moved across the kitchen, his fingers reluctant to let you go. He poured himself a glass of orange juice and drank a large gulp before responding. “Expansive and never-ending,” he said, “Beautiful and magical. Full of secrets. Just like my wife,” he joked.

“Expansive, hmm?” you said, turning on him with a gasp, “What are you saying? Hoseok!”

Hoseok chuckled, “No, that’s not what I meant!”

You ducked beneath his arms and snapped the towel at him, “My own husband called me fat!” You laughed snapping the towel at him again until he all but tackled you into a giant bear hug.

His grin was huge and delighted and he pressed kiss after kiss to your cheeks, “You are beautiful.” You stood up straight, your hands clasped around his neck. You raised your head and batted your eyelashes.

“More beautiful than space?”

And without a moment’s hesitation: “So much more beautiful than space.”

“Good,” you whispered pressing your lips to his insistently, lovingly. He smiled against you, his hand cupping the back of your neck to push you fully against him, his arms wrapping around you like bonds. You could’ve stayed like that forever, had it not been for the steadily burning pancakes.

And then at half-past-two, his mother called. Tomorrow was Sunday, so you’d be going over to see them tomorrow for dinner anyways, but Hoseok still spent over an hour catching up with her and his father. Their son had chosen an incredibly risky job, and it worried them whenever he went up. He lit up as he talked to them, making wide arm motions as he described his adventures.

You smiled as you watched him, finishing your tea and depositing the mug in the dishwasher. You pointed to the bedroom so he’d know you were leaving, before making your way across the apartment to the sound of his laughter. It made you smile.

You had just pulled up your jeans when he walked in behind you, pressing his chest against your back and deftly finding the patch of bare skin above your jeans with his calloused fingers. He drew a star on your hip that made you shudder. Sighing, he ran his nose along your neck, and your nerves stood at attention for him. He’d been gone four weeks, this time, and your body ached for him.

In fact, you were impressed with your restraint thus far. Usually, if he was gone for more than a week and a half, you jumped him as soon as he woke up from his “coma”.

His hands were hot and they felt like fire against your skin, tracing patterns on your stomach and thighs and breasts; tangling in your hair wildly. The sun came through the window in a patch of heat, warming the room so that it felt like steam, like being naked wasn’t enough.

Hoseok was heavy on top of you, spreading your legs and centering himself. His hands at your head so that you could turn and kiss his wrist, a butterfly atop a flower. He moved a hand to cup your waist, pulling you up to meet him in a deliciously painful thrust.

You moaned and moaned, the sound filling the room when the air ran out. Your hands moved on his back to find purchase, to sink in, like he was doing to you. Sinking in. So slowly. Until there was nothing but him, blinding your vision like an exploding star.

“So,” Hoseok said, collapsing on your other side and smiling goofily, “What were you doing when I interrupted?”

You smiled back, turning to face him, your hair sweaty and sticking to your face. He moved closer so that his forehead touched yours, desperate for intimacy. “Going to the store.”

“Can I come?” he grinned.

“Yeah,” you chuckled, rolling off the bed to stand up and inspect your reflection. You scrutinized it carefully, checking your makeup and hair. You sighed, “I look like I just had sex.”

“So?” Hoseok said, sitting up and raising his eyebrows, “Want to look like you had sex twice?”

“Yes,” you whined, falling into bed again.

When you finally managed to get to the store (three or four orgasms later), it was busy, not that either of you minded. Living with a husband who was gone so frequently, made you appreciate the little things. Like grocery shopping. Walks through the park. Taking a shower. Normalcy was all you craved.

“What do you want for dinner?” you said, inspecting a bunker of cold poultry. “Chicken’s on sale,” you added. There was no answer and it took you a moment before you stopped scrutinizing the trays of meat to look up at him. He was about a yard away from you, his phone pressed to his ear. You raised your eyebrows when he hung up and approached you, his expression serious. “What is it?”

Hoseok shrugged, “There’s some kind of problem. I need to go in.”

“But,” you frowned, “You just got back.”

“I’m sure it’s just a minor satellite thing,” he said, “I’ll hand it off to one of the younger guys. I don’t have to take every mission.” He pressed his lips to your hair and you smiled, reaching for his hand.

“Good,” you sighed, “Cause I missed you.”

“I know,” he whispered, “I missed you, too.”

After putting back all of the groceries—the call was urgent enough that he had to go in right away, and you had decided to go shopping later—Hoseok had piled himself into the passenger seat while you started the car.

“How far away are we?” he said, squinting at his phone screen. You snorted. He spent so much time in space, or at HQ, that he didn’t know where anything was here on Earth. As brilliant an astronaut as your husband was, he was relatively useless with the day-to-day. You found it quite adorable.

“About twenty minutes,” you said, twisting to see behind you as you backed up.

He typed quickly on his phone, before reading something and frowning. You glanced at him out of your periphery, keeping your hands firmly in the 10-and-2 positions while driving. “What is it?”

Hoseok shook his head, “This can’t be right. They must be confused.”

“Who?” you said, tapping your fingers on the steering wheel nervously.

“Yoongi and Namjoon,” he sighed, already knowing what you would say.

“You mean the Geek Squad? They’re never wrong.” You turned the corner to leave town and head down the long stretch of bare country road that led to the isolated HQ, recalling a birthday party in which Yoongi and Namjoon had accurately predicted your porch’s caving in, almost to the hour. You had still not lived it down.

“They are this time,” Hoseok said, looking up from his phone to squint at the tall building down the road, “I hope.”

“You’re scaring me,” you whispered, taking your eyes from the road for a moment to glance at the sky. To you, it was a big blue…thing, hovering above you like a security blanket. But to Hoseok…it held all of the mysteries, beauties, and majesties of the world. Or of space, rather. He knew its power and its danger.

“I’m sorry,” Hoseok said, turning to look at you and placing a hand over yours on the steering wheel, “They’re wrong. I’m sure of it.”

“Okay,” you said slowly, trying to read his expression but only seeing something like fear there. You slowed to a stop outside the guard gate, Hoseok leaning across you to flash his badge.

“Come in,” he said after you’d park, unfolding himself from the small sedan to stand to his full height outside.

“Are you sure?” you said, peeking up at him from inside the car, “I’m a civilian.”

Hoseok smiled in the way that lit you up inside, “They called me in on my vacation—I’m going to spend this time with you whether they like it or not.”

“How romantic,” you teased, climbing from the car. You met him at the front, clasped hands, and tried to convince yourself that nothing was the matter.

The air conditioning felt like a slap, but the odd looks from the workers felt like stones. You felt uncomfortable and out of place, and it was only Hoseok’s hand that anchored you there. And you knew that if you waited in the car, the paranoia and the worry would eat at you. Hoseok knew it too. So you pushed forward through the building.

“You get called in, too?” someone said, slapping Hoseok’s arm playfully before patting your shoulder, “Hey, how are you?” Jeongguk, Hoseok’s partner on missions, had fallen easily into stride with you both.

Hoseok pushed open the large doors with force, the full irritation of this call into work hitting him. He forgot about the bad news, and the potential danger, and was entirely concerned with what his boss could be thinking when calling him back into work so soon.

His boss, Commander Bang, appeared from an office in the corner with a serious expression on his face. It got worse, turning into a menacing scowl when he spotted you standing meekly beside him. “What is she doing here, Hoseok?”

“I’m on vacation,” Hoseok said, mirroring his boss’ facial expression, “I’m with my wife.”

“She’s a civilian,” he reprimanded.

“I don’t care,” Hoseok scowled. “You call me in less than seventy-two hours since I got back, for what is clearly a prank. I brought my wife.”

You felt like a deer in the headlights, hiding behind its mother as you all but crouched behind Hoseok’s shoulder, his hand still holding yours. Mr. Bang sighed. You figured this whole situation was a lot more serious than Hoseok thought because Mr. Bang (who had previously been only nice to you) seemed aggravated.

“It’s not a prank,” Namjoon sighed, standing from behind a control desk, his bulky glasses sliding down his nose. He pushed them up with his index finger and leaned down to press a button. “Yoongi and I discovered this, this morning.”

The giant screen at the end of the room lit up with an image. You gasped from behind Hoseok’s shoulder, and he squeezed your hand involuntarily. It was round and black, charred and cratered. Fire consumed it, glowing beautiful and dangerous. The kind of thing that was intoxicatingly beautiful, up until it hurt you.

“Stop it,” Hoseok complained, “It’s not funny.”

“It’s not a joke,” Yoongi deadpanned, pressing another button on the control panel, next to Namjoon. This time the screen lit up with a digital map of the sky—at least that’s what you figured it was. There was a little blip of light that moved a little bit every second, approaching something that must be Earth.

“You can’t be serious,” Hoseok said in disbelief, his voice, posture, and mind still refusing to believe that this was anything but a practical joke. “That asteroid wasn’t even near Earth’s atmosphere yesterday.”

Yoongi shrugged and Namjoon filled in, “We can’t explain it. All we know is that it’s coming.”

“What does this mean, Hobi?” you whispered, disentangling your hand from his to tug on his sleeve like a child.

“Shall we excuse the civilian now, Hoseok?” Mr. Bang said pointedly.

“No,” Hoseok said, his mouth still agape as he watched the little, harmless blip move slowly across the screen. He shook his head, turning to look at you briefly before confronting Commander Bang, “No. If this means what I think it means, then she’s not going anywhere.”

That scared you. What did that mean? You could think of only two options: either you could be of help and so your staying was pertinent to the mission (highly unlikely, as you stopped taking math and science classes as soon as was allowed), or…or something bad was going to happen and he wanted to spend as much time with you as possible.

And that scared you.

“So what can be done?” Hoseok said seriously, letting you stay close to him, but no longer holding you. His arms folded across his chest and his brow furrowed seriously.

“I think,” said Namjoon, pushing his glasses farther up his nose, “The only solution is to…destroy the asteroid before it enters Earth’s atmosphere.”

“And how do we do that?” Jeongguk said, his face, usually warm, was suddenly cold.

Namjoon shared a look with Yoongi before sighing and continuing, “The only thing that could stop it in time would be a missile.”

“So send up a rocket to destroy it,” Jeongguk said, “Damn the cost if it saves the world.”

“That’s the thing,” Yoongi said, “An unmanned rocket, or ship, would never hit it.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’d need someone in a spaceship, constantly matching the asteroid’s speed and direction, to fire the missile at the right time. Our machines just weren’t made to cope with that kind of maneuvering.”

“You need a pilot,” Hoseok concluded, his expression grim.

“What?” you nearly spat, “No,” you looked at him, your eyes darting to Namjoon and Yoongi and Jeongguk and Commander Bang, “No,” and then back to Hoseok, “No.”

“It’s the only way,” Namjoon whispered.

“There has to be another way. There has to be. It can’t be you.”

“It’s me,” Hoseok whispered.

“No,” you shook your head, “No.”

Hoseok held up his hand to the others before gripping your wrist, in a way that you found more comforting than aggressive, and pulled you out of the room and out of the building until you were standing on the harsh white concrete under the vast blue sky. You were shaking your head, tears coming to your eyes unbidden, whispering, “No, no, no.”

“Look at me,” Hoseok said, saying your name sternly, “Look at me.” His hands moved from your shoulders to your face, cupping your cheeks and forcing your gaze to fall upon him. Blurred though your vision was, you could see it now. That quality that made him an outstanding astronaut and trustworthy leader and…an excellent husband. Your hands fell on top of his on your face, focusing on your breath.

“Explain it to me,” you whispered.

“Okay,” Hoseok said, his eyes scanning your face for any other signs of unraveling or distress. He stood upright and crossed his arms, taking a moment to inspect the sky, as if the asteroid could be seen from here, before starting. “During the last mission, we noticed an…asteroid. It seems to be a collection of debris or pieces of moons and planets or…just a piece of an exploded star. The team isn’t sure. We collected as much data on it as we could before coming back, but we weren’t worried. It hadn’t even gotten past the moon at this point, it was nowhere near the Earth’s atmosphere.”

You gulped down air to make you sane, wiping at the stray tears on your cheeks. “Okay, and this asteroid, is in the atmosphere?”

“Almost,” Hoseok said, “It’s getting there, and once it does there will be very little time until it reaches Earth’s surface.”

“And…what happens then?”

Hoseok took a deep breath, afraid to say the words out loud, afraid of what they would mean when exposed to the world, “Catastrophe,” he sighed, ignoring your gasp of shock as he continued, “An asteroid that size could, depending on where it lands, level most of the continent, if not more.”

“Oh my god,” you said, stumbling as your knees grew weak. Hoseok rushed forward his arms wrapping around you to hold you steady.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he whispered, kissing your hair, “Everything will be alright.”

“Either the asteroid hits,” you whispered, “Or you go into space and destroy it and…and…” you took a shaky breath, new tears springing to your eyes, “It will not be alright.”

Hoseok frowned and stroked your hair, afraid to admit you were right.

“Hey,” Jeongguk said, swinging the door open as he hurled himself outside at the command of his supervisor. But he paused when he saw the two of you, looking so much like a painting of tragic lovers that his heart momentarily stopped. He sucked in a breath and said, quietly, “Commander Bang needs you inside.”

Hoseok sighed and pulled away from you, his eyes scanning your face until zeroing in on your watery gaze. He didn’t say anything but you understood his silent question. You nodded and wiped your nose, feeling like a child, unable to cope. He sighed again and pressed his lips to your forehead, feeling desperate and lost.

“I’ll be back,” he whispered and ran back inside the building. The words were insignificant and small but they hit you like a bus, pummeling you. He would be back. But for how long? The idea had you almost falling to the pavement.

Jeongguk rushed forward. He needed to go back inside too, but he could see your fragility. Hoseok had been the only thing holding you up, helping you fight gravity, and he was gone. He watched you collapse like a window shattering, or a tree struck by lightening—violent and sudden.

“Woah,” Jeongguk said, cradling you so that you stumbled and fell against his chest, your body weak. You tried not to sob, or cry. You wanted to be dignified in the face of…catastrophe. But you weren’t sure you had that kind of strength inside of you.

Jeongguk stumbled but steadied you, helped you stand, “Hey, it’s going to be okay.” You shook your head, your hair flying so wildly that it stuck to the sticky wetness of your cheeks. How long had you been crying? It felt like forever.

“I don’t think I can live without him,” you whispered, wiping at your eyes again. But as the words emptied into the open air, evaporating in the afternoon sun, your eyes gave way to tears again. But you tried to stand, tried to shove Jeongguk away to stand on your own. He backed off, his hands in the air as if approaching a loose jungle cat.

“With any luck,” Jeongguk said, “You won’t have to. He could survive.”

You turned to look at him, your eyes narrowing, “Don’t lie to me, Jeon Jeongguk.”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He was lying to you, yes, but he was also lying to himself. This was his partner, his best friend. How was he supposed to live without Jung Hoseok? To work without him? How was he supposed to move on?

Hands shaking, he said, “Fine,” he whispered, “The odds are against us. But do you want to be spending, what is quite possibly, his last few hours on Earth, out here crying?”

You sighed, wiping your cheeks again, “No,” you whispered, “No.”

You followed Jeongguk back inside with his arm slung over your shoulder, feeling united in your grief. Jeongguk was practically Hoseok’s brother. When they were off mission, the young astronaut was at your house constantly—coming over for dinner, playing videos games in your living room, helping with the household chores. When Jeongguk had come out, he confided in you that it was scarier to tell Hoseok than his parents because Hoseok was such a big part of his family. (And of course, Hoseok was overjoyed).

“Um,” Jeongguk paused as you passed the reception desk, “I’ll meet you in there.” You glanced over to Taehyung, who was at the desk with a blue-tooth in his ear and a worried expression, his eyes tracking Jeongguk.

“Okay,” you said, patting his chest comfortingly and leaving him to talk things over with Tae.

You pushed the doors open again, ignoring the looks of a few workers who disapproved of your presence. You were an emotional civilian, with a personal connection to the astronaut that was going to be sent into space. You could only be a distraction.

But you refused to be anywhere else.

Hoseok was standing at a desk with his arms crossed, talking seriously with Commander Bang, Namjoon, and Yoongi. You heard mention of rockets, trajectories, missiles—all things that went over your head. You fiddled with your fingers and found an unoccupied seat near the door, content to watch him for awhile.

You had never really been able to see him work. You’d been to HQ before and you’d even been in this room before, but never when there was a national emergency or any kind of trouble. Pride bloomed in your chest as you watched him, strong posture, confident stance. His face was stern, serious. A hero. You wondered if he always looked like this while working, or if it was bred of the circumstances.

There was no hope. Even Jeongguk had all but admitted that Hoseok would not be coming back alive. The odds are against us. You almost started crying at the thought but used all of your willpower to keep your composure. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that the odds were against you, because you loved Hoseok more than anything in the world and you were going to support him no matter what. Because you knew why he was doing this. He was saving the world. He was doing what was right.

Hoseok glanced over and spotted you by the door, sitting with a grim expression on your face. He knew that you didn’t see it, but he did—he saw your strength. You could not have been in this room without it. And, not for the first time, as he looked at you, he wondered if he absolutely had to be the one to do this. If anyone had to do it at all. He could step back, run away, give in.

He felt foolish because he’d spent so much time looking at the stars and being with the stars, and all he could think about was all of that time that he could have been spending with you. He wanted to turn away from the stars then and reclaim that lost time. But then he remembered the risk. What would happen if he ran away.

And yes, he would be saving the world, but he didn’t really care about the billions of other people. He cared about one. Because even if he had been foolish enough to willingly give up his time with you, he would be damned if you didn’t have any more time at all. He was going to save you.

Hoseok only half turned back to his team when he asked, “How much time do I have?”

Everyone glanced at him and then at you, immediately understanding his thoughts. Namjoon sighed and pushed his glasses up his nose, Yoongi patted his back. “At the rate the asteroid is going…we only have a few hours until the window of opportunity closes.”

“Okay,” Hoseok said, looking down before turning fully to his team. He locked eyes with Commander Bang, a silent message passing between them before he said, “Prep the rocket and my gear.” He turned from them and stepped towards you until a hand shot out to grab his wrist.

“Hoseok,” Commander Bang said, “I’m sorry it has to be this way.”

“I know,” he said, patting his Commander’s arm affectionately, “I know.”

During this exchange, Jeongguk had slipped back into the room, sniffling. When you glanced up at him his eyes were red and watery. You imagined that you looked much the same. He squeezed your shoulder and said, “What did I miss?”

You shrugged, “They’re going to prepare a rocket. We only have a few hours.”

“Crap,” Jeongguk whispered, his voice breaking. You didn’t have to look up at him to know that he was on the verge of tears. You were, too.

Jeongguk’s hand slipped from your shoulder and he stepped forward. Hoseok was near seething. He loved Jeongguk, he did; they were brothers. But if one more person stopped him from approaching you, he was going to bow out of these noble heroics altogether.

He felt guilty even thinking it.

Jeongguk clasped his forearm and Hoseok did the same, their hands clenching tight as if to tether themselves to the Earth. Jeongguk sniffled and Hoseok fought to see past you and his irritation at not having reached you, to focus on him. Hoseok sighed and ruffled his hair, like when he was first paired up with the rookie.

“Brother,” Hoseok whispered, “You’ll always be my brother.”

“Don’t do this,” Jeongguk pleaded, “I’ll go.”

Hoseok smiled sadly. A large part of him wanted to take him up on that offer. But Hoseok would not be able to live with himself knowing that he had sent Jeongguk to his death, he wouldn’t be able to look himself in the mirror after that.

“C’mon, Guk,” Hoseok chuckled, his laugh like the tiny specks of sunshine that peek through a storm cloud—awkward and brief. “We both know they need someone with skills.” Jeongguk tried smiling but was relatively unsuccessful.

“I’ll be fine, Guk,” he said, pulling him in for a tight hug, “Promise me something?”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk said wiping his nose.

“Take care of her,” he said, not daring to look at you and betray his thoughts. He could feel your gold-flecked eyes on him, and he didn’t want you to worry more than you already were. “When I’m gone, take care of her. She’ll need it. She’s strong but…” Hoseok sighed, his heart tearing like a high school love note, “she’ll need it.”

“I promise,” Jeongguk said immediately, his chest puffing out to portray a confidence he wasn’t sure he had.

“Thank you,” Hoseok said, frowning. He took a deep breath and smiled again, patting Jeongguk’s shoulder, “Take care of yourself, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk whispered, letting Hoseok slip past him like a ghost, chills running up and down his spine. He almost collapsed from the weight of his grief. Hoseok was a dead man walking.

Now he was standing in front of you, tall and framed by fluorescent lights. He held his hand out and you had raised yours, ready to take it and be swept away for your last few hours together. You were so close, and it felt so important, so monumental. Hoseok’s heart soared.

“Wait!”

Hoseok snapped around and your eyes followed the voice. Yoongi was leaning against a desk and looking up at the screen, agape. He took a step back, a stuttered breath escaping his lips, “Oh my god.”

“What is it?” you whispered, standing at Hoseok’s shoulder.

“What?” Hoseok snapped, his irritation boiling under his skin. Was it too much to ask to have a few moments with his wife?

“The asteroid,” Yoongi whispered, “It’s…it…”

“The speed increased?” Namjoon gasped, without any tact whatsoever.

“What?” Hoseok demanded, his voice like the bark of a drill sergeant.

“How did this happen?” Commander Bang said, throwing up his arms in frustration.

“It’s,” Namjoon paused, squinting at a computer screen on his desk, “It’s being sucked in by the Earth’s atmosphere!”

“What?” Hoseok said again, fear and disbelief mixing in his voice like a potion that infected your sensibilities. You stepped forward and held his hand, squeezing tightly.

Yoongi turned to look at Hoseok frantically, “If the asteroid enters the atmosphere we risk igniting the ozone when it’s destroyed.”

“What are you saying?” Hoseok said sternly, refusing to believe that he was going to have no time with you before he was shot into space until someone said it aloud.

“You have to go now,” Namjoon sighed.

“Is everything ready?”

“Fifteen minutes,” a tech said, “and the rocket will be ready.”

“You need to put on your suit,” Commander Bang said.

“But,” you whispered, tugging on Hoseok’s hand, “But we…”

Hoseok turned towards you, ignoring the anxious tension of the room behind him to focus solely on you. He cupped your cheeks, “I’ll find you before I leave,” he whispered, “I promise.” He pressed his lips to yours in a meaningful, although much too short, kiss, before running in the opposite direction and disappearing behind a door.

Hoseok traveled through a dark hallway to end up in a posh locker room, familiar in its sleek couches and dark carpeting, modern white lockers lined up against the wall. He pressed a button and with a vacuum-seal-sigh doors opened to reveal his pristine space suit. He always did wonder how they cleaned them.

He took a moment before slipping it on. Usually, this process was fast, because the getting-ready aspect of his mission wasn’t the part he was looking forward to. Usually, there were stars and planets and moons that awaited him, untold mysteries for him to discover.

Not…not the end.

And that’s all that was waiting for him now. Fifteen minutes and he would be loaded into a rocket like cattle to the slaughter.

Hoseok shied away from the dark thought and shifted the images in his mind. He pictured you. The last he saw you your brow was furrowed in confusion, pain sparkling in your eyes, and your lips apart in a silent question.

He’d had hours. Why was fate so cruel?

Hoseok collapsed onto a chair, his shoulders heavy with the weight of the world. Catastrophe. That’s what awaited the world if Hoseok didn’t destroy the asteroid. Utter and complete catastrophe.

It did not comfort him to know that there would be at least one catastrophe either way. He pictured your face again.

He was so in love with you. Had been since the day you’d met. Hoseok was in training at HQ and had literally crashed into you (totaling your car in the process). It was a funny story now—now that you’d been together five years, happy and wonderful. Hoseok smiled, a tear falling from his eye.

Hoseok buried his face in his hands, wanting to scream, feeling like he was being ripped apart. How could he be strong enough to do this? He wanted to be selfish, to take your hand and run away. At least then he could spend his last moments holding you.

He stood suddenly, almost confident, ready to run. But he paused, rigid, those hopes crashing around him like rain. He ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t do this.”

He was near sobbing, tears making his vision blurry as he looked up to implore the heavens. “I can’t do this.” He ducked his head down again until something caught his eye. A small polaroid clipped to the edge of his locker. A shock to his heart. Your face, again, smiling and holding him so close you’d think you couldn’t be torn apart.

Hoseok sighed, “I have to,” he looked up again, “Don’t I?”

He emerged on the flight deck, five minutes later, fully equipped for space travel. Assembled on the deck was his entire team, and you, the closest to the rocket. He paused at each member of his team, exchanging handshakes and warm words, everyone feeling misty.

You watched with dismay. You had convinced yourself that you could do this, that you would be okay. But now you were angry. Why did he have to be the one? Why was this happening? Why had fate gone this far?

By the time Hoseok got to you, the others still standing behind him to wave him off, as if this were a vacation and not a life-altering space mission, you were crying hot, angry tears. When his eyes landed on you his face fell in saddened understanding.

Hoseok turned to the others and nodded, the rest of the group walking away quietly so that soon it was just you and he alone. You looked up at him and screamed, “Jung Hoseok, don’t you dare leave me. Don’t you leave me. You were…we were…this was…don’t you dare.” You ran towards him and collided, grabbing his suit forcefully and pulling and punching and crying.

Hoseok repeated your name over and over, his arms forming a cage around you, like a bird hitting walls in a fruitless attempt at escape. Your name was soft and beautiful on his lips, but you didn’t pause until he said, his hands pressed firmly against your back, “Love of my life.”

“Hoseok,” you whispered, your eyes wet with tears. You clutched at him, your hands holding onto his face desperately as if the strength in your fingers would be enough to keep him here.

He sighed, true sadness in the sound, as his hands wrapped around your wrist and pulled your grip off of him. He moved his hands to cup your face, bringing your lips, salty with tears, to his own. His forehead rested against yours and he whispered, “I know. I know.”

“I love you,” you whispered, “I love you.” You buried your face into his chest. Hoseok stroked your hair, feeling paralyzed by grief and fear.

“I love you more than life itself,” Hoseok whispered, feeling dramatic but truthful.

“Then stay,” you sobbed, trying to clutch onto him as if that would be able to stop him. Hoseok smiled sadly and pressed his forehead against yours.

“I can’t,” he whispered, looking you in the eye so that you could see all of the mingling emotions swirling there, but determination shining the brightest, “I have to save the woman I love.”

You gasped like you’d been stabbed, shock and pain mixing as you almost stumbled from the power of his words. Hoseok pressed his lips to yours in one last meaningful kiss, before squeezing your hand and trading places with you.

“Goodbye,” he whispered, climbing backward into the rocket’s compartment, doing his best not to look away from you. Tears ran down your cheeks like rain down a window pane, unrelenting, and passing a grey shadow over everything.

“Goodbye,” you whispered back, as Hoseok, strapped in securely, was shot into space. You collapsed, falling to your knees on the deck, unable to watch the trail of smoke that followed his ascent into the sky.

“Come on,” someone said, pulling at your arms roughly to get you stand. You pulled away from them.

“No,” you said, “I don’t want to move.” You buried your face in your hands.

“You can talk to him on the intercom,” Jeongguk said, “Come on.”

Hoseok was hurtling towards space in a rattling death-cage, the g-force pushing him against his seat like a fifty-pound weight was sitting on his chest. This was always the part he hated; battling through Earth’s atmosphere to reach the stars. He looked up towards the sky, the sparkling blackness of the infinite beyond winking at him from a distance. It didn’t calm him like he had hoped. That was usually all it took - the ends justify the means. Now all he could do was clench his eyes shut and picture your face.

“This is HQ, do you read? Hoseok, do you read?”

Hoseok was gasping like he’d been punched in the gut. “I,” he stuttered, “I copy, HQ. Ascension is in its final stages.”

“Copy that,” came the staticky reply. “Do you see the asteroid?”

Hoseok shook his head as if they could see it. HQ repeated the question and he still didn’t respond, waiting for the jolt. He gagged as the rocket broke up to leave him in his solitary space shuttle, jolting forward as he went through the last of Earth’s atmosphere and hit a wall of gravity-less space.

Hoseok floated against his seat belt, feeling the sweat that had accumulated on his forehead cool outside of the rocket and Earth’s atmosphere.

“Hoseok, do you copy? Do you see the asteroid?” the voice on the other end sounded panicked. Hoseok took a breath and scanned his surroundings. He gasped when he saw it.

A large mass of space rock and debris clumped together haphazardly and burning around Earth’s atmosphere, edging the outer layer almost menacingly.

“Copy HQ, I see the asteroid. I am in pursuit.”

Hoseok powered the thrusters and pushed the shuttle steadily forward, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. Despite the threatening images displayed on the screens at HQ and the math that accompanied them, in space, the asteroid didn’t seem to be moving all that quickly.

Earlier, back at HQ Yoongi had broken the news: “You’ll have to be at least twenty kilometers away from the asteroid,” he’d said, avoiding Hoseok’s eyes, “Because the blasters on your shuttle aren’t powerful enough to hit it from any farther away.”

Hoseok had frowned and looked at the ground, “That means I’ll be within range of the explosion.”

“Yes.”

Hoseok lined himself up, the heat of the asteroid overtaking his shuttle and heating the interior like an oven. Hoseok almost chuckled—it was like a warm-up for the…explosion. He frowned.

“HQ?” he said, almost losing his nerve, “I’m in position, ready to strike.”

“H-Hoseok.” This voice was delicate and soft, shuddering across the staticky intercom like a ripple across water. “Hoseok?” it said again.

He felt like he’d been shot, tears coming to his eyes as he thought of you, leaning over a desk at HQ to speak into the microphone. He said your name softly, like a prayer.

“I love you, okay?” you said, your voice barely understandable through the static, “And I’m…I’m proud of you.”

Hoseok’s fingers hovered above the blaster buttons, his ships even closer than twenty kilometers now that he’d been distracted. There were tears in his eyes and on his cheeks. He choked on the words, the sounds lodging in his throat in an uncomfortable lump, “I love you,” he said. And he repeated it over and over as his finger pressed hard on the button, and the asteroid exploded.

And down below, catastrophe. Although everyone was safe.

author’s note— okay, i think it’s become clear that i know nothing about space, astronauts, asteroids, etc.

for more of my works check out my m.list

#rosynamjoon #bangtanbuds #bts #bts fic #bts angst #bts x reader #jung hoseok #jung hoseok x reader #jung hoseok fic #jung hoseok angst #hoseok #hoseok x reader #hoseok fic #hoseok angst #j-hope #j-hope x reader #j-hope angst #j-hope fic

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