#even if i write the lightest stuff for him it will always. have a sad undertone. hiding just under the surface... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sarahjkl82-blog · 3 years ago

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Artistic Instinct Chapter Nine

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 6500

Warnings: Language as always, warning of racist language (Nush talking about her mother's experiences), yearning, fluff to second base (yes, my darlings- IT IS ON!), alcohol is mentioned, food, anxiety attacks.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something. This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

People often think artists

Create with their hands

But really they create

with their hearts

So please be gentle

For we wear our vulnerability

On our sleeves

And freely give all we have

Hoping someone will fall

In love with the parts we offer

R. Evelyn

Chapter Nine

The sharp buzz of the door startles you out of your daydream. Laden with roughly the entire contents of your spice cupboard, vegetables, meat and prawns, your hands are crisscrossed with creases from where the weight of the totes has gouged at your skin. A smart-looking kindly gentleman greets you, “You must be Ms Pierce. Mr Pike has asked for you to wait here for him.”

Wow! Marcus’ place has a concierge - who did he have to blow to get a place like this?!

Throwing the bags onto one of the hotel lounge-like chairs, you slump into another as you rub soreness from your hands. A small ping tells you that the lift has arrived - you look over in the direction of the noise, a tremor of excitement rippling through you. An adorably scruffy Marcus, wearing old jeans and a t-shirt, steps out - his face utterly beaming on seeing you. “Hey! How are you doing?” he leans in to kiss your cheek twice - hang on, when did this start being a thing?

“Why didn’t you let me pick you up? You’ve carried so much over- lemme see your hands,” his brow knits on seeing the rapidly reddening welts as he takes your hands in his, brushing his thumbs gently across your palms.

“You live four roads away from me - they’re not that bad! And anyway, you can help me now- which floor do you live on?” You outwardly roll your eyes at the sweetness Marcus shows you, secretly enjoying the stroke of his fingers and the ghostly press of his lips still burning a hole in your cheek.

Marcus takes all of the bags from the chair, refusing point blank to entertain you helping him to take them upstairs - you watch as his arms twitch under the weight, enjoying the mixture of confusion and shock at your strength across his face, “you carried all of this?”

Nodding at him, you try to take a bag again, but he dangles it just out of reach, “Watch it - you do realise that I have two other brothers apart from Ads? I will think nothing of rugby tackling you to the floor and pinning you down,” you warn, enjoying the flush brought to his cheeks.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Marcus flusters as he calls the lift, handing you the smallest, lightest bag.

✪✪✪✪✪

Exiting at the top floor, you’re taken aback by the amount of light and quiet that washes throughout the building. Feeling so removed from the shadows cast from the tower blocks and the hustle and bustle of the streets below, the broad daylight offers a sense of serenity, a peace that invites itself into the soul and makes itself at home. As Marcus unlocks the door to his flat, you kick off your shoes at the entrance, “You don’t have to do that,” he offers through the keys in his mouth, holding the door open with his elbow, still refusing any help from you.

“Oh believe me, if I didn’t, my mum’s radar would go off and I would be cruising for a bruising,” you giggle, taking in the glorious spaciousness of his apartment, “I promise my feet aren’t too stinky and that I put on clean socks.”

“Whatever makes you comfortable,” Marcus’ eyes crinkle at you, “Can I get you something to drink or eat?”

“A coffee would be ace - strong and black please,” you reply, your gaze drinking in the details of his home. Books line the shelves along one wall - such a mixture of titles ranging from airport bestsellers to obscure art catalogues - the relief to see actual paper and hardbacks adorning the shelves rather than trinkets and plants when so many keep their books electronically in their pockets.

A couple of large canvases lie propped against another - long hours preventing them from being hung - their bright colours sure to bring joyful hues to quite a stark room. There are a few photo frames dotted around - mostly pictures of a moment in time rather than poses - of people you assume are friends and family from back in the States. Handing you a steaming mug, Marcus looks over your shoulder as you look at a photo of an older couple dancing and laughing at a wedding, “That’s my mamá and papá at my oldest sister’s wedding. It was such a magical day - just so much love in the air.”

“You can feel the joy radiating from them,” you offer, lowering your gaze from him to grab the frame next to the picture of his parents, “Are these your sisters or cousins? You all look very alike.”

“Yeah, my little sisters,” he grins proudly. “This one is Beth - she’s two years younger and is a paediatrician in Texas. Has two kids with her wife, Sophie. And this one is Cat - she’s doing her own thing out on the West Coast as a musician. They definitely inherited all the clever and cool genes.”

“Hah! You’re kinder to your sisters than I am to my brothers,” you grin, “They’re all total idiots but due to some weird genetic and biological insistence, I still love them.”

Taking a gulp of your coffee, you turn back towards him, “Come on you, we’d better get to work if you want a curry this evening.”

He pouts, looking more like a sulky little boy than a middle aged man. You can’t help but laugh at the sad puppy dog eyes he is conjuring at the thought of work, “Oh poppet, what’s wrong?” you teasingly mock.

“I kinda hoped you were a magician who could just magic a curry outta nowhere so we could watch films til the others arrive,” Marcus grumps shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Well, there is UberEats for that but you horrible lot put me up to this so you’re going to help,” you wag your finger at him, “But as you’re the only one here, you get the honour of being the chief taster,” you add, tapping him playfully on the nose.

With a soft huff and a furrow of the brow, Marcus guides you into the kitchen where, whilst he was making your coffee, he has helpfully already put all the fresh produce in his fridge as the sides are delightfully blank apart from the bags of spices.

“What are we making today, Chef?”

“Ok, meat dishes are a spiced yoghurt leg of lamb, a keema - don’t you give me that look, a cardamom butter chicken, and, a prawn and courgette curry,” you turn to Marcus’ fridge to find the lamb, “Needs to come to room temperature before we cook it.”

“My tummy is rumbling already,” Marcus adds, his eyes glinting excitedly as he licks along his lower lip, the skin glistening damply. You have never quite figured out whether your love of his lips is due to their fullness or the association with the kindness of his words.

“Hah- you’re not getting away without having some veggies, too, mister,” you cluck as you hand him a bag of onions and several bulbs of garlic to skin, chop and crush for the various dishes.

“Ok, Moooom,” Marcus dramatically rolls his eyes at your dictate, “I admit, I’d rather eat sugary or salty things over green stuff but I can make an exception for curried veg.”

The arch of your eyebrow virtually reaches your hairline at him teasingly calling you mom, so you reach for the towel, twist it and flick him hard on what you’d hoped would be his hip but catch him square on his arse instead.

A yelp of pain and wide eyes greet your action, “Did you just…? Oh, it is on.! You might think you’re tough from your brothers but my sisters taught me sneaky tactics.”

“Come at me, bro!” you taunt from the other side of the kitchen, putting up a boxing stance.

Brandishing the hand without the paring knife in your general direction, he answers, “Nope, gonna use the element of surprise and attack when you least expect it!”

Tutting your tongue at Marcus’ weak ass response, you grab the spices you need to prepare under the power of your pestle and mortar. With the waft of roasting cumin soaring through the air and your battle with your boss at a supposedly declared ceasefire, everything starts to feel comfortable and easy again. You could be six years old and standing on the chair next to your mum, watching like a hawk as she lovingly prepared meals for your family with an ever burgeoning belly. It was then, during those hours shared in the galley kitchen that became your time with her when normally it felt pretty split between her work as a GP and your brothers.

What the fuck… You jump out of your skin when a warm, solid wall presses you out of your nostalgic reverie, “Hah! Pinned ya! Sneaky tactics- told ya they worked,” a deep, soft voice whispers in your ear.

Your heart flutters like a bird trying to escape its rib cage with the closeness of Marcus, the heat rising through your body from your proximity to him - a visceral response to the glorious cocktail of masculine smell from his aftershave and body wash.

What do I do next?

Why can’t I bloody think straight?

Wiggling yourself around so that you face him, his face now so close that you can feel his warm breath upon your cheeks. Your eyes playfully catch the steady gaze of Marcus’ deep soulful pools. It would only take the smallest of movements to reach forwards and kiss him right on that stupidly gorgeous, plush Cupid’s bow and crease. But… what if he doesn’t want that? He’s my fucking boss - that would be a stellar move to make…

Instead of the tiny incline forwards to press your lips against his as every inch of you screams to do so, you drop to the floor and crawl out from between his legs, “Not pinned well enough it seems,” you tease haltingly as your tongue sticks in your dry throat.

As you check the browning of the cumin seeds, out of the corner of your eye you see Marcus’ head drop sadly, hearing a small sigh - his hands still upon the work surface and feet not having moved from the position he had pinned you in moments earlier.

Did he want to...? No, surely not.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, Nush,” Marcus humbly apologises, pushing himself off the side, “I hope that I haven’t made things awkward.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” you softly say, pouring the roasted cumin into the mortar, ready to be ground, “I was the one who flicked you on your arse - I am the one who should be apologising.”

You beckon gently to Marcus, who has now taken refuge in the furthest corner of the kitchen from you - wringing his hands instead of chopping the onions, “Come over here - I want you to experience one of my most favourite smells of childhood. These are roasted cumin seeds and when you grind them, they release the most heavenly scent.”

After a few grinds, you offer the bowl towards Marcus’ face as he closes the gap between you, “I… Wow! I wouldn’t have thought it would make such a difference but it’s almost like you’ve entirely transformed it. See,” the dimple deepens in that right cheek of his, “you are a magician.”

“I love how spices - a bit like paint - can take on completely different characters depending on how you treat them. Leave the spice whole and you have this mild and fragrant taste. If you crush them, then their attitude comes back tenfold with a vengeance. Toast them, and they may as well be Clark Kent in a phone booth.”

Looking up you see Marcus gazing at you with a sweet half smile on his face - could he like me… like that?

“Sorry, you don’t need to hear me blathering on,” you fluster, waving your hand in a dismissive gesture as the heat rises through your face.

Shaking his head gently without dropping your regard, “No. No, please don’t ever stop. Your passion for things is beautiful.”

“Growing up, I didn’t realise that other people didn’t have whole cupboards filled to the brim with herbs, spices and seasonings. I mean, for all the damage the British Empire reeked, you’d have hoped that the spices would have entered more of their culture, but no! Apparently, my family was the weird one for having food with a flavour,” you shrug your shoulders at some of the ridiculous things you’d heard as a child - accusations of differences you’d never thought to be of note.

Marcus chuckles at your indignance, “It’s funny you should say that. I didn’t realise that my mamá had an accent until it was pointed out to me when I was a kid.”

Noting your slightly confused expression, Marcus explains, “She’s Argentinian- came to the States as a political refugee as she was a journalist following the disappearances during the Dirty War. Met my dad, and I came along very soon after, and the rest is history..”

You can’t help but laugh at the flush on Marcus’ cheeks as he recounts his personal history to you, “Love can’t be held back when it hits and it’s obvious that they’re still crazy about each other now from that photo.”

“Exactly, no point in wasting time when you know what you want,” Marcus grins, looking at his feet.

“My parents have a similar story. My dad is as English as they come - I mean we’re on a freaking island so there’s no true thing as being completely English. My mum is from Pakistan - Karachi - it’s in the South.”

“She came over due to the fighting between East and West Pakistan - the two countries that are now Pakistan and Bangladesh. It kept interrupting her studies to become a doctor so she came to England and restarted her degree here.”

Marcus’ brow creases in thought, “Why did she restart her degree? Could the credits not just be transferred to the college she moved to in the UK?”

“Hah- yeah. It was the seventies, during a time where all Southern Asians were P*kis - no matter where they were from on the Indian subcontinent- and thought of as dirty, lesser beings. There were constant race riots for anyone who wasn’t ethnically white or English. She would never have been taken seriously with her mediocre medical training from some Adobe hut in the middle of a jungle,” you fume, pounding the seeds into fragments. The mortar being threatened with the same fate too.

Marcus’ fingers wrap around your wrist to try and prevent your rage at the ignorance of others from causing you an injury, “I am so sorry,” he pulls you into a warm, tender hug, tucking your head under his chin, “How long before food can take care of itself so we can put a film on? I think we both need a rest.”

“Hmmm, ten minutes and then most things can simmer or be switched off ready for a reheat or proper cook this evening,” you say, leaning reluctantly out of his comforting arms to go check on the bubbling saucepans of food.

“‘K. I’ll go get things set up so you can flop for a bit,” Marcus touches you gently on your shoulder as he goes to set up the front room. You go to squeeze his hand but it’s removed from your shoulder too quickly for your response.

✪✪✪✪✪

“You ready?” Marcus calls through the wall as you turn off the heat from the final pans.

“Mhm,” you mumble in response to his question - double, triple checking that everything is off. Too many fire alarms ruining perfectly lovely meals or moments.

“What did you pick?” You ask, curling up on the other end of the sofa to Marcus, “Do you have no cushions?”

“Shit, no -I’m a guy, what can I say? - lemme grab the pillows from the bed,” Marcus jumps up, calling through from his bedroom, “Bet you have loads on your couch.”

“A fuckload, but, mainly to hide the fact the springs have gone. It’s like a precarious balancing act of comfort on there,” you surreptitiously sniff the pillow, inhaling the smell of Marcus’ shampoo, “Did you give me your pillow?”

A confused look is shot at you from the other end of the sofa, “Whaddya mean?”

“Smells of your hair,” you say as you squish it into the perfect comfy shape, “Like a mixture of lemon and eucalyptus.”

“That’s a sharp nose you’ve got. I gave you the other side though,” Marcus huffs through a chuckles he shakes his head at your somewhat strange comment, “Guess I’ve been sleeping across both sides then.”

“Best thing about sleeping alone- getting to starfish across the bed. Unless of course…”

Marcus can’t help but laugh at your awkward dig to find out whether he’d brought home the goddess from Friday’s antics, “So you wanna know if I brought home Kemi?”

“She was very beautiful. You’d have been mad not to,” you try to school your expression as best you can, keeping your eyes glued to Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly singing about true love, desperate to hide the jealousy coursing through your veins.

“Must be mad then. Didn’t even kiss her,” Marcus honestly answers whilst copying your tactic of staring at the tv, “She could see that there was someone else I liked so it would have been cruel to have done anything.”

You mull this over in silence, trying not to speak, to ask a million questions.

“Nush.”

“Mhm?”

“Can I talk to y…”

You both jump as an alarm goes off on your phone to remind you to turn the lamb down in the oven.

“Oh shit. Hold that thought,” you jump up from the sofa, heading in the direction of the kitchen with zero thought of what the man at the end of the sofa is desperately trying to tell you. Fiddling with Marcus’ ridiculously swanky oven until it looks like it is doing what you want it to do, you walk back in with two ice cold beers from his fridge.

“Raided your fridge,” you cheekily grin, holding one out to Marcus, the condensation running, down your fingers, “Hope you don’t mind!”

“Good thinking, Batman,” Marcus nods in appreciation, “Any more alarms set to scare us both?”

“Only due to go off when the film is done, so…” you yawn widely, “We’ve got a while yet.”

Marcus’ hand that was slung over the back of the sofa, lifts to stroke your shoulder, “You sleepy? C'mere, you.” With a soft tug of your t-shirt sleeve, he pulls you into his side - your willingness to sink into his broad chest very apparent. Your ear is pressed against him, his heartbeat singing a lullaby to you as his fingers stroke and caress the silken waves of your hair. You wonder at how this man - a total stranger a week ago - has seemingly knitted himself into becoming a cocoon of safety for you, his gentleness and calm offering a haven of tranquility in your otherwise cacophonous world, as the light in the room slowly fades to black.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Uh oh.”

“Hey, welcome back, sunshine!” a gentle pair of fingers stroke back the hair that had drifted into your face as you dozed.

“Sorry for falling asleep. Again,” trying to finesse your way through the heat flaming your cheeks, you offer an awkward grin towards your chuckling pillow, “Guess we’d better start getting things finished as we’ve only got a couple of hours until everyone arrives.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, Marcus! I don’t want to move either but this curry won’t finish cooking itself.”

“Spit spot, there’s work to be done,” Marcus trills as he adopts his best attempt at a British accent.

“What the fuck was that? Did you just turn into Dick Van Dyke or something?” You tease mercilessly at the appalling sound coming from those lips, choking back laughter at his mock offended face.

“C’mon, you’re right. We’d better get moving,” Marcus stands with a stretch and a creak before reaching back to tug you to your feet.

Back under the glowing lights of Marcus’ kitchen, his presence is now constantly close to yours as you glide together around the space - stirring, chopping and checking. Every time he passes, above the general aroma of cumin and coriander, the onions and garlic, you can smell the cedar and amber upon his skin- a deliciously masculine scent that only seeks to entangle your senses further.

“Here, try this,” you hold out a heaped teaspoon of mince curry to Marcus, “This is the keema - I promise that I only put in the two chillies you chopped for me, this time.”

“Mmm, that’s so good,” he says thickly between chews, stealing the spoon from you as he dives in for a second, third, fourth spoonful.

“Hahaha! Leave some for the others- and you need to try it with some raita and fried onions too,” you check through your dog-eared, yellowed and slightly sticky recipe book that your mum had handed you the day you’d left home at eighteen - a memo of all the times you had cooked them together.

“Shit, I’d better start the chicken,” going through the spices in front of you, you search for the cardamoms that would make the butter chicken sing, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Marcus’ head snaps up from the green beans he was preparing towards you, “What’s up, sweetheart?”

“I can’t find the cardamoms for the butter chicken - gah I knew I’d fuck this up!” you cry, scraping your trembling hands through your hair, eyes flashing around the room wildly as your cortisol rises, making you want to run and scream at your failure to feed your friends.

“Whoa - where’s this coming from? C’mon, look at me. Look at me, Nush,” Marcus has his hands on either side of your shoulders, squeezing them gently, “There’s enough here to feed our whole office for the week with the daals you prepared yesterday, the vegetables we’re about to make and the meats that we’ve cooked up already here. Andy is bringing all the rice and naan, Kiri is bringing beers and Dian is on gin and tonic duty. You have done more than enough and I will not allow you to get this upset over one missing ingredient especially when there is a small store downstairs that I’m sure will have it, if we cannot find it after we look for it together.”

After seeing your numb nod as an agreement, Marcus moves his hands to the side of your head to focus your gaze on him rather than the panic seeping through you. As he strokes his thumbs across your cheeks, you allow your eyes to close and your breathing to regain a normal pattern.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologising?” Marcus searches your now open eyes.

“My reactions are ridiculous. Most people tell me to stop being so stupid and that just whips the storm inside my head even more,” you whisper, “But you. You know how to slow everything down and stop the spinning.”

The corner of Marcus’ mouth twitches, “D’ya wanna know a secret?” You nod at him, “As you know, I was married before. When it ended, I totally spiralled. The world kept spinning too fast and I experienced constant anxiety, very nearly burning out of my role.

“I was lucky. My boss was understanding but made me promise to get some support. He knew of someone mental health trained within the FBI who was there for mainly hostage negotiations - not part of the true psych team but someone who could help without it turning up on your record.

“Kwame worked with me for almost a year - pretty much to the point my decree absolute came through. Our sessions were done on a track - by running with me, he was teaching me the skills I needed to control my fears. By my feet hitting the tarmac, he was grounding me. By going over running techniques, he was teaching me how to control my breathing- taking longer and deeper breaths. And running is just repetition. A mindful repetition that allows your brain to have a bit of a break.

“So when I see you start to spiral, I try to give you the same steps he taught me. Get you grounded, opposite me so you copy my breathing and hope that gets you on the right track.”

“Thank you,” you drop your head forwards, relaxing onto his chest. He feels so - safe.

“You don’t need to thank me. Well, okay maybe you do as look what I’ve just spotted,” Marcus holds the offending spice aloft.

“Oh my god, I could fucking kiss you. You have just saved the curry,” you dramatically declare, clutching the cardamom jar to your heart before placing it next to the other ingredients on the counter.

“Go on then.”

What?

His comment makes you snap your head over to catch Marcus’ tremulous gaze, his eyes darting between the floor and your lips. He takes a small step, closing the small distance between the two of you, threading his fingers between yours. Each slow movement offers an unspoken opportunity for you to step away. To tease him and move on with the day.

But why on Earth would you?

With your heart racing faster and faster, you lure him ever closer with your eyes, soft but absolute in their conviction of what was about to pass between you. A small part of you understands that when you kiss him, something will change forever. That within his lips you may find the place to call home - the aching in your stomach may cease and life could start to make sense again. The anxieties of the week washing away, the pain of your collective pasts and the hint of a brighter, happier future before you.

When he doesn’t move again, you seize the moment. Pushing up onto your socked tiptoes, you tilt your chin, inclining your face until your lips come to rest upon his in the sweetest, chastest kiss. Drawing back slightly to check that Marcus is okay with a raise of your eyebrows and widened eyes, he holds your gaze steadily, similarly stunned - a mirror of each other with racing hearts and slightly parted lips. It’s like in that moment everything around you ceases to exist as anything other than extraneous nonsense - all the noise inside your head silenced by that one touch.

A small dumbstruck smile creeps across Marcus’ lips before he lowers his head to press another gentle kiss upon you. Then another. Then another. Each press of your lips a little longer. A little deeper. Your lips part to allow his tongue entry as every single thought is quietened by the taste of him. Dropping hands for his to cradle your face and yours to thread through his hair as your bodies press together tightly.

Oh the taste of him is utterly exquisite! From where you’ve been using him as chief curry taster, there’s an element of spices with the tiniest hint of mint. And how you have missed having that beautifully solid warmth of his body next to yours. Inhaling his breaths that fall upon you, your hearts match each other’s rhythms as your lips explore each other, every sensation drawing together to create a humming ball of energy, like you are standing at the point where lightning strikes the Earth.

✪✪✪✪✪

Hands fisted tightly in each other’s clothing - both stuck in the quandary of wanting to tear the fabric from your bodies but also frightened of pushing the other too far. Finally pulling apart, you gaze upon Marcus - all lust blown pupils and dopey smiles. Your foreheads come back to rest against each other, unable to quite let go just yet, not wanting to break the spell and return to reality.

“I have wanted to kiss you since perhaps the first time I met you,” Marcus murmurs as his lips gently ghost over your cheeks, “Maybe even from seeing the photo in your file when Andy drove me here from the airport.”

“Was the person, me?” You quietly ask, finally with the confidence to finish that conversation, “The reason you didn’t kiss or sleep with the goddess?”

He drops his eyes as he gives you a small nod, “Normally, I’d have just asked you out but I was scared of fucking up. It’s been a long time since I felt a spark with anyone.

“You’ve entered my life in this whirlwind of intelligence, beauty and tenderness - I didn’t want to frighten you or make you feel uncomfortable if you didn’t reciprocate.”

A thousand thoughts flood your mind as Marcus says those words. All at once, you want to tell him how safe he makes you feel. How much now that you’ve started kissing him, you never want to stop. How the cruel critics of slumber, silence themselves when you feel his heartbeat against your cheek.

Instead you stand there, silent.

Trying to stroke out the creases you’ve created in his t-shirt as you attempt to find words to put into a logical order, you notice his face twitching when the material under your fingers makes contact with his sides, “Oh Marcus, are you ticklish?”

“Um, no,” Marcus tries to deny breezily as he takes a small, hesitant step back from you, pretending to steady himself.

Making a small movement towards him, your hands at the same level as the point of the bunched fabric - you ask, “Are you sure about that?”

“Yeah,” Marcus is now eyeing you suspiciously - desperate to kiss you again but also a little worried as to what havoc your fingers might reek.

“Then, why are you moving away from me?”

“No reason…” his usually deep voice now a little tighter and higher, “Nush… What are you about to ARGH!”

His knees crumble beneath him as you attack his sensitive sides, “Gah! Quit it, woman,” he weakly commands between wheezes and hoots of laughter.

Taking full advantage of Marcus’ prone and vulnerable position, you take the opportunity to straddle him - effectively pinning him to the floor, “This is how you pin someone.”

“I let you pin me,” Marcus corrects you with a wink.

“Oh really?” you contest, entirely unconvinced by his bravado.

“Yeah,” he says with a small wiggle, bringing his hands to the back of your head, “Cos y’see, I can flip our positions quite easily.”

Suddenly, you find yourself flat on your back in Marcus’ kitchen with zero air in your lungs to form any sensible thought other than to kiss him hard. His large hands cradle your head as he props himself gently above you on his elbows. You feel his entire body covering yours. Deliciously pressing against every single inch of you and oh how it takes every bit of the minutismal amount of self control you have to not beg him to fuck you senseless into that floor.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Shit, is that your door?”

“Fuck,” Marcus pushes himself up to kneeling between your legs, “Can we pretend we’re not in?”

The harsh realisation of an evening with your colleagues, albeit lovely people, sinks in to you both.

“Nope,” you groan, popping the p with a deflated gusto, “Hang on, don’t buzz them up until I’ve tucked my boobs back into my bra.”

“I dunno, makes for easier access,” Marcus lopsidedly grins with a wink as he heads for the door.

“You certainly didn’t seem to make hard work of it earlier,” you mumble at him, before you affix a smile to your face, “Hey! How are you all doing?”

A sea of never ending hugs envelopes and separates you from Marcus as everyone piles into his apartment. The stupid grin still firmly in place on your face since you’d first kissed, you find that every time you look over at him, he’s gazing right back, mirroring that lovestruck smile.

“Oh my god, it all smells so amazing,” Dian waxes lyrical, squeezing you tightly as she inhales a lungful of exotically scented air, “What’ve we got?”

You take her by the hand into the kitchen to show all the different things you had bubbling away. Andy ducks into the kitchen behind you, laden with bags filled with pilau rice, naan and chapatis, and a beautiful small bunch of spring flowers in his other hand - tiny tête-à-tête daffodils with multiple heads along each stalk, brilliant yellow and red tulips standing like soldiers and the otherworldly looking stems of hyacinth, wickedly scenting the air under your nose as he thrusts them under there.

“Hey pretty girl, here’s all the bits you asked for. You deserve a much bigger bunch for what I’ve roped you into but I know you love the early blooms,” he offers by way of apology, sticking a kiss to the side of your forehead, “Smells fucking good though as ever. Hope you don’t mind but I’ve brought a box to take some home for Greg - he was a jealous arse this evening so I suppose I should share.”

“You know the way I cook, enough for several small armies,” you wonkily grin at him, truly thankful for the part he’d had to play, “‘Fraid there’s no easy way to say this and you will have to be the one to break it to Greg, but there’s no butter chicken tonight.”

“You’d better have a damn good excuse for this slatternly behaviour, madam,” Andy gives you a serious side eye for this infraction.

“Well…”

“Initially Nush couldn’t find the cardamoms but then we ran out of time. Plenty of food here, though,” Marcus answers for you, his hand gently holding your hip as he reaches around you to grab a couple of beers from the fridge.

You see Andy catch Marcus’ hand lightly stroking your side as he walks back to Kiritopa, but are entirely grateful when his expression and mouth say nothing. The light chatter in the kitchen, whilst Dian dips a teaspoon into all the pots, is interrupted by a small knock at the door. Sticking your head around the kitchen door, you spot Marcus opening the door to a nervous-looking Harper. Andy sidles past you, to pull her into the main room, rather than her previous position of standing on the doorstep, utterly awkward and obviously feeling quite out of place.

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind me coming. I know I wasn’t there Friday but I don’t really do large crowds and drinking.”

You walk over to her amidst the chorus of “not to worry”s and “lovely to see you”s, “Fancy something to drink now? Got plenty of soft options and I think I’ll stick alongside you as I’ve got to make sure I don’t burn stuff.”

“Including yourself, this time,” Harper retorts quickly with a small smile and a raise of her eyebrows.

“Hah, chance’d be a fine thing,” Andy laughs, slapping your shoulder before turning back to clink bottles and talk with Kiri and Marcus.

✪✪✪✪✪

Through the full length doors of Marcus’ balcony, evening spring sunshine streams through, bathing the group of your co-workers in a gentle, diffused light that flows around the room coating you in a golden glow. You all eat your fill and then some, with full tummies and tired eyes - the kitchen still full of half eaten dishes.

“Can we make this a weekly thing?” Kiritopa asks through a mouthful of food, hopefully.

“Not unless we take it in turns or get a take away - I don’t have the physical or emotional energy to make this level of curry every weekend,” you pointedly remark, looking up from your coke to meet Marcus’ eyes.

You’ve spent the evening barely speaking to each other for fear of alerting the others but surreptitiously brushing past so that you can sneak touches. Tender hidden strokes that feel like the kindest stitches on hidden, gaping wounds.

Marcus stands up to help usher the evening to an end and get you to himself again, “I have some boxes for y’all to take food home as otherwise, I’ll be eating this for weeks - delicious as it is.”

Everyone thankfully takes their boss’ hint and head into the kitchen to grab platefuls to reheat after long days. Slowly saying their goodbyes, your friends drift off in the direction of their homes as you throw yourself in an exhausted heap of bones on his sofa. Two strong hands grip you under your arms, to drape your torso across his lap.

“Hey tired girl,” you slightly open your eyes to spy a smiling Marcus gazing down at you. His fingers draw lazy patterns over the sensitive skin of your neck.

“I’d like to take you on a proper date this week. Wanna do this properly. Make a bit of a fuss.”

“Yeah? Not just pin me down and ravish me on the kitchen floor?” you grin widely at him.

“Well, I’d hardly call that a ravishing…” your eyes widen, eyebrows raising at Marcus’ comment, excitement pooling in your tummy, “Yeah, I saw there’s an Argentinian restaurant in Blackheath so how about steak, Malbec and homemade ice cream before I bring you back to either yours, or mine, for another, even better ravishing?”

“That sounds amazing, although with the amount of food in my belly, I may never have to eat again,” you give your stomach a rub, “But the ravishing…”

Hauling you up to sitting across his lap, you protest loudly, “I am going to crush your legs.”

“Stop making ridiculous comments and c’mere,” Marcus demands as he gently turns your head towards him, stealing a delicate kiss from you.

“I...should… - argh! Stop kissing me for a second,” you beg halfheartedly, “I should go home.”

“Stay.”

“Please stay,” Marcus desperately entreats you, “I’m not expecting anything but I’d love it if you stayed. I know you’ve got nothing here but give me two minutes and I can have a spare toothbrush for you. I’ll drop you home early tomorrow morning so you can grab some clothes and then we can go into work together?”

It feels as though the wind is knocked out of your lungs with the depth of Marcus’ need to be around you.

How does he do it?

“There’s no games with you, are there?” you twist in Marcus’ lap so that you now straddle his thighs, placing your hands on either side of his ridiculously handsome face.

“No,” he shakes head slowly, all the while holding eye contact with you, “I’m too old and I know what I want.”

“What’s that?”

Stroking his hands up and down your sides as he nuzzles your neck, he clearly and confidently declares,

“You.”

Tag list of glory (as ever, please ask to be put on or dropped from the list): @astroboots @silverwolf319@sirowsky @leonieb @disgruntledspacedad @bison-writes @the-ginger-hedge-witch @danniburgh @sugarontherims @green-socks @tardisfangurl @absurdthirst @pedropascalito-deactivated20210 @mouthymandalorian @mrsparknuts @zukoyonce @agirllovespancakes @yespolkadotkitty @lunaserenade @theravenreads @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

#pedro pascal #josé pedro balmaceda pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal#ppascaledit #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #the mentalist #the mentalist fanfic #marcus pike x oc #marcus pike x oc reader

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mobagehelllocal · 4 years ago

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“i can hold the world in my hands” ver iv - ruggie, rook & lilia

Would you do the world prompt for Lilia, Rook, and Ruggie?

- from Anonymous.

A/N: Hi everyone~ I’ve finally found the time to write again~ Since my last writing were angst pieces, I figured I’d beg for forgiveness by making some more fluff ahahah. I hope you enjoy!

Let’s go!

PS: pardon my French, I just used Google Translate :x

other versions: ver i (dorm leaders), ver ii (deuce, leech twins, silver),

ver iii (jamil), ver iv (this), ver v (trey), ver vi (ace, jack, epel, sebek)

After Jade had successfully pulled Floyd off you when the latter eel had tackled you to the ground (who decided it would be a good idea to give that person, 191 centimetres?), you finally entered the main hall of the Mostro Lounge. Upon seeing you, several of the other part timers point out where he went. As you slowly slipped to the back of the hall, you finally caught sight of Ruggie.

He caught your gaze at the edge of his eye, and after sending you a quick, sharp grin, he returned back to his serving the table. After which he came up to you.

“Hey you~” He instinctively leaned down, and brushed his cheek against yours, which you happily reciprocate. He ducked his face into your neck. You felt his nose twitch.

“Did Floyd greet you with another hug?”

“He tackled me.”

“Shishishi. Is that so?” he pulled back, and gave you a grin that--to your worry--did not reach his eyes.

“Ruggie.” you frowned, you had come here not to make him sad--but to cheer him on. Floyd was just... really affectionate with people he liked--and it was impossible to say no to him... Primarily because you were both human and weak against Floyd’s tall form.

“It’s fine.” he smiled, “it’s just a... me thing, I’ll get over it. Sorry.”

You’ve got the feeling that Ruggie thinks you’d stand up and just leave him be--but you didn’t want to do that.

I want you to know--that I chose you--I chose to be with you.

That you are irreplaceable.

That you are priceless.

‘How do I do that..?’ you blinked as you snapped your fingers. Ruggie tilted his head in response, before you looked up and said,

“Hey Ruggie. Here’s a secret~”

His ears twitched in interest, in he leant down to come closer to you.

“I can hold the world in my hands!”

“Haaah?” Ruggie furrowed his brows, “how is that supposed to work? Also I thought you didn’t have magic in your world--”

When he felt your gentle and kind fingers brush against his cheeks, he’s thrown into stupefied silence.

“I’m holding the world.” you pulled him close, hoping he could see the sincere love you had for him in your eyes. “I’m holding my world.”

Ruggie’s eyes widened at your statement, and he immediately sputtered in response.

“Wait--you--”

“You’re priceless to me Ruggie.” you pressed your hands against his cheeks, “you’re so important to me--you’re my world.”

“You--” The blush on his cheeks darkened. “You can’t just... say stuff like that, ya know?”

“I can’t help it.” you said, with a gentle smile, that made his cheeks burn brighter and his heart beat faster. “I want you to know how much you mean to me.”

“Well message received.” he said a little grumpy, “please let me go?”

“You’re not pulling away in the first place.” His ears twitched again, and this time his tail flicked too. You grinned at his silence.

“You...”

“Hm?”

“You’re...” he inhaled, before he exhaled. “You’re important to me too, okay? Don’t... don’t go looking at anyone else.”

“There’s no room in my sight, except for you Ruggie!” you chirped and he groaned again.

‘You’re too cute.’ He thought, as he proceeded to duck into your neck again, and with a breath he’s happy that you smell more like him again.

Rook was sta--I mean... hunting again.

You wish he’d pay attention to you, but he’s there--a dreamy sigh escaped his lips as he stared off into the direction of the botanical garden.

‘Staring at Leona again probably,’ you thought, as you tore your gaze away from Rook’s form for the nth time.

You honestly don’t understand how he could have such sharp eyesight--but honestly, it was way more believable than all the other magic in Twisted Wonderland.

Your eyes naturally trailed off to Rook’s direction, only for him to quickly turn your way. You flinched in surprise, and frantically turn to concentrate down at your book. With a little curse, you noticed that the book you were holding was upside down.

“Ohoh.” you hear Rook let out a soft chuckle, before he slunk his way to the seat across yours. “You’ve been shooting me some upset looks, is something the matter?”

“That’s...” you sighed as you put down your upside down book, and look him in the eye... or well... closed? lids?

Yet another intriguing thing about him that you never really question--but simply accept.

“I...” you struggled with how to phrase it before you settle on an idea. “Hey Rook?”

“Hrm?” Though he was seated across you now, his gaze... or his? closed? eyelids? were still fixed in the direction of the gardens.

“I know how to hold the world in my hands.” you declared, and he nodded.

“Is that so?” You huffed in response, and think ‘here goes nothing.’

When Rook felt you gently take his face in your hands, his shut eyelids twitched in surprise to meet your gaze. You had just the slightest tint of red spread across your cheeks.

“Like this.” you said, and he raised a brow, as he wondered what you meant. He furrowed his brows briefly as he attempted to remember what you were talking about.

“I know how to hold the world in my hands.”

His eyes slid open in surprise as you met his gaze head on.

“Like this,” you said, your voice strong, “I’m holding the world in my hands.”

Your eyes meet his, and he quickly realized what you’re trying to get across.

My eyes are on you, Rook.

Are your eyes on me?

‘You..’

‘You are... truly...’

“Mon monarque,” he murmured fervently, as he took your hand and pressed a kiss against the back of it. “Monarque de mon coeur...” he whispered softly.

“Rook?”

“I might acknowledge many kings--but you are the one true ruler of my heart.” he finally said in common tongue, which made your cheeks flush red. “Never loose confidence in my love for you, mon monarque!”

You pulled your hands back as your blush began to brighten, but he only squeezed your hands gently, in reassurance.

“Just--don’t forget--” you inhaled. “don’t look away.”

“Mon monarque--how could I?” Rook’s eyes glittered briefly before his eyes shut, and his familiar smile spread across his face. “You who holds my heart--I eagerly watch what you do next~”

Being with someone as older as Lilia, meant that he was mostly the dominant one in the relationship.

It didn’t help that he was incredibly mischievous. He looked to get you all flustered whenever he could.

‘It’s cute’ he said, ‘I can’t resist your cute face after all~’ Of course, this would only set your face on flame even more, and he’d end up laughing about it.

You wondered if there was anything you could do to show him how much you appreciated him. Or at least--could you make his heart race, the way he did to you?

“You seem to be thinking about something very deeply, little dear.” You jolt upright to stare right into Lilia’s red eyes.

He was hanging upside down in the air again.

“Hey Lilia,” you rest your face in between your palms as you look at the fae.

“Yes, little dear?” a familiar wide smile curled his lips, and you leant forward.

“I can hold the world in my hands.” Lilia raised a brow at that. He made a quick flip in the air, before he landed in the seat right across you. Once he had sat down, he leant forward too.

“However so intriguing, is this the magic of your world?” Lilia tilted his head, his red eyes shimmered with curiosity.

“I guess you can say that.” you giggled in return, “would you like me to show you?”

“I am all ears, little dear.” You reach forward, and only after a moment of hesitation, you cupped his soft cheeks in both of your hands.

“Like this. I’m holding the world.” you whisper, softly. You look into Lilia’s eyes.

His eyes widened briefly at this--his pupils became rounder for a brief moment, and just the lightest pink blush appeared on his cheeks before his expression quickly changed. He tilted his head in your palms, and he regarded you with an uncharacteristically serious expression.

You blushed from the way he looked at you so intensely.

“Aha... Saying such a thing--to an old man like me,” he reached a hand, his thumb slipped onto your pulse. He shut his eyes as he listened to the way he made your heart leap. His smile grew tender at the rhythm of your heart. “you know this means, I won’t let you go, hm?”

Your blush darkened and you pouted.

“No fair Lilia!”

“On the contrary little dear,” he offered you his other wrist. “feel my heart.”

You hesitate for a moment, before you felt for the rhythm of his heart. It was... it felt like it was coordinating with yours--in the same rapid beat.

“There are little things that surprise me.” he admitted gently, “and even less--are there things that could make my heart race. You’ve always done that for me little dear. Everyday, I anticipate what things you’ll do to make my heart race.”

“Lilia...” you dodged his gaze.

“I’ll tell you another thing little dear~ come closer~” You lean forward, to get another look, but Lilia instead took the opportunity to lovingly brush his nose against yours.

“Lilia!” you pulled back, blush up to your ears at this point.

“I do apologize, little dear. You’re far too adorable!” he chuckled, “you flustering me... my, that was also very cute~ Do it more often~?”

“I’ll keep trying!” you said with a huff, “until your whole face also turns red!”

His smirk widened in response.

“and I’ll look forward to all your attempts... kufufu~”

#aiwrites #aiscenarios #twisted wonderland #twst #twst scenarios #twst ruggie #twst rook #twst lilia #my search history: how do hyenas greet each other #google: they sniff each other's private parts #me: well that wont do #i stand by what i said pomefiore is hard to write for #lilia is lilia #ai twst hold series

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regrettablewritings · 4 years ago

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Fluff alphabet for Tadashi Hamada if you're stil writing for him, please. B, c,s w?

Indeed, I do still write for the lovely lad. Stuff is below the cut

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?):

Oh, most definitely. Tadashi is a very family-oriented man. Always has been, always will be. So it’s no surprise that he looks forward to the day he can start his own little branch of the Hamada family tree. We’ve already seen how he is with Hiro: He’s protective, he’s encouraging, he’s inspiring, he’s good at getting him to do things he may not want to do even if it’s for his own benefit -- imagine what wonders he could do if those traits were applied to a little mini-him or mini-you or mini-you-both!

Honestly, the subject goes more or less unspoken between you two because it’s kind of a given that Tadashi wants kids. You two would be taking a walk in the park or going to the mall and the moment a stroller passes by, he’s barely playing off how much he’s trying to crane his neck to gaze upon the chubby wonder resting inside. You can see the disappointment in his eyes when he fails. Some days when you’re just at the Lucky Cat trying to get some homework done, you’ll glance up and see him at a table with a baby at it, speaking all kinds of sweet words to them. You’ve seen his favorites playlist on Youtube -- it has a decade-old commercial for Legal Zoom on it. When you questioned why it was there in the first place, you had to witness your adoring boyfriend sheepishly admit that the baby in it was just too cute. And also he liked the pale purple walls and thought it’d make for good inspiration.

“Good inspiration for . . .?�� you led, knowing exactly where it was headed. You watched at Tadashi’s eyes wandered and his cheeks and ears reddened.

“For . . . a nursery . . .” he responded. It was a mumble, but you heard everything you needed to know loud and clear.

Well, not everything, of course: You asked him what exactly he envisioned for the future.

He admitted he wasn’t exactly particular about whether he wanted a boy or a girl, let alone first or second -- he just knew he would like at least two children so neither one would be lonely. Corny and cheesy as it was, he would’ve preferred to live somewhere a little closer to the suburbs (“Hey, at least I don’t expect a white picket fence!” he justified). His reasoning being that he’d like a nice, quiet area in which many parks and libraries and schools can be accessible, and so any children of yours have room to grow. However, given the structure of the area, he knew that this was going to be a tough call for a multitude of reasons.

Bottom line, though, he’d be okay with living in the city if it meant he could still provide for you and your hypothetical kids the best he could. He just wants to make sure everyone is happy and healthy. But for now, he’s content with it just being the two of you . . . Emphasis on “for now.”

C = Cuddles (How do they cuddle?):

Usually with a prayer that Hiro doesn’t barge in. No, seriously: That bedroom of theirs offers only the most courteous of privacies by way of a tasteful but otherwise unpersuasive shoji. You want Hiro to see you guys trying to get cozy about as much as Hiro does -- which is not at all, given how he pretends to throw up every time he’s walked in on you two. And how he’s voiced his dislike of it.

Given that Tadashi is ever the caring brother and roommate, he can only get away with so many dry, “You don’t have to be here”s before he just feels bad about it. As a result, the two of you have actually had to create a cuddling schedule built with Hiro’s course times, your availability, and Tadashi’s availability in mind. And God forbid Hiro ever finds out about that schedule because all he needs is one more reason to call the both of you Ultra Nerds.

Worse-case scenario, you two get booted out and have to make do with the couch in the garage, cramped as it is. But you don’t mind: Usually, the reason you two are cuddling is because you’re so butt-tired from coursework that you need to relax and zonk out for a couple hours. Besides, for as lanky and more muscle-based as a guy like Tadashi is, his arm wrapped around you is unfairly warm and comforting. You’re bound to be conked out before you can even utter a complaint, or at the very least you’re way too relaxed to register the fact that you’re both awkwardly strewn about the furniture.

So if it had to be put in a different way (and less about worrying somebody might barge in), you supposed you could describe your cuddling as being the snug equivalent to how a college student eats, sleeps, or lives altogether: You both take what you can get when you can get it and try to enjoy it before it’s time to go to your next “adult obligation.”

S = Sad (How do they cheer themselves/others up?):

Tadashi is a pretty optimistic person so it’s actually hard to get him completely down, let alone long enough for him to actually require a pick-me-up bigger than a brief inner pep talk. Normally all he needs to do is have a quiet moment to himself, some time to cool down, maybe remind himself that things can and will get better. But in the odd moment where this isn’t enough, Tadashi will often turn to his interests.

However, don’t assume this means he’ll hunker down in his lab and focus on one of his projects: He’s long since learned that it’s best to not robotically engineer with sad or frustrated -- way too many power outages have occurred from that.

Instead, he turns to his other hobbies: Living with Aunt Cass means he’s been knowing how to bake for years, albeit the baked fruits of his labors don’t always come out prettily; depending on how free his schedule is (read: not very at all anymore), he may go find a location to go surfing; or he goes to a park to get, like, a cart crepe. Usually being outside in a sunny place (with plenty of puppies and babies around) zaps him back to normal.

Which leaves him with plenty of time to figure out how to cheer you up!

Given his nature, Tadashi has become a wiz at cheering others up. He’s just got this nearly contagious brightness about him. And even if you don’t find yourself as readily bright as he, don’t worry: He’s not afraid to pull old tried-and-trues on you. Being an older brother/almost fatherly figure has allowed him the perfect position to perfect his trade: That is, the art of being goofy for the sake of cheering up his loved ones. He will easily pick you up and jump around with you, hollering about how he’s going to “turn that frown upside-down” -- by actually holding you upside-down.

Not your cup of tea? Then be prepared to witness the most tragic case of Dad Dancing ever recorded in a man below the age of 30, complete with cheesy disco music. You will be forced to witness his arms flailing, head bopping, mouth performing what you had once heard being referred to as “The White Man’s Overbite”. You will beg that he stop “for the love of Mochi.” You will try to have your pleas be heard over the speaker blaring “Got to Be Real” by Cheryl Lynn, only to be further drowned out by your boyfriend’s tone-deaf singing.

But the man will not stop: He must dance in your honor.

And once you’re done wiping away the tears left from cackling, he’ll treat you to some froyo.

If this still doesn’t work, there’s the slightest chance he might pull out the big guns: Tickling. It’s reserved strictly as a worst-case scenario, but he’s going to dance until his feet bleed if he can help it before he has to do that again. The last time he resorted to tickling a little too eagerly, it . . . didn’t end well.

W = Wedding (When, how, where do they propose?):

When? A balmy evening in May. How? With a bit of difficulty. Mind you, Tadashi is a generally organized man on the average day. But on the day he proposes to you – heck, the days leading up to it? He’s a bit of a mess. And it’s in no small part due to how incredibly involved his friends and family had tried to be the entire time.

Make no mistake, he’s very glad that he has such supportive loved ones. However, he found himself constantly fighting off a heart attack every time one of them treaded the line a little too closely for his comfort. (Sure, there’s little suspicion in Honey gushing over wedding magazines with you or Aunt Cass asking you to sample a “brand new wedding cake flavor” she was planning to use for some pastries, but Wasabi asking about your ring size and Fred talking about how kaiju costumes were better than tuxes until GoGo had to slam him down really wasn’t exactly inconspicuous.)

Hiro might’ve been the closest thing to normal throughout it all, much to the elder Hamada brother’s surprise. But even then, he was more of less gesturing for Tadashi to just go ahead and pop the question – albeit, at the most inopportune times in the latter’s honest opinion.

“I can’t propose to my girlfriend in the campus library!” Tadashi rejected Monday.

“There’s nothing romantic about being in the middle of a pizzeria and going, ‘Hey, will you marry me?’” he scoffed on Wednesday.

“Hiro, if you ever propose to somebody in front of a mall fountain, then I’ve failed you,” came his dry response Saturday. He knew his younger brother meant no harm by applying the lightest of pressures; he just wanted all the anxieties over with! But this was you Tadashi was proposing to: You deserved only the best. Only the most heartfelt . . . Which was why, in the end, the where of it all was the Lucky Cat Café. Was it the fanciest establishment he could have done it in? Not really. Thankfully, Aunt Cass was all too eager to oblige his request to have the café to yourselves one evening; it allowed him to properly decorate your favorite table with a tablecloth and a bouquet of your favorite flowers. It was admittedly a tad cheesy, but you certainly didn’t mind it.

But this was where Tadashi had grown up. It was where his family – the core of his being – was, where his friends congregated to relax. This was his home in so many ways and if he was to invite you into his family, he wanted it to be done here. Even if it meant Aunt Cass and Hiro were not too discreetly peeking out from the back. Or that the entire time Tadashi was trying to recite his proposal speech, he kept getting distracted by your friends, whose faces were mashed against a window behind you, waiting to bear witness to this milestone.

Suffice to say, it was a very group-oriented situation. But neither you nor Tadashi would have had anything less.

Thank you for your patience!

#tadashi hamada #tadashi hamada x reader #tadashi hamada imagine #big hero 6 imagine #big hero 6 imagines #tadashi hamada headcanons #regrettablewritings #fluff alphabet #fluff headcanons

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whump-town · 4 years ago

Text

The Slow Crawl Back to Normal

This is the really long fic I wrote to connect the episodes in season five following Foyet’s attack. As there is a whole month between the episode 5x01 “Nameless, Faceless” and 5x02 “Haunted”. So, naturally, I can’t stand to let all the possible whump go unwritten. However, I am not amused with the material I have produced. I did write is so it is to your own discretion that you read it. Good luck

Word Count: 7870

Getting into all of this, there had been a level of expected conflict. Seven people, six of which are heavily conflicted with a broad spectrum of emotions about one of the others. Luckily, Reid’s managed to procure a little of that attention (mercilessly, really).

That doesn’t stop them, entirely.

Emily Prentiss blinks once, twice at the bulging supply bag in Penelope Garcia’s hands. The two stare at each other from where they stand. A distinct air of mischief in the room, the lightest thing to ghost through all day. And Emily lets herself immerse fully into that hope. Into its ease. “I thought I said only the important things,” she chides softly.

Garcia looks down at the bag in her hands and frowns. Setting it down beside Hotch’s leg, Garcia opens it with a distinctly sassy motion. “It is only the important things,” she defends. She opens the bag to allow Emily to look in and as she pulls it open Emily can smell Hotch. His soap and detergent soaked into the old beige sweater sitting at the top of the bag. Even in the thick cabin socks tucked into the spare spaces. “I had to pack his winter clothes,” Garcia explains. “He gets cold easily, you know that.”

Hotch does stay relatively cold most of the time. Which is how it’s so effortless for him to stay tucked under all the layers of his suits. Emily is glad someone thought of that in the face of all this madness. The paper-thin, rough blankets the nurses are allowing him now aren’t going to be very much help. They’ve all shared a room with him before. He requires several layers of blankets to sleep.

Something green catches her eye and without thinking, Emily reaches in. “What’s--” Emily moves the sweater aside and Garcia swiftly shuts the sides of the bag around Emily’s hand.

Garcia glances at Hotch and then back to Emily, whispering loudly, “that is his underwear. You can’t look at them.”

Emily tries to hide her amused smile. It’s cute, alright? Big bad Aaron Hotchner having his modesty protected by Garcia. “Alright,” Emily backs down, pulling her hand back away from the bag. “Did you bring me anything?” she asks.

Garcia nods, smiling once again bright in place. “I come with…” Garcia turns to the shoulder bag she has, pulling it around to her front. “Books!” She spreads out the pickings and Emily realizes these are Hotch’s books. Because one, even the books that are essentially just decoration they’ve been sitting on her shelves for so long, she still knows their titles. And two, the books are old classic romance novels. Pride & Prejudice, Wuthering Heights, and Jane Eyre. She would never seek out these sorts of books on her own.

There’s also the additional proof that she’s seen them in his boxes. He’s been in his current apartment for months and he’s still hardly put away a thing that doesn’t get immediate, daily use. She’d been there to help him move and had refrained from commenting on the fact that he buckled the coffee maker into the front seat so it wouldn’t fall over. Which had forced her to sit in the back seat (which might have been punishment for making fun of his “dad” jeans). So, she’d also opened his other boxes to help along the unboxing process and quickly sidetracked so she could bully him for his library.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Emily says, taking them with a grateful smile and presses a quick kiss to Garcia’s cheek. “What would we do without you?” Emily thumbs through the old novels distractedly and wonders what she’s going to learn from these books. Never mind, she already knows: that H0tch is an old boring romantic.

Which is also cute but she refuses to acknowledge that for too long.

“How is he?” Garcia asks.

Her tone is so hopeful that it makes Emily’s throat tight. The truth is grim. And her duty is to the truth but Garcia is all of the light of this job. Her hope and smile is always what greets them when they come home. In the times in which she falls, they’ve found themselves bathed in the darkest nights. Not a star in sight. Clouds hovering overhead. There is so much to consider and no time to dwell.

Emily never has to answer her.

“Sir!”

His head turns sluggishly to them, eyes moving around the rest of him as he takes in everything. Slowly, they slide back to them but he doesn’t ask where he is or what happened. He looks them both over. Typical Hotch behavior to take stock of a situation and then do little visual check-ins to comb them over for injuries. Even though he’s the one laid up in the hospital. “Hello,” he hoarsely greets. His pale lips curl up, a soft smile he has afforded only her. He can always do that one little thing for Penelope Garcia. But he can’t hold it for long and with a tired sigh, his lips fall to his more natural grimace. His blinks are slowing in rate, his eyelids already dropping again.

Although, yesterday, the doctor had been sympathetic to his situation today she is not. She’d allowed him to forgo from taking stronger doses of morphine and sedatives so that he might fight his body and stay awake long enough to say goodbye to Haley and Jack. The three different states of panic he’d worked himself into were enough not to allow her to make that mistake again.

Today, as drowsy and inactive as he has been, he has remained calm. Only waking once in a state of panic early this morning, writhing in pain and crying out softly for Haley.

“Garcia was just dropping some stuff off,” Emily informs him. “Some clean clothes so you can change out of this gown.” But she’s Emily Prentiss and she can’t stop there. “Not that I’m sure the nurses don’t love seeing your ass every time you go to the bathroom.” She looks far too pleased as she remembers-- “Oh and she was totally bragging about being able to go through your underwear drawer. She was just showing me a pair of your boxers when you woke up-- Ow!” Emily is taken by complete surprise when Garcia hits her.

Garcia red in the face vehemently denies this false claim. “I would never do that, sir! I did have to look inside the drawer but I promise I tried to keep my eyes closed so I wouldn’t see everything! I hardly saw anything at all! Just--”

“Garcia. Garcia?”

She comes to a stuttering halt, face still very flushed.

“I know you wouldn’t,” Hotch clarifies with a tired sigh. “Prentiss just has a flair for tall tales.” He says this under his breath, his eyes falling shut. It takes him a long moment but he manages to blink them back open. A few rapid shallow blinks as he forces himself to stay awake just a little longer.

Emily scowls down at him but she can’t really be mad. Not him, not when he’s like this. “I do not have a flair for tall tales,” her voice turns to a childish taunt near the end. Finishing it off with an eye roll and softly knocking the back of her hand against his.

It earns her a sleepy little huff and just the faintest smirk.

Garcia feels a little better having seen this demonstration. As the one left searching hospitals for news on him, half expecting someone to eventually break the news of his death to her, she’s relieved. No one has given her good news in two days. She hadn’t been able to leave the office yesterday in time to make visitor’s hours. All she knew is what Morgan had told her from yesterday: that he was agitated and weak.

Weak. Her boss? No. Her Aaron Hotchner is strong and brave and maybe a little sad but he doesn’t deserve this.

“Garcia?”

She looks up, taken aback by how softly her name comes out of his mouth. “Yes, sir?”

“Thank you for finding me.”

Tears gather in her eyes and she steps around Emily to squeeze his hand. “Of course, sir.” Then leaning down to kiss his temple, she adds. “Just in case though, I’m going to put a tracker in your underwear. I can’t have you all running off on me, okay?”

He makes one of those signature Hotch grunts, a soft noise that comes from the back of his throat.

“I love you, sir.”

If he finds anything in his boxers, he’ll consider that a lie.

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

Aaron Hotchner may be sedated and spending roughly 75% of the last three days hazing in and out of sleep but he’s not stupid. He’s been a profiler for the better part of a decade, longer really, and he didn’t just bat his eyelashes to work his way up to Unit Chief. “You’re angry,” he says.

Dave and Emily have been shouldering the majority of his visiting hours. Everyone has stopped by (even Reid, though it was two in the morning and that was an unapproved meeting) and continues to stop by but seemingly out of duty rather than because they want to see him. Not that Hotch can really blame them. He’s seen himself in the mirror, he’s not looking too hot.

Today is Dave’s day and he’s been with Hotch since seven-thirty this morning. Long enough to watch Hotch sip at some apple juice and neglect the chicken broth he was supposed to have for lunch. His lack of appetite is starting to become a problem and that is what Hotch assumes Dave is frustrated with. Reasonably, Hotch does know he needs to try a little harder but apple juice got boring two days ago and he’s not really a fan of room temperature soup.

Looking up from his Sudoku, Dave sighs. An obvious tell. He straightens the spine of his book. “I’m not.”

Hotch grunts, so he is mad. They’ve had this conversation enough over the years for Hotch to be able to tell. If Dave weren’t mad he would have spent more time clarifying he’s not mad at Hotch, not denying it. Rightfully, Dave always assumes first and foremost that Hotch thinks he’s mad with him. Which is fair because, right now, Hotch is fairly certain Dave is mad at him.

The sound of his grunt makes Dave look up and Dave finds himself looking at the side of Hotch’s head. The younger man avoiding his gaze. Fuck. Sighing, Dave places his pen in the middle of the pages and puts the book down. Way to go, Dave chides himself. Now he’s going to have to backpedal. Might as well call Emily now and tell her to come in and sit here with him. But that would only make matters worse. Then Hotch would have damning proof Dave is mad at him.

“I’ll-- I’ll try harder,” Hotch whispers, scratching dully at one of the bandages wrapped around his forearm. “I will.”

Dave leans forward in his chair, head hitting the palms of his hands with a groan. Does this nonsense ever get easy? “I”m not mad at you, Aaron.” He rubs at his face, around his eyes until he can sit back up. He’s not mad at Aaron, really. He’s fucking livid with George Foyet. With Hotch’s landlord who Derek has been on the phone with for the last two days arguing about nothing and everything. He annoyed with this hospital and the stupid rules but he’s not mad at Hotch.

Dave can tell Hotch doesn’t believe him. “Aaron,” Dave calls softly. He reaches out and puts his hand on Hotch’s thigh, pushing a little to get his attention. “I promise I am not mad at you, alright? You’re doing great.” That’s not really proof. In all honesty, now Dave’s thinking about how all this could have been avoided. If he’d just left Hotch in Seattle all those years ago. Someone would have taken him, surely, he was too good for that office but if Dave had left him for someone else they wouldn’t be here.

Haley and Aaron might still be married.

“If I was mad at you,” Dave asks, “would I have asked Derek to bring you better soup and popsicles?” He forces himself not to react when Hotch glances over after hearing popsicles. “Those little plastic ones that you like--” Dave knows the name but he’s baiting him.

“The colorful ones?”

Dave nods, “yes, those.” He’s not sure what kind of soup Derek’s bringing, likely just whatever is offered at whatever takeout place he stops at. But they are getting the popsicles. They had been the only thing in Hotch’s fridge. Garica had been appalled by this when she told him.

“It was empty, Rossi! Old coffee creamer, a half-gallon of oat milk, and popsicles. That’s it.”

Hotch hums under his breath, turning his head into the pillows. The only positive side to being sedated is that he doesn’t think about Foyet. There are nightmares but he can’t remember them. By the time he wakes someone’s already at his side, walking him through the steps of calming down. He can’t even remember what upset him-- or even if it was Foyet. The attack is fuzzy, lacking the hard edges of memory, but he does know this is temporary.

Soon, two days from now, if not tomorrow, they’ll lift him off the hard drugs. Rest will come second to recovery and he’ll remember.

But for now, he sinks into the thoughtless, dreamless slumber.

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

Technically, this is day two in recovery and he should be up on his feet being forced to walk the long empty halls every hour or so. Core strength isn’t built overnight but as Hotch is learning, it can be killed that quickly. For now, they let him rest as his first twelve hours here on the unit were full of rapid downs. He’d nearly pulled stitches having a nightmare and saying goodbye to Haley and Jack did a number.

Sitting by his side, JJ finds herself thinking about the hours she wasted. Where was her conviction? That gut instinct everyone else seems to run on? She’s known him for years, longer than Emily, and yet she hadn’t thought anything of his phone going to voicemail. Nearly a decade of working by his side and she knows, she knows he always answers. No matter the time, no matter what he’s doing-- grocery shopping, trying to shower, or feeding Jack.

If she calls, he answers.

Her guilt means nothing. It’s just some cruel tactic she’s deployed to distract her from what’s really bothering her. He’s alone. JJ had made those calls to the marshalls. She’d packed Jack’s bag, throat tight as she stacked his little shirts into his even tinier suitcase. And now they’re gone. Already ghosts that Foyet will not be able to find.

That Hotch won’t be able to find.

Her voice is small and trampled but she can’t stand the silence. “Sometimes I forget how he used to be.” It surprises her to hear her voice just as much as it does Emily, who sits on Hotch’s other side, a book loosely held in her lap. She knows Emily’s silence is shock and not just her ignoring JJ. Emily is just one of those people whose silence is often more telling their words-- the same is true for Dave and Hotch.

It’s under that attention that JJ now finds herself a little shy if not stubbornly selfish. Suddenly, her desire to speak is gone. The memory she bathes herself in is her own. To share it makes it lose its depth and the warm familiarity of Aaron. But on Emily presses. She waits silently for JJ to find her voice once again. And JJ decides that she’s being silly. Wistful if not a bit melancholy, which there is no need to be. Aaron Hotchner is alive. Steadily he breathes, he aches, and he lives right between them.

She looks down at the thin white blanket lazily dragged up over Hotch’s hips. Conjuring the image of that Aaron Hotchner from so long ago. Young and smiling with suits that didn’t really fit his long legs. “He was one of those fairytale romancers,” JJ says. She smiles at the look of horror and shock on Emily’s face. This, for that face, is why JJ had begun. They each have this version of him, totally unique to them, that they get to have in these moments. He is not the same man to JJ as he is to Emily. “You could tell he believed in love. He was so--”

Emily is sitting forward in her chair. The book she’d brought lays face down on the bed, inches from Hotch’s limply curled fingers. On he breathes with his trembling crescendo exhales and raspily choked inhales. Oblivious to them.

“He was so enraptured by Haley,” JJ confesses softly, looking to him now. Attempting to manifest one of his smiles from his thin, pale lips. “But mostly,” she finally confesses, “he was so… boyish.” Emily makes a surprised sound, flinching back a little as she considers this information. JJ finds herself watching Emily’s every expression. She wonders who it is that Emily knows as Aaron Hotchner.

JJ smiles as she continues, humored. She’s thrilled by this idea that there might be more to him. That if she tells Emily about her Hotch, Emily will tell her own version. And now, in her hands, she’ll have a larger idea of him. More. She wants more of him so that maybe less might be stolen.

“Once,” she admits, “I told him about the girls from my liaison classes.” It was years ago. So long she needs a moment to really remember the whole thing. Specifically for those little moments and flashes in his eyes. The blush on his cheeks when he laughed and looked away. How he’d shaken his head. “The girls down there are just… they were in awe of him.” She smiles, “and how could you not be? He is handsome and has great manners.”

Emily smirks, rolling her eyes. “Just having manners makes him better than the apes down the hall.” True. Half of the men that work in the building with them are creeps. It seems as if the only half-decent men in Quantico work on their team. Everyone else is more than questionable.

JJ nods in agreeance.

“...Em’ly?” Hotch groans. His eyes are pinched shut in pain. “ ‘m gonna be sick,” he mumbles. He swallows thickly, loud enough for JJ to hear.

Emily gets up in a flash, nearly tripping over her own legs. “JJ raise the head of the bed up,” she instructs.

JJ freezes for only a moment. She hasn’t spoken to Hotch since yesterday when he woke up and they figured out Foyet was targeting Haley and Jack. He’s been asleep every time since. Now, there’s panic in his eyes. As she raises the bed, he grabs her hand. His fingers wrapped tightly around her wrist. Enough to make her stop.

“Wait, wait!” He pants softly, breathing hitching as he writhes uselessly. His chest is on fire, only making his stomach churn more. A few seconds pass and he realizes that he’s going to vomit regardless. “Okay,” he says tightly.

JJ glances at Emily but continues on.

Hotch makes a pained sound, moving his hand from JJ’s wrist. He doesn’t open his eyes, just presses his hand into his stomach. The cramp of his churning stomach more severe than the agitated stitched across his abdomen. “I need the--” his hand wraps around the bucket but Emily keeps holding on.

It’s just water, JJ notes. Being a mother has numbed her to bodily fluids so she doesn’t mind vomit.

Emily doesn’t flinch either. The first time she had. It had taken them both by surprise. Now, for about the fourth time, she just shakes her head. Offering the comfort she can think to-- rubbing his back as tears stream down his cheeks. She already knows they’re going to threaten an NG tube, a longer stay, or something. They always have something to say nothing to help. He’s maxed out on pain meds and still in pain.

They want him to drink something other than water to get his blood sugar back up but hasn’t managed to keep anything down since they started giving him the juices.

Breathlessly, Hotch falls back against the pillows. A light sweat had broken out over his face. “Sorry,” he groans, twisting slowly. His hips are stiff and chest tight but he needs to ease the ache in his stomach. Everything hurts and he can’t get comfortable.

“He can’t keep the apple juice down,” Emily mumbles as she passes JJ with the bucket. JJ follows her to the bathroom to the side of the room. Out of the corner of her eye she glances back at Hotch, watching him. Whether he simply doesn’t care if he’s being watched or hasn’t the presence of mind to consider it, she knows what she sees is a direct reflection of how he feels. No guards. No shields. Just his pale face and weak body leaning heavily into the pillows around him. Lips drawn in a grimace. Pained.

JJ tears her eyes away from the scene. She can’t stand it. Emily must be so strong, JJ thinks, to sit in here with him. To do what she does without blinking. If she weren’t so lost in thought-- stuck circling this stupid idea of all the ways she just keeps failing Hotch-- she would have come up with the idea earlier. However, it takes the sight of Hotch paling even more and grimacing to spur it.

Emily guides the apple juice back into his palm, despite the fact that he turns his head from her.

“Why don’t you water it down?”

Emily frowns, “what do you mean?”

JJ extends her hand and Emily hesitantly gives her the bottle. “Toddlers,” JJ says, “can have juice, right? But it can be a bit much. You have to dilute the juice with water. It can ruin their little teeth but mostly it can spike their blood sugar.” JJ takes the little pink cup Hotch has been sipping water out of and pours a significant bit of the apple juice out. Then she takes the bottle and fills the rest with water. Taking a sip… it’s about the same ratio she’d give a toddler. “You’re still drinking the apple juice, you’re just not going to upset your stomach.”

Hotch hasn’t been throwing up the water so it’s obviously an apple juice problem.

And, sure enough, he keeps the diluted apple juice down. It provides the extra benefit of forcing him to drink more water too as he has to finish at least, one bottle of apple juice a day.

JJ needn’t worry too much about the self-imposed diagnosis of her relationship with Hotch because he, sincerely, considers her a hero for that idea.

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

Hotch wakes from a nap he can’t remember falling asleep to take. His fingers are loosely wrapped around a popsicle. It’s long since melted into an overly sugared blue slush but there is only about a third of it left or what he guesses is about a third. As the palm of his hand is protected by a paper towel that was, at some point, wrapped around the popsicle but now just hinders his ability to see what’s left.

“What times is it?”

“Five thirty.”

Hotch flinches, looking over to his left and finding Morgan and Reid. When he’d asked the question he’d meant it for JJ or Dave. Both of whom are sitting on his right side, his currently favored side. He finds himself self-conscious of this blindness. How weak, stupid even, he must be to miss either of them. Reid is sitting in a bulky wheelchair. Each of either man’s movements measured out by the soft, plastic thunk of round game pieces being moved along the bored.

They’re playing checkers and he hadn’t even noticed them.

“Why does he always do that?” JJ asks no one in particular. She glances at Hotch with an eye roll of exasperation before adding, “always rounds up the time like a little old man. It’s 5:16. That’s hardly 5:30.”

Hotch swallows thickly around his confusion. It takes a whole minute for him to understand but, graciously, JJ has already moved on to another topic. Speaking to Dave now as she searches for something in the bags sitting at the table by his side. She’d meant Reid and his, admittedly, strange habit of significantly rounding up the passage of time.

She pulls out a little bowl, it’s lid fogged with steam, and sets it down. Even though it’s small enough for her to hold in one hand, Hotch’s stomach churns at the thought of having to eat it. Next comes another bowl. “Derek brought you soup,” she says to him. “Rice too but that’s just more so you have options.”

Vaguely, he can remember receiving his popsicle. JJ’s words filling in a memory. Derek had arrived in a flurry of white take-out bags. Emily and Garcia had been around at the time and he’d been only slightly up for small talk. Which they had been strangely understanding about. To the point, Emily hadn’t overwhelmed him with the options. She’d simply wrapped a napkin around the base and given it to him. Already open.

“Do you know which you’d like?”

He can feel himself working into a cold sweat. Overwhelmed with just a simple question. He looks at JJ and then at the rice and then the soup. He’s not sure what the right answer is. Over the last three days, that’s mostly what he’s learned. Though his body craves nothing, not food, and rarely even the need to use the bathroom, he knows it’s supposed to. His eating habits are now watched and, never once in his life, being the type of person to yearn strongly for foods he’s floored. He never knows what they want to hear.

Sure, he’s craved things. An oreo in passing or a specific brand go chips. Preferred a dipping sauce for fries but…

“The soup,” Dave says. He sees that look in Hotch’s eyes, the cast-off-- no one’s home-- look. “It’s your favorite,” Dave takes the soup from JJ’s hand, watching closely as Hotch comes back. He blinks slowly, taking in what’s happening, and nods. Hotch doesn't have a favorite soup but they don’t need to know that.

Hotch looks down, blankly, as Dave gently takes the melted popsicle from his hands. He feels… a strange attachment to that popsicle. Though melted he almost wants it still.

“Eat your soup,” Dave encourages replacing the popsicle with a spoon.

Hotch’s fingers curl slowly around the thin metal. He’s officially at a stage in his life where fine motor movements like this require heavy thought. Pure devotion. He can not think, breathe, or speak while doing these sorts of things. So, eating his soup is going to be far more difficult than he’d like it to be. Neverminded how humiliating his lack of coordination is.

And they’re all here.

His mouth opens, the words I’m not hungry forming but come with no sound. He shuts his mouth and swallows thickly. Again, his stomach twists with a strange vengeance. It’s just clear, brothy soup. Soup. So, why does it feel like his entire chest is pulsing with anxiety?

He flinches when a hand wraps around his own. Obscuring the view of the spoon, of his hand and he knows he can only fight off the tremble for so long. He drags his eyes up, forces himself to keep that hand steady. JJ is touching him but she’s not looking. “Would the rice be easier?” she asks.

White, tasteless rice. Unseasoned. Just rice.

He can’t make words pass across his lips but there must be something that his face betrays because without a word JJ puts the lid back on the soup and puts the rice in his lap. It’s closer than the soup had been. When he looks up, no one’s watching. Morgan and Reid are turned so he’ll see them if they turn to watch. JJ and Dave are settling down to their own respective tasks. JJ snacking on a piece of garlic bread and Dave kicking his feet up on the edge of his bed. No one's watching.

Swallowing thickly, he moves slowly. All of his attention goes to this task. The spoon grazes the top of the lid but no one looks at the sudden clink of the metal hitting the container. He glances up once more time before forcing the spoon into his mouth. He nearly misses but no one sees. A single grain falls back onto his lap. The white rice nearly lost in the sea of the other white blankets.

Though, none of them aware, tomorrow is going to be hard on them all. For today, he remains pliable. Succumbing easily to sleep and to their request. He flinches but he lacks the strength to get too far away. So he remains in his bed, watching them from behind hooded eyes and deep, sedated breaths. Tomorrow he will find the strength for defiance.

“Not too much,” JJ says, after a few minutes. He manages only about five bites and the spoon never has more than a pinch of rice but it’s setting heavily on his stomach and he’s done. “Done?”

Heavy and warm, he nods. He feels her take the spoon from his hands and lift the rice away.

“Hotch?”

It feels like only a second has passed but when he pulls his heavy eyes back open there’s only JJ. Reid and Morgan having left and Dave too, apparently. He hums, mouth too dry to form words.

“Can you finish this juice off for me?” She doesn’t wait for a reply, just places the nearly empty bottle into his palm. He’s tired and so he doesn’t fight the tender way she pushes his hair back from his face and places a kiss on his temple. She knows there are only a few more hours left before his guard slips back into place and he fights her every move. But, for now, she can appreciate that he doesn’t fight her help so long as it’s minimal.

There’s a straw in the juice so he only has to lift his arm a little to get access to the juice.

“Hello,” Emily steps into the room, smiling the whole way.

JJ glances at Hotch but he’s glaring down at the apple juice.

“JJ,” Emily greets, “you’re relieved of your duties. Hotch is safe with me.” Emily tosses her bag on the end of Hotch’s bed, right beside where his feet are. “Don’t worry about us Jayje, we're gonna watch movies.”

JJ glances once more to Hotch, satisfied he’s back to taking tentative sips from his apple juice. Okay. She needs to sleep and catch up on laundry. She’s leaving him in good hands. Nothing to worry about. Reaching out she touches his leg, getting his attention. “Behave.”

He nods and returns back to his own head, looking down at his lap.

It goes without saying that Emily is the one who needs to be doing the behaving.

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

He goes home far too early.

If the nightmares leave him paralyzed, the wounds ooze-- Surely, he is not healthy enough to go off on his own.

He’s a body caught in the loop. Just a capsule for time, each second measured out on his paling skin. Every minute, each hour-- the blood trickling down over his ribs. Slipping into the grooves of skin and staining his once white t-shirt. He breathes but he is not living. With no thoughts, no feelings is he even a thing at all? Just a body that remains where he was left five days before to watch the sunrise from his window and set on the other side of his house. Every day. For five days.

On the sixth day, as the sun sets over the top of the house-- noon-- there’s a knock at his door. The calendar on his fridge wrestles softly with the breeze coming in from the window Derek Morgan left open in the kitchen. Their names with their own smiling stickers and color-coded which had meant to be for Aaron alone wave pathetically with each coming breeze. It was meant to be a way to keep track of passing days and who would be coming to terrorize him every day. Garcia had hung it up and wrapped his fingers around a black sharpie, smiling when she added he could even use it to mark off the days until his hopeful return to the BAU.

The knocking on the door grows silent and breathily, Hotch whimpers out in relief. He can’t think, doesn’t want to, and is glad that today, not unlike the last five days, whoever it is has wisened up and chosen to leave him alone. All he wants is silence and pain. The only things he knows for sure are real.

As the nurse had watched them go, she spoke those same words over and over. Monitor. He’s meant to be monitored and watched.

Unless the shadows that warp into George Foyet-- and not just him but Hotch’s father, long and tall, and Carl Arnold and his cackling, taunting observations, and beasts and ghosts from his nightmares. Unless those monsters count, he’s been alone.

Outside his apartment door, David Rossi and Emily Prentiss argue loudly. Enough to stir the rest of the apartment complex’s occupants but none dare stick their heads out to inquire on the trespassing. They all know of the agent nearly killed and none want to get mixed up in that (that is, the few that remain).

“There.”

Emily looks up from her side bag and Dave from where he’s leaning, unhelpfully, looking in as well. For a moment, all Emily can do is stare down at the slightly ajar door. Slowly, her eyes lift to Garica and then back to the door. “You scare me,” Emily says as her face is split by a wide, proud grin. “That, though, was the sexist thing I have ever seen in my life! What are you hiding from us, Penelope Garcia?”

Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear Garcia shrugs modestly. Honestly, she’d learned a lot about picking locks from her brothers but, most of what stuck came from Reid and a phase he went through two years ago where he decided to learn how to pick every lock he could get his hands on. She’d picked up a thing or two, as well.

All the cheer dissipates quickly.

“Stay here.”

Emily glances at Garcia but neither disobey Dave’s order. Fearful of what they might find, really.

Dave pushes his way into the room, hit with the thick scent of heavy settling. Distinctly dusty scent. “Aaron?” He steps around a pair of discarded sweatpants, a puddle of dark grey fabric on the carpet. “Shit--” Dave winces as the sight of blood seeped into the fabric of Hotch’s shirt. “Aaron,” he cups Hotch’s cheek, shaking him.

Hotch groans, peeling his eyes open. Despite the deep panic settling in over his chest, his heart beating so hard that he can’t tell the difference between the rate at which his chest aches from the stab wounds and the pace of his heart. He shoves blindly at the arms grabbing at him. His mind chanting-- Foyet, Foyet, Foyet, Foyet--

“It’s me, Aaron!” Dave pins Hotch’s arms to the bed, startled by the ease at which it takes. “It’s okay, it’s okay!”

It’s not. It’s not okay. Hotch can see him, right now. George Foyet looms just behind Dave, knife poised in hand to kill. It’s not okay and nothing ever will be again. But… they can try, can’t they?

“We’re so sorry, sir.”

Hotch leaning heavily into Emily as Rossi crouches on the bedroom floor, making the best of the little light Hotch can take. He can’t sit up by himself, his head spinning and eyes burning, but with Emily’s right arm wrapped around his hips and Dave’s hand bracing his chest he manages to stay put. Mostly, numb to movement and their voices. He just… exists without thought.

Garcia is full of anxious movement and her constant shifting and rocking is hypnotic. It draws his shaky awareness to her. He’s nearly unaware of the cold air blowing against his bare chest. “Garcia,” he croaks. He feels himself wilting, shaking in Emily’s grip. She shifts their bodies and he remains upright, despite how far he’s pulling them down.

She perks up, “yes sir?”

“You don’t have to apologize to me.”

That doesn’t feel true. Not at all, not even a little.

They left him. For once in all the years that they have known him, they listened to him, and what made them think that was okay? They’d disregarded his orders in the field and pushed his buttons just to get a rise out of him. All for that disobedience to be thrown to the side the moment that he got home. He’d wanted to be alone and they fucking listened. Why did they listen?

There is a certain distortion that spoken word carries, impervious though is the thought. A fact only discovered through effect, is that there will never be the right word to express a thought. As it passes through the lips, it warps as all soft, loved things do. The teeth gnarl and grind and the face betrays meaning and the thought, as gentle as a butterfly's wing, with churn to dust right before the eye. Until nothing but the ash is left behind and there is only the fragment of an idea.

“I--I need help.” His words, the rocks on the boldface of a mountain, come crashing into the way of oncoming traffic. He means them feverishly, without reasons and no hesitation. No brakes, no way to stop. He’s nothing more than the stampede of tragedy as smoke fills the air, tires screeching as smoke plumes above. He, the rock, and them, the cars he collides so blindly with. “I’m, I’m afraid of what I’ll do if I’m alone.”

They are there in every moment, every breath. Overstimulated, he needs the breath of silence that passes between his own thoughts. A whirlwind of the fiber of his being lit on fire. He hadn’t known the loud thrum of the world in so long and he needs them to overpower it. He needs them to speak over the electric hum of the light bulb that hangs a fraction too low and swings with its loose wires. As the seconds tick by and the sounds kill him, he needs them gone. He needs nothing more than his thoughts and the hum and he doesn’t have the words anymore. No way to tell them that it’s all too much and entirely not enough.

That he hates how JJ touches his elbow when she’s near him. He’s certain that if she doesn’t touch him, if Garcia doesn’t ghost smiles his way, or Dave fondly knocks gently into him that he will find he doesn't exist. Nothing more than the air that he pulls lazily into lungs that no longer wish to function. Aaron Hotchner will simply cease to be and he’s no longer capable of deciding if that is what he wants. Still, his bones crave for the gentle stroke of a hand against his own. For someone to grab him by the sides of the head and kiss him until that dark pool of warmth settles once again in his stomach. To feel, in its full, love and hatred.

Please, someone, break down his so firmly built walls. Impose themselves. Force their love into the cracks Foyet’s knife has left. Anything.

It’s clear the line they walk with him. Waves lapping at his nerves. Left to perpetually guess at when they need to override his wishes and when they need to step back. It’s Hotch so it’s not easy work.

“You look good like this.” Dave smiles at the sleepy, inquiring glare Hotch sends his way but it’s hard to look intimidating while exhausted and with a head full of messy hair. Which is ink-like on the pillow, spread out in every direction. It makes Dave wish he were the type of writer that dabbles in the art of another world and, more than that, he wishes to create a character like Aaron Hotchner. So that he might force at least one version of this stubborn man to trust the love his team so willingly provides.

But men are often far more complex than what David Rossi is patient enough to put to paper so he is stuck in this world. With the grumpy asshole that he calls a close friend glaring up at him from underneath a hand-knit several toned green blanket, pulled all the way up to his chin and balled there in his fist. A gift from Garcia.

“I bought you a heating blanket,” Dave says, spreading the thick, soft material over Hotch’s long body. “Mmm,” he notes in disappointment when he finds the blanket just a little too small to cover all of his friend's long body. Which isn’t entirely surprising, nothing is ever simple with Aaron Hotchner. However, heated blankets? That’s rather simple.

Dave smiles, contently, as he cranks the blanket up. Turning the heat to the max and watching its immediate effect-- Hotch’s dark eyes drooping and his mouth falling limply from its scowl.

Garcia made him the green blanket he loves so dearly. She’s recently gotten really into knitting. Though, she’s not very good. The blanket she made Hotch is her best yet even if it’s somehow crooked. It’s a dark, dark green and Hotch has used it every night since Garcia gifted it to him in the hospital. He’s very partial to it.

Content (already falling asleep) Dave feels alright leaving Hotch in the living room while he makes some dinner. Of course, as soon as Dave has rolled up his sleeves and is trying to get some vegetables chopped up Emily has to go bothering him. Dave may not have raised children but he swears to deal with the two of them, is exactly like it. He’s seen the way children do one another. Going to brother the peaceful one to entertain themselves.

“Emily,” Dave fuses, placing a hand on his hip. He quickly drops it when he realizes he must look exactly like his mother had when fussing with him. “Leave him alone,” he finishes.

Emily acts offended, throwing her arms in defense. “I wasn't doing anything!” But they all know damn well she’s still going to go bother Hotch.

She’s stuck in this apartment and hasn't brought anything to entertain herself. Besides, he’s her friend. The whole point of him is to entertain her. That’s what friends are for. “Scoot,” she orders, glancing over her shoulder at Dave. He’s chopping vegetables, probably choosing to ignore them.

Obediently, Hotch pulls himself up. Scowling at her, not heated but just because that’s his face at this point, as he does as she requests. “I’m not sharing my blanket,” he mumbles assuredly. Mostly because he knows she doesn’t want the blanket anyhow, he just needs something to say.

Emily sits down beside him, hip-to-hip, it’s a snug fit. “Here,” she reaches around him and places a pillow in her lap, motioning for him to lay back down.

He’s already moving to obey when he grumbles, “why can’t you sit somewhere else?”

She rolls her eyes and Garcia grins at them. “I want to sit with my friend,” she answers. “Is that a crime?”

He hums, “no but it’s annoying.”

There had been a time when Dave had been jealous of the natural relationship between Hotch and Emly. Despite having known Hotch the longest, Dave can see that his friend is just easily comfortable with Emily. The oddness of that companionship is undeniable but he craves for the proximity they allow one another. So guarded except for when it comes to one another. But Dave has, also, come to terms with the fact that Hotch is just… odd.

Emily may be able to command Hotch to do things. As she had just moments ago when she’d gone into the living room and pulled his head into her lap. Dave wishes he could have that comfort. The sleepy way that Hotch had only minimally fought her until he’d settled down and caved to her. But Dave has what even Emily doesn't. Though he may allow Emily into his personal space he only wants Dave when he wakes up screaming from nightmares. When he needs help.

The same way that only Garcia can tuck blankets snugly around him. JJ can argue about how much food he’s eating and get him to eat more. Only Morgan can offer him help when he’s too tired to walk. Reid is the only person allowed to hold his hand. They take what they can get and pride themselves on what little that yields.

“What if I was bitten by a zombie?” Emily asks. “Would you handcuff yourself to me so we could be together?”

Dave quirks an eyebrow at that, shaking his head but continuing with his current task in the kitchen.

Hotch’s low response is inaudible but he hears Emily’s huff of indignance. “That’s not ridiculous, Hotch! I would handcuff myself to you! That’s love, you ass. Garcia would do it.”

Dave looks up, watching Garcia nod from the chair on the other side of the room. She’d been knitting silently, the clack of the plastic needles hypnotically drawing in comfort into the somber apartment. She doesn’t even stop knitting to look and conform with a serious nod that she would, in fact, handcuff herself to them if they were zombies.

Emily doesn’t seem to have learned her lesson with the zombie question. “What about if I was a worm? Would you let me live in your suit pocket?”

Dave hears Hotch’s zero hesitation reply-- “No.” He smirks but says nothing. Hotch adds, “I’d leave you on a pear tree.”

Emily frowns, “I don’t like pears.”

“I know.”

Garcia huffs a laugh but clamps her hand over her mouth when Emily shoots her a glare.

“Dave,” Emily calls. “He’s being mean to me.”

Dave shrugs, “I told you to leave him alone.” And as frustrated as he could let himself be he can’t. Lowly, he can hear Hotch replying to everything asked of him. The soft chuckle he lets out when Garcia says something to him and he can see the little grin in his voice when he speaks to the two of them.

Just give it some time, Dave assures himself. Before he knows it, they’ll have Hotch back. All of him and things will go back to the way they always are. They just need to decide if they’re really ready for that.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner whump #david rossi #emily prentiss #penelope garcia #spencer reid #derek morgan #jennifer jareua #jennifer jareau

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suffering-and-happy-about-it · 5 years ago

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In the Forever, We Have Nothing (Jaskier x reader, Part 5.)

Description: Geralt of Rivia isn’t always there to watch over Jaskier, his best, yet incapable bard friend. Sometimes, when the Witcher knows that there is bad blood between the bard and someone else, he writes a contract and offers a job - silently watching over Jaskier traveling the roads.

Part Summary: One night can be nothing or everything, depending on a point of view.

Warnings: Superfluffy slow smut, since I love Jaskier being a romantic soul.

A/N: Oh, we will be soon finishing this series and I have fallen in love with it so, so much!

Word count. 5.1 K

Tagging: @nemodoren @marioverthere

Series master list: H E R E

"You don't seem to be yourself today, may I say?" - Jaskier's voice interrupted your spiral of thoughts going straight down. Oh. That idiot was still there. You forgot for a moment. One night until you'll give him back to his dear friend as nothing but a package. You looked at him with a question in your eyes.

"What brings you to think things like that, bard?" - You gulped down the last bits of chicken you had in your mouth and leaned into the wall, staring his face down. Jaskier gave you a slight smile.

"You came in half an hour ago, white as a wall and quiet as a lonely mountain and since the moment your foot came into the inn, you hadn't insulted me." - Jaskier said sweetly, leaning closer to you and looking you right in the eyes.

"Oh, look how fucking smart you are. You should care about your own business and you shouldn't put your nose sniffing somewhere where it shouldn't be sniffing." - You said rather ironically. The bard just chuckled and drank some of his wine again.

"There you are, hello, I've missed you, missy. Where you've been, huh?" - Jaskier was confusing you the hell out. He was... Fond of you acting like an ass around him? It looked like he missed you for you, not for an idea of you. You pressed your lips together and let a small smile out. - "So, it's only the last day remaining. Tomorrow, you will finally get rid of me. How does that feel?"

Oh, yeah. You woken up from a second to second, got into the present moment at once. Before meeting Iola on the way, you were just thinking about the rapid approach of Jaskier leaving; having a night, almost all the time in the world, yet not having enough time at all. That was all before you have your ass kicked. Before she was... Dead.

"It doesn't feel like anything. You're just a job. I'm only completing my duty. That's all." - You informed Jaskier and really tried to look as unamused as you could. Your face was stone cold - but your soul was spinning in raw, confusing emotions. The duties of a soldier, their expression, the calm look they kept on their faces all the time - all of it felt so known.

"Oh, come on. You like me, don't you? It's just like that and it's natural to say it. Don't be shy." - Jaskier tugger your elbow and laughed again. Oh, that man and his self-confidence. But it made you chuckle again.

"You're being too cocky and confident. Don't really trust yourself that much. And even if do like you..." - You leaned in a for the first time ever, playfulness sparkling from your eyes. You desperately needed to relax and to sleep, maybe to have some fun. Iola was on the back of your head and that bitch wasn't leaving.

You were still replaying every smile Iola has ever given you, every kiss, the lightest touches, you wearing her clothes just as she was wearing yours, your travels through Redenia and Temeria. Now she was dead, killed by your dagger in her heart. And you were the person who had stabbed her.

"If I do like you, I wouldn't ever tell you." - You rose your hand and waved at one of the girls, ordering yourself another pint. Jaskier opened his eyes, eyeing you. You always were drinking only one ale during the dinner, then you stood up and went to sleep, Jaskier just behind you. But you were ordering yourself the third pint within twenty minutes.

"Are you alright? You're weird today. You act like a normal human being and I don't like that at all. Something that would my fair lady wanted to share?" - Jaskier leaned into his chair and furrowed at you, watching your face. When the pints were out on your table, you immediately took it and drank more than half of it. You drank so abruptly that a small amount of it dropped from the corner of your mouth and disappeared under your jaw and neck.

"Not at all. I have just... Murdered a woman who I've loved because she almost sliced my throat two hours ago. I'm feeling miserable." - You answered with an ironically amused tone. For a moment, Jaskier wanted to jab into you, since he wanted to make fun out of it, but then he watched your watery gaze looking somewhere to the oblivion. You might've done something like that. It was more than real. So he decided to change the topic a bit.

"Well, are you telling me that you don't like me, then?" - Jaskier stood up and took his lute. You wanted to say something, but then you cockily smiled and leaned your elbow over the chair. So the gentleman was up for some game. Alright.

"Oh, I don't, mister." - Yes. You were getting drunk, but at least, you were having fun. You were finally letting go of being so professional, from concentrating only on your work. You finally acted like if other things were present in your life - like having time for yourself and some fun or that you had an actual sense of humor.

"Well, then miss, I will make sure that you hate me at the end of the night." - Jaskier smiled with a naughty move of his eyebrows, plucking first notes of a song. You put a hand in front of your lips, hiding the smile behind. The man was moving swiftly, standing on the bench beside you, marching there like a diva.

The first songs were quick and made you tap your steel boot. No matter what kind of a person Jaskier was, he loved to sing, play and to make others jolly and enjoying themselves. No matter how dumb or scared he was at times, he was made for re-telling great stories, legends, and tales of various adventures and history. You were kind of bitter about not listening to Jaskier and his friends from the very start.

To be honest, at the start, you only thought about the bards in the worst way possible. Their plucking was not a man's job in your eyes and the only thing they were doing was lazily wasting their lives, living in vain and like a bohemian.

And there you were, being friends with a bard who was doing exactly what you were so disgusted by... And you were laughing. Somewhere from the crowd, a second bard emerged and started to play, while sweaty and heavy breathing Jaskier sat next to you and gulped a whole glass of ale down.

"So, it's working as I see. Your face seems completely furious, milady. I am worried that you might strangle me in the deep night." - Jaskier joked when he looked at your laughing face. It was relaxed and very much pleased as you watched the whole inn. And to be honest, one and a half Jaskiers were sitting there.

"Oy, I sure will. You better watch your back." - You rolled your eyes and stood up, supporting yourself on your friend's shoulder. - "But really, might we catch some air? My lungs are on fucking fire." - The legs were carrying you to the door out, where you left into the colder night to take a few deep breaths. The ground under you felt warm and soft - you abruptly sat into the grass, next to a small pond.

"You, my dear miss, are drunk. You're not even standing straight. You look like a curve." - Jaskier sat next to you with a poetic look on his face. The night was young, the stars were shining and the moon could be seen far, far away.

"Jaskier. You're a man." - Your tongue twisted itself, telling him a thing he already knew. To turn the situation into a joke, he lifted the hem of his pants and looked down. Your head shook and looked away from him.

"As far as I'm concerned, I would say I am a man. I was born like one and everything down there is working just fine, thank you for acknowledging, it was very much appreciated." - Jaskier said seriously. There was a short while of silence before you laughed quietly. - "It's personal, huh? You against the whole world and every man in it. That's a personal fight you have there."

"I'm not against... Men. I mean not in general." - There you were. Alcohol always made the words come out themselves. It always made you talk.

"Well, you're a dangerous woman who likes to do everything on her own, not letting anyone interrupt her or talk into her decisions. You would rather cut yourself with an axe than letting a man do it for you. Letting alone your relationships with women. Are you sure that you're not against men?" - The man's eyes were playful and shining at that point. The hem of your pants seemed to be more than interesting for your fingers since you were fidgeting them around it for a minute. You weren't laughing.

"I'm not, I swear. I even find some men attractive. Some of them can protect me better than I would ever protect myself. Some of them can make me laugh. Some of them help me with stuff... But I have certain trust issues towards men. It doesn't matter what is their past like, how they see me as a person. It's just within me." - The sound of your voice was quiet and almost shaking when your mind traced back to the old days. To your father. To everything that happened. It was grossing you out.

"Do you wish to talk about it? I swear that I can keep a secret, Y/N." - The man next to you asked in a voice that was as slow as your was. He was being careful with you, asking rather slowly than just bluffing that question out of nowhere. You looked at him and furrowed for a while before finding the words that could've been said.

"My father." - You said simply, but you knew that without a clue, Jaskier can never understand. When you were gulping down the whole feeling of guilt and sadness, you thought of your words. - "He was tough on me. And not just mentally. The man was never hesitant to go far for smacking me. My mom run away from him when I was only ten, or so, and never came back. Then, because we didn't have money, he found a way to make some coin on his own daughter. I was... Just a small fucking girl. But there were two or three men every week I was sold to. So, naturally, when the king's men came to our village, searching for boys to recruit, I stole some clothes and cut my hair short. Just to be free from that hell. And I've escaped. Soon, they discovered that I'm a girl because of course, they did. But Foltest liked me and he didn't let me go. He was so merciful that he let me stay in his service and made his assassin. We were almost friends, I could say, so I knew a lot of things about the king and the kingdom. Things no-one even suspected. Throughout time, the king let me go to live my life. I'm sometimes still accepting small contracts for him until this day. Foltest was the only man ever who made me feel powerful. He gave me power over my own destiny, the power to live my own life, to do what I wanted to do. And I haven't met any other man who would respect what I am... Until I met you."

The last words were only a whisper carried by the wind. You both sat there as the darkness fell down you, your surroundings were silent. Jaskier was struggling with his words at the moment - which wasn't a thing that occurred frequently. Rather never, since his mouth ran from the moment he woke up until the very moment when he had to go to sleep.

Imagine selling your own child, no matter the gender, to unknown men just to have some money. Imagine ever hitting them. Or abuse them mentally. There was a huge risk for your health, but an even bigger one for your mentality, since you were as young as you were at the time. No wonder you weren't willing to trust just any man that came by. Each of them was a predator in your eyes, and they were ready to attack just as you were ready to bite them back.

At the same time, he was surprised that you were willing to tell him all of that. And that you were willing to trust Jaskier. That was a huge thing for him. Jaskier truly wished that he could prove his trustworthiness. You were just a woman after all; not an assassinator machine.

"I'm so sorry for that, Y/N. It must've been tough for you to even survive all of... Oh no. Don't cry. I beg you. Don't." - But it was late to beg you not to cry. There were already tears rolling down your face as you tried to silence them. - "It doesn't matter what your past is. Mine is not the lightest to carry either. The most important thing is right here." - He moved a bit closer to touch your shoulders and put one arm around them. He moved you to his arms, so you were leaning into his chest with your back. Unconsciously, his fingers started to play with your hair.

That feeling was something so new to you. Just to be held, you've never experienced anything like that. Your father? He never hugged you, let alone being held. King Foltest, yet he made you his daughter since he lost his daughter Adda to a curse, wasn't in the social status to even touch you, no matter how much parentally responsible he felt for you. But this man was more than willing to hold you in his arms, quietly watching the stars above you.

"Your background, no matter how shitty it is, didn't get you here, into this very moment. I've been struggling to accept it as well since I don't exactly believe that everyone has their destiny already lined up since the day they're born. Bullocks, if you ask me. The only thing that matters is what you're willing to do to overcome all the harsh moments you had to endure." - His voice in your ear was whispering and his lips were so close that you could feel them ghosting over your cheekbone. Your eyes slowly closed as you listened to his words.

Those feelings inside of you were raw since they were felt for the first time. Jaskier, no matter how dumb he could've been at times, made you feel safe. Maybe you were the stronger one who knew how to fight, but Jaskier was good with words, hearts, and emotions. That could be felt from the very begging.

"I hate you." - A quiet breath squeezed through your partially opened lips. Bard's chest shivered with a small laugh before he made you look at him. Those blue, watery eyes were piercing into the depth of everything you were and could ever be.

"That was today's plan. Those words would've been more effective if you didn't already tell them a million times." - Just after that, there was barely a second spent, he leaned in, testing the waters. Jaskier's lips were hovering just a small move away from yours, letting you decide to do whatever you wanted to do.

He wouldn't be mad if you just stood up and left him there, a bit sad and wanting you, but accepting the way you've chosen for. Jaskier wouldn't even move if you chose only to stay in his arms and lay there silently until you would fall asleep or get sober enough to leave him on his own.

The tension in the air could be felt in the form of a little sparkling on your skin. Both of you sat there without moving a bit for a long time before you finally showed Jaskier your approval. When you pressed your lips together, a little smack of wetness could be heard; but for a moment, you just stayed in that position - kissing each other like five-year-olds.

A palm ghosted over your jaw for a while before the bard tugged you a bit to show you, that you should be sitting on his lap. That was a task you gladly accepted. That was why the second kiss was more passionate and deeper.

The kisses were somehow different from a woman's kiss, that was everything you could wonder about. That man's kisses were somehow rougher and mode needing, his lips were somehow hot. Both of you got a bit carried away after a while, you let your lips kiss each other tenderly and tongues playfully dance without sync, so it felt a bit funny. But you wouldn't change anything about that kiss.

Until the moment someone interrupted you. It was a woman who was eyeing the bard through the whole night, basically stripping him down with her look. Both your gazes fell onto her and she stood there in silence and more than a slight shock. Without you realizing, your hand gripped onto Jaskier's jacket. He knew that is was just a slight feeling of fear. Since he was good at reading into another person's emotions, he knew that you're afraid of him leaving. You jolted at a sudden feeling of warmth on your upper thigh when Jaskier's hand gently touched your leg, smoothing it in gentle circles leading up to your ass.

He wasn't planning on leaving at all.

"I'm... Very sorry if I interrupted you." - The woman stuttered out with her cheeks burning up in an instant. Jaskier was the first to speak though.

"Don't be, lady. I wanted to take this gorgeous woman to my bed either way." - He told with a small smile, standing up and helping on you on your feet. Another unknown feeling crept in your spine - holding hands in the public. It was like if Jaskier wanted to yell to the whole entire world that you're his just as he is yours. Even if it was for the night.

The bard led the way. You walked around the lady, making your way up to the small room you had. You giggled at a sudden thought popping in your head. Two beds that were too far from each other. But then you bit your lip, shaking the thought away. Jaskier will surely handle that.

The man didn't jump at you at the moment the door closed behind you, even if you expected him to - that confused you a bit and almost disappoint you. But then you watched as he lightened up the candles with a tenderness you've never seen on anyone, pointing to a bath. The water wasn't hot at that point. It was pleasantly warm.

"I'm sure you want to stick to your every night routine. But we'll spice the things up a bit. Come here, I'll help you with taking your clothes off." - He waved at you with a small smile. Maybe men weren't that bad at all. It was blatantly obvious that Jaskier didn't like you for your body, no, if he did, he would jump on you at the moment you walked in. The bard was trying to get you in mood and to feel safe. You would never expect from a man to do any of that, yet, it felt exciting.

The feeling of just smoothing his skin when you were giving him your hand and permission with that was something that excited you even more. While your hand stopped at his chest still clothed in both jacket and shirt, his fingers delicately continued down on your waist, opening the straps on your waist to let the daggers fall down behind you. Only after that, your eyes widened, when he got on his knees and undid your boots, taking them off.

Before his hands even dared to move on your hips to help you with the belt and the other dagger, there was a long look and silence. This time, it wasn't your annoyed silence or anything, your eyes were just drowning in the sight of that face. He looked so young, yet he was older and more mature than you were. At least emotionally and experienced. And that could be felt in all the touches. The whole time he undid your belt, his eyes were piercing through yours. When that was done, the pants were down in an instant.

To be honest, Jaskier did his best not to abruptly jump into anything, yet he leaned in and left a trail of wet kisses on your upper thigh, leading his lips to your hipbone, trailing the same pattern on your other thigh. He couldn't resist. You were surely bloody crazy, as he told you many times, yet very irresistible. As he stood up, leading his lips on your belly and rib bones which were slightly visible, his hands were rolling the shirt off your body.

"All ready to take a bath." - His lips brushed over your cheekbone as soon as the shirt finally left your body. You steadied yourself with his hand, climbing into the bathtub and you sat in the very bottom with a quiet splash of water falling on the wooden door.

After a short moment, his fingers started to delicately massage your shoulders up to the back of your neck as he leaned to you and pressed you a short peck there. Painting slow circles in your arms, he proceeded deeper, gently palming both your breasts. Your head leaned into his shoulder as you moaned silently, Jaskier's lips working another trail of wet kisses from your ear to your collar bone. He took off his jacket and shirt as well since he had some things on his mind that he wanted to try with you.

While one of his hands was still palming one of your breasts, giving it gentle strokes, and his lips were following another trail back up to your ear, the second hand ghosted from your chest down on your thighs, smoothing way up to the wetness between your legs.

You felt warm, almost boiling hot and wet inside; he would've told some naughty things to you if he knew he could, but since you weren't a naughty girl at that point, he decided to shut up. Jaskier was bloody sure that as time goes by, he could make you a naughty girl. That was the first thought that crossed his mind talking about the future. Yet, it was there.

For a smile moment, his fingers lingered and hovered over your folds, slowly descending down to your core. There was excitement on both sides - for you, it was how pleasurable could man's fingers feel inside of you. They moved inside of you, plumped in and out with heavenly grace, sometimes even curling up a bit. You shouldn't be surprised, but yet, there you were - Jaskier was a musician. He was a musician with swift fingers which were a bit bigger and rougher than a woman's fingers, those fingers could aggressively pluck the chords, but could tenderly touch as well.

For Jaskier, there was something wonderful about your pussy - he met women who were tight even if they have slept with men, even in whorehouses. But your pussy was something spectacular. Sleeping with women surely did a number on you.

By the time his teeth graced over your neck and his thumb found the small bundle of nerves, you were a weeping mess. The cries coming out of your mouth were full of pleasure, your hand found his hair and brought his face even closer to your neck. When his teeth bit the skin of your neck harshly, your lips left out a long, pleasurable sound mixed with an attempt to say his name.

The body was trembling on its own, your hands grasping on Jaskier's neck and shoulders, as far as you were able to touch, your lips breathing heavily into his ear. The orgasm was strong, your head spun and your heart was beating as quickly as a cheetah was able to run.

You loved every little feeling about that, his naked chest pressed to your back, the way he still held you in his arms and peppered your jaw with small kisses. He has woken up a beast inside of you, wanting more, you were excited and wanted to explore more of him.

You sat up and turned to him, catching his jaws in your hands, bringing his lips for another kiss. This was one raw from your side, you were moaning, wanting mess when you caught his lower lip with your teeth, pulling Jaskier's naked body on yours, making him wet from water.

"Come on, bard. Take me to bed and show me how to sing." - You laughed between kisses, stood up and let him help you out of the bath. Fuck the sheets getting wet from the water or messy with swear or cum. You just wanted to be claimed by a man - and not for money, but because of the feeling of it, of being held with care in hands stronger than yours were. You were a mess for it. You would beg Jaskier if he wanted you to.

Man's body felt different than a woman's under your fingertips - his skin was almost burning yours, his whole body was rougher, stronger, you couldn't find any hips or breasts to take a hold on, his neck was bigger, just as his pelvis could be felt under the pants. When he pressed himself between your legs, laying you down on your back, you could really feel that he's not a woman.

It wasn't only his erected cock - he was wider in his hips and waist, not curvy like a woman. But the only thing that it did to you, was making you close your eyes and moan. He abruptly tried to take his pants off, but even if you were more than horny, it looked funny to you. You tried not to laugh, but after a while, you just laughed in a lighthearted tone. He couldn't just get off his pants, standing on one ankle and balancing in front of the bed. Jaskier and you both laughed, finally getting that piece of clothing off when your hands went back on his shoulders to hug him.

To say that Jaskier worshipped your body just wasn't enough - his lips slowly brushed over your neck and shoulder, his palms went to explore anything he could, smoothing you, trying to remember each centimeter he was able to reach, his teeth tugging your earlobes playfully. Your hands wanted to explore his entire body as well, but he was playing with you, leaning away, bringing your fingers to his mouth and bit them with a big smile. You never knew that you could laugh so much when you had sex until Jaskier showed you.

And it was a dream, feeling so comfortable and amused with the person you were about to make love to.

"If I would write a tale of your beauty, I don't know where would I started..." - His finger lingered over your breasts as he got up on his elbows. - "Is it the small valley between your breasts, or the gentle hole in your belly? When I travel deeper, there's a rainforest that tastes like heaven." - Every part of you he talked about, he kissed gently.

Just before you felt ready to jump in (Jaskier asked you more than three times) Jaskier gently destroyed you with his fingers again, yet he didn't let you quite finish.

If felt like the first time ever, when you looked at each other to the eyes as Jaskier slowly pushed his pelvis to meet yours. The small moan, bending your head backward and rolling of your eyes was indicating immersive pain. The first time in ten years, there was a man inside of you and it felt like if it stretched you out so much that he created a new vagina inside of you. The first movements were slow and shakily performed since Jaskier truly did his best not to hurt you.

Every small centimeter inside of you slowly stretched as the moves got repetitive. But it didn't get repetitive for too long, as the bard's tongue graced on your neck and one of his palms brought your knee up around his hip and ass, stretching you even deeper. You couldn't say if he's a normal one, a huge one or a tiny one, but for you, he was massive.

Jaskier kept his rhythm though all the way as he leaned in to kiss you gently, moaning into your kiss.

"Play with yourself, come on." - His moan could be heard somewhere from your hair. You were already sweaty and everything felt... Pleasurable enough at that moment. But you nodded nonetheless, pushing fingers down to play with the bundle of nerves. The tension in your tummy slowly rose again as you leaned his forehead to yours held his face in place with your palms and even if Jaskier tried to be the romantic until the last moment, now, his rhythm got sloppier than before and he started to thrust a bit faster and harsher. Both, you and his, moans and each other's names could be heard when somebody walked next to your door, the bedframe was crushing into the wall behind. But he was still making love to you.

Your orgasm certainly could be heard miles ago. Your eyes rolled back as your screaming voice wore thin, disappeared in the darkness. He came on your belly just seconds after that, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. He moaned your name, collapsing with a smile.

"I hate you so fucking much." - You breathed out and hugged his tired body tighter, smoothing his hair. He was done - and that was reasonable since he was making love to you for more than an hour.

"Come on." - Jaskier smiled into the crook of your neck. - "I know you love me."

#jaskier #jaskier the bar #jaskier x reader #joey batey #geratl of rivia #the witcher #the witcher netflix #the witcher mini-series #hell yeah #her sweet kiss #andrzej sapkowski

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the-angriestpineapple · 5 years ago

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brewed & beards - ch 6

Kirishima tries to help Uraraka train when she asks, and he gets over his jealousy enough to actually become her friend.

Chapter Six - Genuine Kindness

One of Kiri’s favorite classes this semester is his nutrition class. He hadn’t been wrong when he told Uraraka the other night at pizza that nutrition was really important to him, and learning the science behind what made good food choices was fascinating. He even really liked his teacher, Professor Taishiro. The man seemed to always be eating something in class, jovially telling his students on the first day that as long as they cleaned up after themselves, he didn’t mind if they did the same.

Professor Taishiro was talking about macros and how they transfer into energy, and Kiri was totally listening, absolutely. He was only vaguely thinking about his resolution that he is unable to hate Uraraka. His mind wasn’t swarming with the petty part of him that still wants to hate her, but at the same time Bakugou has been nothing but rude to him and honestly he even seems pretty indifferent to his own girlfriend, would he really want that kind of partner even if he IS jaw-droppingly beautiful? It’s a stupid thought either way. Uraraka is a small, soft girl and I’m a big, muscular boy –

“Kirishima?”

Kiri starts and stares into the concerned face of his professor. A quick glance around the room tells him that he’s been sitting here mumbling to himself for long enough for class to have ended. Kiri swipes a hand down his face, wincing apologetically at the teacher. He’d woken up late today, very unlike himself, and barely had time to throw clothes on and make it to class on time. His red spikes take three minutes to set, not even counting the time it took him to sculpt them, so his hair was uncharacteristically limp around his shoulders.

Taishiro frowned at the boy. “Have you been feeling well, Kirishima? I’ve noticed that you were very distracted today. We do have a school nurse on campus if something is the matter.” Kiri’s cheeks flushed and he shook his head a littler harder than necessary.

“Ah, no, I apologize Professor. I’ve been distracted with some, uh, relationship troubles.”

Taishiro’s frowned deepened and he perched on the desk directly to Kiri’s left. “Relationship troubles. I’m not going to tell you how to live your life, you’re an adult now. But I would like for you to keep in mind that you are here at school to learn, and to build a foundation for a career. A very promising career, if my impression of you is correct.” He smiles kindly, and Kiri feels ashamed at how much he’s been letting this situation get to him. He makes a mental note to apologize to his other professors and to Mirio as well.

“I am so deeply sorry, Professor Taishiro.” Kiri immediately stands and deeply bows. “I promise to focus on school work from now on. You’re right, I shouldn’t be letting other people affect my future like this.”

His teacher chuckles and gently pushes him to stand upright. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad, Kirishima, I just want to make sure you know what is important. Now head on out, and have a good rest of your day.”

“Thank you, sir.” Kiri gathered up his books and gives another short, quick bow before heading off to an anatomy class. He really needed to get himself together.

---

He spends his lunch that day in the dorm room, eating some leftover rice with canned tuna. It’s a simple meal but a very comforting one for him, and he doesn’t mind the quietness of being in the dorm without Hanta and Denki. He loves them dearly, he truly does, but sometimes a guy just needs some peace and quiet.

He blinks as his phone goes off and he looks over to it. A text from an unknown number? He balances his bowl and chopsticks in one hand as he reaches to his phone to swipe the message open.

???: Hey Kirishima! It’s Uraraka, I meant to get your number when we were all out the other night but I forgot. Mina gave it to me, I hope you don’t mind! ;^^

Kiri didn’t mind in the least, really, he was totally okay with his friends being able to reach him if they needed to. And he considered Uraraka his friend now. He quickly typed back that it was absolutely fine with a smiley face.

Uraraka: Great! So I wanted to ask if you have time to help spot me at the gym tonight – Bakugou’s working and I’d really like to get some training in. If you aren’t busy?

Kiri smiled softly. He really had to admire her drive, it was inspiring. He said that he’d be at work tonight so he’d be able to help her train, no problem. She sent back a bunch of hearts and fist emojis, and it actually made Kirishima laugh. He was actually headed there once he finished lunch, so he let her know that and quickly shoveled the rest of his rice and tuna into his mouth. He brought the bowl to the bathroom to rinse it quickly – he didn’t want the room smelling like tuna – and then packed up his gym stuff to head out. A text from Uraraka said that she also had no classes this afternoon so she could meet him there.

The gym Kirishima worked at was only a few blocks over from campus. He actually had to pass the coffee shop to get there, and he couldn’t help peering in as he quickly walked by. He didn’t see Bakugou but he did see Mina and Jirou laughing about something behind the counter. He smiled. It always made his heart warm to see his friends happy.

He arrived at the gym and waved to the employee behind the counter (it wasn’t Ojiro today) and headed to the locker rooms. He dropped his stuff in an open locker and changed from his walking shoes to his gym sneakers, already wearing what he planned to work out in. He paused in front of the mirror as he headed out and looked at himself. He wore a tight fitted tank, loose gym shorts, and his hair was done up in his trademark spiked style. He grinned at himself, his mouth full of teeth that he’d always felt were slightly sharper than normal, and flexed. He was strong and he looked good, any bro would be lucky to have him! He gave his reflection a confident nod and strolled out into the main area of the gym.

“Oh, Kirishima! Hi!” He looked over to the weight area where Uraraka was already, waving a hand frantically and beaming. He returned her grin and jogged the rest of the way to her.

“You ready to get pumped, Uraraka?” He struck a pose, his fists clenched.

“Yeah!” She punched the air, reminding him a little of Mina. She giggled. “I brought along the plan that the trainer here gave me – that Bakugou wrote all over and changed – but I wanted to see what you think too.” He accepted the paper from her and skimmed it, eyes glancing over angry red scratch-outs accompanied by blurbs that said things like ‘waste of time, do this instead’ and other completely different instructions on there. Kiri winced.

“Well, it’s not that Bakugou’s suggestions are bad…” Uraraka’s face fell a little. “The just seem to be geared toward someone who is built more like him. Or me. Not so much like you. Actually, what the trainer suggested you start with is more on point for what you could be doing. How much can you bench press?”

Uraraka’s frown turned into a proud smile. “Fifty pounds so far! I want to be able to bench, like a hundred by the end of the school year.” She punched into the air again and Kiri grinned.

“Hell yeah, we can totally aim for that! Here’s what I think you should do. Lemme get some paper and a pen.” He went to the desk to grab them, and then he and Uraraka crowded around the sheets. He carefully re-wrote what the personal trainer initially put down for the most part, altering it slightly to include the lightest of Bakugou’s suggestions and a few suggestions of his own. No reason to completely piss the blonde off when he sees his girlfriend’s altered training plan. “Do you have a nutrition plan too? I know you said that you don’t really cook.”

Uraraka shook her head. “Um, not really. I basically either eat whatever is in the cafeteria or whatever Bakugou makes. He makes really good meals though, and rarely ever eats anything unhealthy.” Kirishima nodded, ignoring his heart flipping over Bakugou being health conscious. What a stupid thing to be attracted to.

“Well I imagine whatever Bakugou makes you is probably fine. As for the cafeteria…” He started writing down food pairings, Uraraka focused completely on what he was saying, and his professor’s words from this morning rang in his head about how he could have a very successful career of this. When he handed her the completed paper, she folded it gently like it was precious and tucked it into her bag. It gave Kiri a sharp spike of pride. “Alright! Let’s see how you handle that fifty pounds on the bench and see if we can up it a little today.”

“Sure thing! Let’s go!” Uraraka jumped excitedly and hopped over to a weight lifting bench, immediately going to start putting weights on the bar. Kiri couldn’t help but feel like he was definitely in the right career.

That feeling floated him through the rest of Uraraka’s training (they got her up to 55 pounds) and home to the dorm. He walked in to Mina regailing Denki and Hanta about how Bakugou had almost blown up their chemistry lab that day. It makes him laugh, and the sadness is less than he expected. He knows that he is strong enough for this to pass.

#bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou #kaminari denki #ashido mina #sero hanta #ojiro mashirao #hagakure tooru #taishiro toyomitsu #my hero academia #my hero academia au #college au #uraraka ochaco #bakugou x ochaco #eventual kiribaku #kiribaku #slow burn #bakugou x kirishima #kirishima x bakugou imagine

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callsign-bunnie · 5 years ago

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Dependencies pt 1

Fandom: Thomas Sanders Pairing: Analogical (Anxiety x Logic) Warnings: dark themes. You guys know me by now. Virgil’s anxious thoughts are stated. Allusions to sex. (Lust mention.) Food mention. Notes before going in: those who have been following me know by now that I am uh... not all sunshine and rainbows when it comes to my writing. My stuff can get pretty heavy and often pretty dark. However, any trigger warnings will be tagged. And if you ask me, I will tag specific non-general triggers in any future chapters or works. If you simply don’t want to see a fic in general, I would suggest blacklisting the name, which will be in the tags. Thank you. Summary: Logan is very neat and controlled. Virgil is the opposite. Logan, 30, is the leader of a well known underground crime network, though he specifically has managed to remain anonymous, very few knowing his identity. Virgil, 23, on the other hand, is an artist who hates talking to people and has chronic anxiety. Virgil and Logan are thrown in each other's paths when Virgil gets Logan as his professor in the math class Logan uses as a cover identity. (And guilty pleasure but he’ll never admit that.) Already, Logan is... intrigued.

Sometimes, our darkest secrets aren't the ones we hide the most. For Logan, possibly his lightest secret was the one he hid the most. To quickly raise in the ranks, he had to give an appearance of being cold. Unfeeling. Sociopathic. And while yes, he could be considered a sociopath, he could feel some things. Anger. Love. Lust. Happiness. As much as Logan tried to hide this secret, the feelings were drugs for him, just as addicting as Heroin or Cocaine. And anything that sparked these feelings was considered precious to him. He needed it.

However, Logan was incredibly intelligent. This was perhaps how he managed to keep himself from gaining a... dependence. And perhaps how he rose so fast in the ranks. He'd learned by now to never do his own dirty work and to stay detached from it, as well. Lest whoever does it is stupid enough to be caught. Many of his higher-ups had not learned this and of course paid the price for it, once the police caught on. Another lesson he'd learned from observing his higher-ups was to never leave a paper trail. Of course, keep track, but always have a fail-safe. Logan had taken to keeping his documents in a barrel that one could simply throw a match in and light it up. He'd also learned not to trust the internet unless using some kind of code. Unfortunately, lackeys were not good at recognizing and remembering codes. So, he just left all of his business to over throw away phones and in business. Maybe requests and commissions could be taken over the internet, but through nothing that could be traceable and he was always sure to keep his interactions vague, going through a lackey who typed differently so even that couldn't be tracked. And possibly the most important thing he'd learned; have an excellent cover. His being a math professor. He was seen as dorky by his students. No one would ever even suspect him of being who he was.

Of course, maintaining of these self-imposed rules required immense discipline. Possibly even an obsession with order and control. Fortunately, Logan had both of those qualities.

Virgil was the opposite. While Virgil was clever, he wasn't very academic. And his darkest secrets were the ones he kept deepest inside himself. Virgil also had a problem with feeling too much. All of his life, he'd been considered too emotional. Too... anything, really. He'd been told this many times. He figured by this point that if he was too much for people, he might as well not bother them. Other people never usually had anything interesting to contribute, anyway. He was also incredibly out of order.

His room was usually a disaster. And he managed to trip over everything. You'd think this would lead him to keep the floor clean, however, he just didn't care enough to bother. He also didn't care to bother cooking, so he'd become accustomed to eating ramen and anything microwaveable. And take out, when he could afford it. He didn't have a job, however, he received money from his parents and an allowance from what was left of his college fund and then later some weird source? On to that, later.

His parents weren't wealthy, however, and his college fund's remains were not grand. So, he sometimes had to go without a meal or two. Whatever, though. It wasn't a big deal to him. He barely thought about it.

Virgil had taken up art to keep from thinking about certain things. It was much easier to ignore issues if he was focusing on lines and color schemes, instead. Art was also a way to release pent up frustration, sadness, even happiness. You'd think happiness couldn't be pent up but when you talk to literally no one, well... it happens. So, he'd found an outlet. A relief. And just as emotions were intoxicating to Logan, art was just as intoxicating to Virgil. Granted, he wasn't making art most of the time, but he was usually thinking about it. Plotting out pieces he wanted to make, deciding where to fit yet another piece on his wall, what color fit what he was feeling, etc. Honestly, the thoughts alone seemed to help at this point, allowing him an outlet where there wasn't usually one

.Virgil stumbled into Logan's sight when he went to his first math class. Stumbled being literal, as Virgil almost tripped and hit his head on the fire extinguisher by the door. Luckily, he was early, always terrified of being late to a class due to having to walk in and everyone watch him walk to his seat. The idea filled him with dread. He hated it. So he made sure to be early to each class. Being early also had the perk of getting to choose his seat. Which he quite enjoyed. He almost always chose a seat in the back, however, math was a difficult subject for him, so he begrudgingly sat in the almost front. Okay, really, he usually sat in the middle of the class. People in the back were usually considered to be angsty, in the front to be go-getters. And nobody thought about those in the middle. It was the perfect place. But in college, with large class sizes, sitting in the middle often meant being unable to focus for Virgil. And since he already struggled with math, he usually decided it would be best for him to sit closer to the front.

He was already dreading this class, however. As he knew he would likely be close to failing it if he didn't ask for help. He'd struggled enough the year before. This year would likely be the same, if not worse. So he was already gearing himself up to have to talk, blegh, to his teacher in order to ask for tutoring options. Much fun was in store for him this year, because then he'd have to talk to whoever was tutoring him. Yay. Oh well, he was taking two art classes this year, so at least he had that. He was already finding himself daydreaming about them. They were independent art classes, which basically meant he got to create whatever he dreamed about creating.

So at least the year wouldn't be so bad, right? And he was... mostly fine in all of his other classes. So no tutoring there. Just math would be difficult.

As expected, he spent most of the class way behind and struggling to comprehend what the professor was saying. The professor was semi-friendly. Was mostly that dry professor who was kind but you could tell they wouldn't take your shit. Virgil tended to like those professors, as they usually left him alone, unable to remember every student. Unfortunately, once Virgil would make his presence known to this professor, he was sure they would remember him and he'd be stuck dealing with them until the end of the year. Yay, again. At least this professor wasn't a fast talker. That would be a struggle if they were. Well, more of a struggle, anyway. He was able to catch some detail, so it definitely helped. He'd taken to writing, in messy inconsistent shorthand, what the professor was saying to try to organize later. He never really got around to later, but hey, he was trying, at least, right?

His anxiety got worse and worse throughout the class, and needless to say, this was not helping his focus. He was dreading having to ask for help. So it was making his anxiety flip out. However, he managed to swallow it, tapping out his racing heartbeat on his stomach in his pocket as he went up to the professor's desk at the end of class. "Professor? Can I talk to you?"

"Of course, Mr..."

"Storm. I'm Virgil Storm. I um... Well, I have a tendency to struggle in Math and I was hoping you could have any tutoring recommendations?" Virgil asked, almost too quiet, but luckily he was heard.

The professor nodded and seemed to glance Virgil up and down. "I do offer tutoring hours of my own. I typically teach until five and I offer to tutor between 5 and 9. However, I will only allow up to an hour, since I'm assuming tutoring will have to be a regular thing?"

Virgil turned red and nodded in answer to the question. "Yes, unfortunately." He was managing to slow his tapping, though. Which was good.

His professor laughed, suddenly, and then stated, "goodness, you don't have to keep standing. Sit and we'll discuss a time to meet up."

Virgil turned red again and pulled up a chair, sitting in it and slouching slightly. "Since this is my last class of the day, I think tutoring at five would be helpful... So I could just hang around here, you know?" And his tapping sped back up, worried the professor would think that was a dumb idea.

"That would work out. I suppose it might help you to remember, as well." He nodded.

Virgil relaxed and nodded again. "That too. I'm sorry, I forgot your name..."

"Oh, of course. It's Logan Fairling. It's fine if you just call me Dr. Fair, however." Dr. Fairling answered, nodding

.Virgil nodded a bit and relaxed more. He knew he tended to overthink, but it really was a relief when he was wrong. "Thank you, Dr. Fairling. When do you think it would be best to start?"

"Hmm..." Dr. Fairling stopped and seemed to think for a moment. "Perhaps today. Since we already started with a lesson, I believe it might be good for us to start sooner rather than later."

Virgil was a bit surprised but he decided Dr. Fairling was right. It would be good to start earlier. However, he was already nervous about it. What if Dr. Fairling decided Virgil was too dumb to be helped? That he was helpless? It got too much to keep tapping out his heartbeat, so he switched to fidgeting with the sleeves instead, making sure to hide it under the table. "Alright. That sounds like a good plan. I'll come back here in an hour."

"Perfect." The professor nodded and then allowed Virgil to leave.

As Virgil left, he rubbed his throat, finding it a bit sore after talking so much when he usually didn't.

As Virgil left, Logan leaned back in his seat, tapping his pen against his chin. "Hmm..." He felt something unfamiliar but not unknown start to bloom. However, he just couldn't identify it. However, he did know that Virgil was already quite... intriguing.

-----

I will tag people if they want me to. I don’t really care how you ask, I’m not particular.

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poor-baby-bangtan · 5 years ago

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a snippet

hey so i know i’ve been promising stuff for a while and haven’t actually followed though; work and classes have actually been insane and i have a vacation coming up. i have to read my textbook over the ride (which is twelve hours long T-T) and probably won’t be able to write :( so it’s gonna be a while before whole fics get written and posted. so here’s a snippet of one of the more recent requests i’ve gotten.

i’ve got around 12 fics in the works. would you like snippets of those as well? let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in <3

until then, enjoy :))

**(snz fic, no emeto triggers)**

"JK," he called through the slightly-opened door beyond the large built-in window between them (purely to keep unwanted sounds out of the recording). "You okay?"

Jeongguk sniffed and rubbed at his nose with a knuckle, ears reddening slightly at the sudden attention. Namjoon found it incredibly endearing that, despite living together for just shy of seven years, he still managed to get embarrassed over minor stuff like that.

"Yeah, I'm alright, hyung. I'm sorry, I know you wanted this finished quickly," he managed, staring at the open mic in front of him with obvious frustration and guilt, the tip of his bunny nose pink with mild irritation.

Namjoon stood and took off his bulky headphones, joining him in the adjacent room and placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry about it, Gguk, it's not your fault." The maknae sniffled again but didn't say anything, looking so pitifully sad as his eyes wandered around the floor. "Are you wearing a new cologne or anything? New shampoo?" Namjoon knew how sensitive their youngest was to smells - his perfume of choice was actually faint and made for women and he wore it for the sole purpose of it not irritating his sinuses. Even a change in shampoo, conditioner, or hair spray had a tendency to trigger Jeongguk's rhinitis flare-ups.

Jeongguk shook his head. "No, everything's been the same, Joon-hyung. I don't know why it's like this."

The rapper chewed at his lip worriedly, running a hand through the younger man's soft hair. "You think you're getting sick, babe?" Namjoon chose to break out the pet names now - it helped break Jeongguk out of that shy, nervous, I'm-grown-up-so-I-can-handle-everything-myself shell he always tried to adopt.

Jeongguk didn't have time to reply before he was pitching forward to sneeze twice into his cupped hands, leaning back with a little groan. Namjoon chuckled quietly and rubbed the maknae's back as he sniffled and scrubbed at his nose with his sleeve. "I think that might be a yes."

The maknae sighed, rubbing at his brow like he had a headache. "I don't want to be."

Namjoon just tutted and put his palm to the younger man's forehead, frowning when he felt the slightest bit of heat underneath his hand. "I don't think you have a choice in this one, Gguk-ah."

"But hyung," Jeongguk whined, looking up at him with his big doe eyes, "I can't get sick right now. We have so much stuff to do and I'm already making you stay late-"

"Hey, no," he shushed. "You're not holding back anything. We have work, sure, but it's not anything that we can't push back a few days for you. This is the lightest our schedule has been for a while, so don't stress about it, okay?" Namjoon smiled faintly, running his fingers once more through Jeongguk's fringe. "And you're not keeping me here doing anything. We could have been doing this next week or even not at all; this is optional just to test the sound, you know that."

Jeongguk nodded, sniffling again for good measure. "Yeah, okay," he mumbled, still disappointed and very much not convinced.

"Why don't we go ahead and head home? It's late," Namjoon yawned, stretching, all an act just to get the maknae to not protest leaving just like the rapper knew he would. He had always been the hardest one to take care of - most of the others eventually gave in and let themselves be coddled. But, nope, not Jeongguk. He would put up a fight until he was passed out or in the hospital, something that his hyungs tried relentlessly to keep from happening. No matter how much they drilled into his head that you need to talk to us, Gguk or you can tell us anything, Gguk, it seemed like the kid never listened. Despite the fact that he had recently turned twenty-one, he had absolutely zero skills in the self-care department.

Jeongguk nodded and Namjoon marked that as a big success on his part. "Okay." He patted his pockets a few times before sighing. "Let me find my keys first."

That's right. He drove us here this morning.

"No that's okay, Gguk. I'd rather call a cab." Namjoon wasn't sure if he really wanted his maknae driving while sick, and at midnight nonetheless. He was already a little reckless behind the wheel on the best of days and the last thing they needed was him having a cold (or worse yet, flu) on top of that. The leader silently cursed himself that he hadn't gotten around to getting his license yet (and tried not to be embarrassed that the youngest of his group had to drive him around despite the age gap).

"No, I'm fine, hyung. I can drive," Jeongguk protested, looking just a little too eager to prove himself and that he was indeed okay. He was interrupted by another sneeze, though, pitching forward, bent at the waist from the strength of it. He slowly straightened upwards, hands still cupped around his face. Namjoon took the hint and passed him a tissue, which Jeongguk hesitantly took as if he were almost too prideful to take it. He usually was, and the rapper was thankful that it was late in the evening. A tired Jeongguk was an obedient Jeongguk.

"I know you can, babe, but I'd rather just call someone. It's late and we're both tired; I'd feel better if we had a cab or a manager come pick us up. Besides, we're here every day. We can pick up your car another day, yeah?"

Jeongguk wiped his nose with the tissue (not blowing it as Namjoon had hoped) and threw it away, sighing. "Okay. Is Sejin-nim still here?"

"Let me text him. Go ahead and put your coat on."

#ugh i'm terrible with schedules i'm sorry #i hope this is okay #bts fic #sickfic #bts sickfic #snippet #my writing

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friendlylocalwhumper · 5 years ago

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Hi I love all of your stories so much! Your characters are so compelling! Lux and Emory give me life. Your last drabble got me thinking: was there ever a time where Lux has to comfort Emory? Maybe he had a nightmare about Lux being in danger or something?

A/N: wow this really went off track and became 2,477 words of like, deep thoughts and these two breaching sensitive and polarizing topics. whoops!

Lux doesn’t want to sleep tonight. Not because of a nightmare, or because he’s thinking about upsetting things, or because he’s remembering something painful (although all of that stuff does keep him up sometimes). No, he’s just scrolling through apps on his phone, propped up on pillows and decidedly ignoring the time in favor of reading vaguely boring articles that had wildly interesting titles.

He first notices his sleeping boyfriend beside him, in the midst of one of these articles, when Emory shifts. The movement catches Lux’s eye but it’s not enough to draw his attention away from the words on his phone’s screen.

He pays attention a minute later when Emory whimpers. Lux turns his phone off and looks over, pushing himself to sit up more and watching Emory in worry and alarm. He’s never heard that sound out of his partner once, hasn’t ever seen him in great pain, or dazed and stressed, or feeling small and sad; in fact, Emory is very steady, and Lux can only remember him having always been calm and patient and positive.

“Emory?” Lux asks quietly, meeting his boyfriend’s arm with the lightest touch possible. “You okay?”

Of course, Emory is asleep, and he doesn’t react to the touch or the words. Lux lays his hand more solidly on that arm and runs his thumb back and forth over the bicep, leaning down to press a kiss to Emory’s cheek.

“Hey, Freckles, you wanna wake up? I think you’re having a nightmare.”

Emory’s breaths have stopped, like he’s listening. Lux falls silent and watches, his heart fluttering, and he doesn’t want to wait an extra second to hear another inhale; following what’s done for him when his own fear steals his breath in his sleep, Lux places his palm on Emory’s chest and rubs it in little circles.

“It’s okay, just breathe, you’re safe,” The warlock murmurs with a chill of familiarity at providing the comfort he usually receives.

Emory doesn’t react well. He’s having the kind of nightmare, it seems, where he’s fighting off something bad, and so he wakes up still fighting - his eyes fly open, wide and unfocused, and his arm swings, knocking Lux back. Emory shoves himself away, falling off the bed with a thump and scrambling away until his back hits the wall.

Lux is still reeling from the blow. His thoughts were knocked clean out of his head when a fist crashed against his jaw, and he’s brought a hand up to feel it gingerly. Sorry, he wants to say, sorry for scaring you, I’m sorry, but it would sound too much like the conditioned response that the instinct is rooted in, so instead of stammering and curling in on himself, Lux refocuses on his boyfriend.

“It’s okay, Emory,” He assures, getting up off the bed slowly and making his way over to that side of the room. He lowers himself to his hands and knees and then sits down so that he looks like an equal and not a threat.

“Lux?” His boyfriend ekes out, unsure in the dark of the room.

“Yeah, ‘s just me. You scared?”

“Not - not anymore, just... confused. Sorry, I think I had a dream, I’m - that was... think I fell off the bed.”

Lux nods in agreement and shifts to sit next to Emory, back to the wall. He doesn’t like sitting on the floor like this, too much like the cellar, but he can ignore that right now. “Never seen you have a dream like that.”

“It was - I know, I know warlocks aren’t bad, you know I don’t think that, but - I’ve always been scared of them, or what happens to them, you know? Haven’t had a dream like that since I was eight. About someone thinking I’m a warlock, and then I get dragged away, tied to a stake to burn, or guns aimed at me, but then it changes, and they call me - it’s not about magic, anymore, it’s about bein’ a black boy and liking guys and stuff like that, and I’ve never gotten hurt because of that stuff but Gramps has, and the stories he’s got, and the things that’ve happened to you, I can imagine, and it - scares me, a lot.”

With the staggered, sleepy explanation, Lux resigns himself to never mention being hit in the process of waking Emory up. He can write it off easily in the context fo Emory being half-asleep and lost in old, shapeless fear that only lives in his mind.

“That sounds really scary,” The warlock answers, slipping his hand into Emory’s and squeezing it gently.

“Yeah, you know that, though, you’ve been hurt and I haven’t, I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t talk about it since I don’t know what that feels like.”

“No, no - you do know what it feels like. And anyway, I don’t know what it feels like to have that fear, not the kind you grew up with. Magic, I’ve gotten hurt for that, but never got judged for how I look. I don’t know what that feels like for you. It’s not dumb to be scared. It’s - it’s probably even harder for you, since you don’t feel like you can bring it up. I don’t wanna assume how you feel, can you tell me about it, maybe?”

Emory’s quiet, for a minute. There’s something tricky, a topic here, the conversation about race and magic and things that the privileged do to those who have somehow garnered hatred just by being alive.

“I feel lucky,” He settles on, finally, like a confession. “That it’s not me. It’s awful. It’s like... when magic started being hated, the pressure got taken off other groups, other hated ones, and it’s so easy to hate what you don’t understand, so... when I was little, I hated magic users. I know kids are jerks, and it’s normal, but the things I said, Lux... the things I believed, like hating warlocks was gonna save people like Gramps from ever seeing their brothers and sisters dying again. He told me that was wrong, but it was easy, and it felt so good to hate like that. Feel like nightmares about me getting it instead is some kinda justice, God telling me I need to suffer if I’m gonna wish that pain on somebody else.”

Lux is listening, curious and only a little uneasy. He can understand, it makes sense, he can imagine that perspective, growing up. They’re too young, really, to be wise and grounded in beliefs like Emory’s Gramps, and they’re too old to naively follow the universal hatred of magic users, or from the warlocks’ side, the hatred and fear of non-magic folks. They’re trapped in some in-between mix of prejudice and awareness.

“When you were little and had those thoughts, that’s when you had the nightmares,” Lux summarizes, only a little guarded, but careful, uncertain. “You had this one, tonight... do you think... were you thinking like that again? About people like me?”

Emory’s silence, the tension, it makes Lux’s stomach drop.

“No, not like that, Lux, it’s just... I had one thought, and it stuck with me, and I felt so sick over it, had that dream again, just - just the guilt made me that freaked out. I feel awful about it.”

Lux nods, once, and then asks, “What’d you think, that made you feel that bad?”

“I’m not gonna say, I really don’t have to, it’s awful, I don’t think I should. I didn’t mean to, I just - come on, Lux, don’t ask me that, I wouldn’t blame you for thinking random stuff sometimes and getting hung up on it.”

The warlock swallows, turning that over in his head. It feels unfair, almost, that his mind’s been torn into so much, he’s been punished for having thoughts he couldn’t stop from coming or staying in his mind, but he can’t ask, once, to hear what’s in Emory’s head. He desperately needs to know if Emory thought something big and societal, like that warlocks should keep to themselves if they don’t want to die, or if it was something worse, something personal, something about how Lux should behave.

“Whatever it is, it’ll hurt me worse to never know,” Lux answers, voice hushed, and with the tensing of Emory’s shoulders, he can see that it’s effective. He’s not sure that it makes him feel any better.

“Okay... yeah, I understand that, okay. It was... I don’t want to lie to you, I won’t, but it would be so much easier, better... I thought... yesterday, I was thinking about how nice you are, and, how you’re not a threat at all, you’re gentle and sweet, and I love you for being so kind, I wish my brain stopped there... but, I thought, maybe you’re like that because of how you were hurt, and - and other warlocks are angry and violent, sometimes, so - maybe, if they were hurt like you were, they’d end up soft and considerate too, and the magic mena-, I mean, the danger of magic, wouldn’t be a threat to anyone anymore, even in self-defense, because you’d - they’d all be like you.”

Lux’s fingers twist together as he stares at the floor. Somewhere along the progression of that explanation, he pulled his hand out of Emory’s. “...Yeah, that’s... that’s quite a thought.” In the momentary silence after the confession, the warlock remembers the things he survived to get here and to hear this. “Probably easy to think that. Just so you know, though... I wouldn’t do it again. Twenty years of pain. Still living with fear and scars and trying to be good for people who aren’t in control of me anymore. It’s like I’m not a full person, I’m just the pieces that survived and made it out all scraped up. Doing that, to all of us - would be better to kill us.”

“I know, I wouldn’t actually wish what you’ve been through on anyone, and I don’t mean to think of magic as a threat, and - I don’t want everyone to be like you, and you don’t have to obey anybody, I’d still like you if you weren’t how you are, I - I don’t know what to say, I’m sorry, I’ve dug myself a hole here.”

Listening still, Lux tries to quiet the now loud, blaring alarm in his mind that Emory thinks like that, Emory’s like all the people who have beaten a warlock into submission. It’s not fair to simplify this down to that. “I, I guess... I don’t get to judge you for it. I’ve thought things like that before. Like, maybe people like you, without magic, should all die. All at once, with magic, warlocks should rise up and get revenge, get to just break free, and all the cops, the feds, the men who’ve hurt a warlock on the street, they’d see their friends and families die bloody and maybe feel bad before they die themselves... that’s a thought I’m not proud of. I used to think that a lot, when I was angry... ‘til the Hunter. He’d find, find thoughts like that in my head, and he didn’t really care about them, didn’t think I was a radical or anything, but they’re not sweet thoughts, they’re not good. So he hurt me for them. Haven’t thought that way since, and I wonder... wonder, sometimes, if I’m a good person, or if I just got the evil trained out of me.”

Emory finds his hand to hold it, and neither of them can look at each other. He clears his throat and tries for some words that won’t hurt more. “I think we’re scared to talk about this stuff ‘cause we don’t want to hurt each other.”

Lux hums in thought and replies, “I think we’re scared to ‘cause we’re ashamed of it.”

“Both, probably.”

“Yeah, both.”

A few slow, pensive moments pass, heavy words hanging in the air. Finally, Lux says, “I just need to know... you don’t like me because I’m how I am - you know, nervous, and scared, right? I don’t have to be sweet or weak for you to like me, right? That’s all I need to know, really, that we’re just boyfriends, we’re normal people, I’m not yours, I don’t have to obey.”

“Of course, Curls, you don’t have to obey, I like you for who you are, your mind and your love, not because of how you act. I didn’t fall in love with your fear, I don’t ever want you to be scared.”

Lux sighs, relieved. Everything they’ve said tonight is alright, it’s just a difficult but important conversation about prejudice and fear and what they were taught to think, as long as he’s a person and not a possession. “That’s all I’m worried about, all I’m gonna remember about this, probably. Oh I’m all worked up and anxious now, I know it’s ignorant to say this but can we just never bring this up again? It’s not our fault that we think what we do, we can fix it on our own time, it’s just too stressful to talk about.”

“Agreed, I’m with you on that. I really thought that might be the end of us or something.”

“I know, it got all - scary and final sounding, right? It was scary for me to explain what I think, was it scary for you?”

“So scary, I thought for sure you’d hate me. Mine’s a lot worse than yours.”

“Well I don’t have thoughts that bad because I got broken and now I’m just empty and good, and that’s way worse than having, like, a single problematic thought in the past twelve years.”

Emory squeezes Lux’s hand and stands up, helping Lux follow suit with a gentle tug on his arm. “You’re not broken, Curls. You didn’t get trained out of having your own thoughts. I like your mind, and I like when you call me out and ask what I think. It was stressful, probably not a good topic, but please do it again when you don’t like what I’m saying, ask what I mean and tell me what you think. I respect you a lot for doing that.”

The praise and request for Lux to keep thinking for himself makes the warlock feel just a little safer, a little more relaxed. He still won’t sleep tonight, no way with the things coursing through his mind right now, but he thinks he can sit beside Emory in their bed and keep reading articles. Maybe, he thinks to himself in his unusually opinionated mood, he can write his own articles. He can share his thoughts, and experiences, and get angry if he wants to, anonymous and careful but not beaten into silence, not too careful to breach touchy topics. Maybe he’s got ideas and experiences worth being heard.

#nooooo way i'm proofreading this it's too long hope it doesn't suck #also hope that it's interesting at all #angst #drabble #nightmares #emory #lux #mine #afraid #panic #past trauma #comfort #lux having opinions! and being sad #emory having shitty opinions and hating himself for it #they're both a little problematic and they're trying so hard to educate themselves #and to be Good People with open minds and hearts #they're doing a good job i'm proud of them #Anonymous

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 7 years ago

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The Lamppost

Summary: Dean develops a crush on the reader but isn’t sure how to act on it...

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 1,600ish

Warnings: none

A/N: Written in Dean’s POV...

A/N #2: Written for @d-s-winchester ‘s Fall in Love with Fall challenge where my prompt was the image above. Fall is my favorite season and this is one of those unique fics that quickly became one of my favorites...

The first time I saw her, she never looked up. She was sitting on a bench by a lamppost, reading a book from the look of it with a cup of coffee sitting beside her. It was a gray day, a little chilly to be doing anything sedentary but she seemed completely ignorant to that fact. She was wrapped up in a navy vest with what looked a like a soft gray hoodie underneath, a dark red scarf wrapped around her neck, a warm hat over her head hiding the hair that wasn’t peaking out from her side braid. She had on a pair of dark jeans and boots that had a piece of gum stuck to the bottom she probably wasn’t aware of. For a second I thought she was the cutest hunter I’d ever seen.

But she wasn’t a hunter. She was just some woman enjoying a fall day in the park, getting lost in her story.

When I told Sam I’d go jogging with him again the next day, his eyes nearly popped out of his head. I told him I’d do it the once to appease him but today, I wanted to see if she’d be there again. Rounding the corner on the path, I smiled a little, the same hat on a woman sitting at the bench, staring at her book again. I gave a little grunt as I got closer, hoping to get her attention. Sam nudged me, that look in his eye asking if I as about to keel over. I nudged him back and he rolled his eyes, taking off without me. I knew I was slowing him down and this gave me an excuse to stop now.

She didn’t move at all apart from taking a sip of her coffee. I waited until I was just across from her to bend down and untie my sneaker, still a weird concept for me anyways. If I’m hunting, I’m in a pair of heavy boots, not these lightweight things. But Sam got them for me for my birthday and his face lit up when I used them so it wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

But she still didn’t move her eyes in my direction, instead flickering back and forth over the pages. She was so lost I didn’t dare disturb her.

Tomorrow I told myself.

I went running by myself the next day, Sam off to help out Jody with something. I didn’t necessarily run until the bend, hoping less sweat would equal better odds. Again she was sitting there and again I faked a shoelace. I glanced over at her, legs crossed, her body completely relaxed, a pair of fingerless gloves on her hands today. She sipped at her coffee she kept in her lap before putting it back in the cardboard tray.

There was another coffee though. Of course she had a boyfriend. There was no way in the world someone that beautiful wouldn’t, that she’d want some flannel and grease stained brute. He probably wore oxfords and worked in a fancy building with a corner office and thought it was cute she spent her mornings here before he took her out for a fancy brunch.

I got up fast and ran hard the whole way back, finally figuring out one thing running was good for.

It was a few days later when I went running in the late afternoon, the dark gray skies spitting rain at first until it was coming down steady. I was pissed. Not at her. She’d never done anything to me. I’d never even met her. I let myself daydream, let myself pretend again. It didn’t work with Lisa. I never gave Jo the shot she should have gotten. It was always doomed and all I would ever have was hunting and that was it.

The lamppost light was on and there was someone sitting under it in a rain coat, apparently enjoying getting soaked as much as I was. I had my hood up and was so focused on going fast I nearly tripped when the person suddenly stood up and walked right in front of me.

“What the hell man!” I said, giving the person a glare. They reached a smaller hand up to their head and pushed their hood back some, revealing the soft face underneath.

Her.

“Hi,” she said, giving me a tiny smile.

“Hi,” I said back too coldly, her face doing a good job of hiding how her body had instinctively taken a step back. But her confidence came back and she got closer, giving me a smile.

“I haven’t seen you the past couple mornings,” she said.

“If you don’t mind, it’s kind of pouring and...” I said, her body stepping out of the way.

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” she said, her voice going quiet. She started to walk the way I’d came, her head dropping down, her hands fisting around the sleeves of her coat to wrap up her fingers. She was shaking and it was nearly five o’ clock. She had to be frozen to the bone from the looks of it.

“Hey,” I said, her feet stopping in their tracks, her head lifting up and body spining around. “You should get somewhere warm.”

“Yeah,” she said, giving a tiny head nod, turning away again. I bit down a groan and glanced around, trying to figure out how to make this chick not take the long way back to her car. I saw the trashcan nearby and the cups from her, the name Y/N appearing over and over again.

And the name “Cute guy” on about four of them.

“Hey,” I said again, walking over in front of her. “Who’s cute guy?”

“You,” she said, risking a glance up. “I thought you were maybe going to say hi a couple times so I started buying you a coffee to ask you but I got nervous. You haven’t shown up the past couple days and I was kind of cold so I drank yours earlier.”

Oh way to go Winchester. This is all your fault.

“I’m kind of cold. I think I should head home,” she said, the lightest shade of pink on her face, from the cold or nerves I honestly had no idea.

“I’m Dean,” I said, regretting it the second I said it. Sparing her a little pain now only to have it come later wasn’t noble. It was selfish.

“You don’t hear the name often,” she said. “It suits you.”

“Can I buy you a coffee?” I asked, wondering why the hell I was digging myself further in this hole.

“Okay. Actually, no, I’m sorry, I can’t. I really want to but I can’t,” she said, giving me a sad face. “I really would like to but I can’t drag you into my life.”

“I can’t drag you into mine either,” I said, not disappointment on her face but understanding.

“It’s okay. You were nice,” she said, a curious thing to say. She gave almost a wince when she saw my face. “You won’t understand.”

“Try me,” I said, the woman shrugging like there was no point in lying.

“I can’t have a normal relationship. My job is dangerous,” she said.

“So is mine,” I said. She nodded and I gave her one back. “A cup of coffee won’t kill either of us.”

“No strings,” she said.

“No strings.”

We found a coffee shop just down the block, both of us soaking and freezing by the time we got there, wrapping our hands around the scalding hot mugs to warm up. She took a sip and her face scrunched up as she burnt her tongue, poking the tip out like a little kid, trying to soothe away the sudden pain.

She barely said a word and I barely said one back. It was amazingly simple to sit there with a stranger and just take her in, knowing I was allowed to because she was doing it right back. Until her phone rang and the peaceful bubble broke, our not coffee date surely done with.

“That was work,” she said after hanging up. “I have to go.”

“That’s okay,” I said, hearing my own phone go off, glancing down to see it was Sam. “I think my work is calling too.”

“It was nice meeting you, Dean.”

“You too, Y/N.”

For another two weeks we did our little dance, Y/N would read on the bench, I’d take a break for a minute from the jogs I still hated, neither one of us saying anything, neither one of us willing to put an end to it. Until one day she leaned over and grabbed hold of my arm, fingers not even able to wrap around it all the way.

“I have to know. What’s your last name?” she asked.

“Winchester,” I said, a wide smile over her face. “Why is that important?”

“Because maybe we can make it work,” she said. “Hunters stick together right?”

“If I said how to kill a vamp...” I asked, hoping she didn’t think I was nuts.

“Take off the head. None of that stake and garlic stuff,” she said. I sat on the bench next to her, her hand sliding down my arm. “Weaken them with dead man’s blood.”

“You’re a hunter,” I said, moving her hand down to my own. “You’re an actual hunter.”

“I understand if you don’t want to-”

“Do you want to come over for dinner?” I asked. “I’d really...you know people like us don’t get shots like this.”

“Only if it’s a date,” she said.

“It’s definitely a date.”

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uncpanda · 8 years ago

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Growing Up Batty: Part 6

AN: So I’ve actually finished writing this series. It has two parts left to be posted and then it shall be done. I’m very excited for you guys to read the ending. I think it’ll be very different from what you’re used to.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

You and your parents have an understanding, they don’t ask any questions and you don’t put your life in blatant danger. They know it could be worse, that you could have ended up like either of your parents. And honestly there’s a lot worse things than fighting Gotham’s crime at night. Still, you understand their blissful ignorance, and you fully support it.

You launch yourself from one roof to the next, and take off running. You cherish the burn in your lungs and the ache in your legs. Then you’re falling, in between buildings and into an alleyway.

It takes nothing to incapacitate the mugger there. You leave him for the cops to find, before scaling the wall back to the roof. Damian is waiting for you, his legs thrown over the side as he stares at the sky line.

You wait for him to make the first move. He does, just like always. He holds out a small box. Curiously, you take it. Inside is a cupcake. You glance at him, and see the lightest tinge of a blush on his face. He clears his throat and says, “Happy Anniversary.”

You cock your head to the side, “Which one did I forget?” He raises an eyebrow in question, and you continue, “Which anniversary? Friendship? Study date? First time I came to your house?”

He sighs, “You’re infuriating.”

You shrug, “I’m told it’s in my DNA.”

He rolls his eyes, “You’ve officially been Nightingale for three years now.”

Your brow furrows, “I get an anniversary cupcake for that?”

“Yes.”

“You and the guys don’t get cupcakes. Neither does Bruce.”

“You’re special.”

“How am I special?”

There’s several moments of silence before he reaches for the cupcake, and says, “Never mind, you’re ordinary and you don’t deserve a cupcake.”

You hold it out of his reach, “I always deserve a cupcake. You’re adorable when you’re ornery.”

He pouts while you eat it. Occasionally, you let him swipe some icing, before you get back to it. You run the rooftops together, leaning on each other. You work as a team, a fearsome duo.

By the time the sun rises you’ve taken out ten muggers, stopped two robberies, and stopped an armed gun fight. It’s three am, you're exhausted, and ready for bed. Of course, bed isn’t always an option. Especially when the big guy calls you in.

Two years ago, Bruce had split the team into sections. You worked on a rotating schedule, and more often than not, you and Damian were paired together near the docks. Bruce only called everyone in for big stuff. A bit reluctantly, you follow Damian back to the cave.

Everyone is there and waiting, and that’s when you get the news; Harley Quinn had broken the Joker out of Arkham.

You don’t feel embarrassed, or sad, you’re mad. Your mother had been laying low for years. While there were occasional sightings of her she hadn’t done anything particularly bad in the years since you’d become Nightingale. And Joker, he had somehow stayed under lock and key the whole time.

You weren’t exactly excited about the idea of a family reunion, and when Bruce tells you to go home, you’re not surprised. Even if everyone else is. You’re part of the team, they argue, it’s not fair. But you’re more than willing to sit this one out. So, you hang up your suit, and head home.

You’re five blocks from home when the first plant starts to sprout. You slow the motorcycle to a stop, and carefully dismount after cutting the engine. You walk to the curb and take a seat. She shows up moments later.

She sits down next to you, crossing her legs, “Hello, Arlecchino.”

You blink at her, “Pamela.”

She smiles at the formality, “How’s the superhero life treating you?”

You frown, but you’re not surprised, if she had been able to read your DNA all those years ago, it doesn’t surprise you that she knows your alter ego as well. “Peachy. What do you want?”

“Your mother is in trouble.”

“My mother is five blocks down the road already asleep. You are referring to my carrier.”

“Is that resentment I hear?”

“Only for her actions.”

She nods, “Fair enough. Doesn’t change the fact that she needs your help.”

You hesitate before asking, “What happened?”

Pamela stares at you, “Your father found out about you.”

Your eyes go wide, “Who told him?”

“She did.”

“Why?”

Pamela sighs, “After we met all those years ago, I confronted her about you. She demanded information about you. Then started talking about taking you back. That couldn’t happen. I know that, and you know that, but Harley…”

“Is crazy.”

“Only because of the Joker. I told her no, that it would ruin your life, and that seemed to knock sense into her, right up until she saw you on TV. She went ballistic, left the greenhouse before I could stop her, went to get Joker’s help in getting you back. Wants the three of you to be a family. The seeds I planted on her, the ones that measure her vitals, tell me she’s in bad shape.”

You wipe your hands over your face, “Why can’t you get her?”

“Because she won’t listen to me. Won’t believe her delusion won’t come true until she sees it.”

You scowl, “You mean until she sees him almost kill me.”

“To put it in blunt terms, yes.”

You shake your head and stand up, “I know better. One sidekick already died at his hands, I doubt I’ll be lucky enough to come back. She’s made her bed and now she has to lie in it.” Without another word, you walk away, mount your bike, and go.

#damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne imagine #robin #robin x reader #robin imagine #poison ivy #pamela isley #harley quinn #joker #harleen quinzel #dc reader insert #dc imagine #dc universe #dc

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k-my-secret-addiction-to-yo-blog · 7 years ago

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A several month lesson.

(1/1/17)Dear çø¬´ ∂å√ˆ∂ ß†´ƒƒ´¥ Each girl has that one guy they will never lose feelings for and for me you're him you're always on my mind when I'm trying to sleep but i see your face and I can't get it out of my head so I just lay awake thinking about you and I’m not sure what you're doing right now but I'm losing my mind over you you're my paradox you're the love letter I can't read anymore the same one that refused to throw away I know that you don't feel the same way and I was thinking about it right before I fell for you I stood there for a moment not thinking about the consequences all the heartache so without warning I jumped it was like I could fly It feels like lightning running through my veins every time I look at you, I wrote this awhile ago but it's still relevant ‘when I'm with you I can't help but smile and the other night when we took that walk together my smile was bigger than it's ever been I actually felt happy for the first time in a really long time’ When I look at you I forget everything I was going to say and sometimes I'm scared that you'll forget about me do you remember when we stop talking for awhile I stop talking to you because I thought you would miss me and maybe you would talk to me first but in the end I was alone I was the one who was missing you more than ever right I guess we're talking again now more or less I can't help liking you I laugh harder with you I feel more myself when I'm with you i trust you and when something goes wrong or right or I see something bizarre you're the first person I tell but now I cry in the middle of night sometimes for same thing because I'm just waiting for you to say that you miss me because I miss you every day and it hurts It's so hard to put this into words because I love you in a way that I've never loved anyone else There's a place in the heart that will never be filled a space and even during the best moments of the greatest times we will know it you know it more than ever there is a place in the heart that will never be filled we wait and we will wait and wait for that space to be filled and you came along and filled it you did The Impossible and that's amazing to me You're more perfect than anyone else I've ever met I wish you understood how hard this is for me sometimes I still wonder why things happen the way they did all I ever wanted was to be with you normally I push people away all I ever really wanted was someone to hug me and tell me it is ok and that is what you did You know sometimes I think right now we're just strangers with memories and that's why I tell you so much I learned to say it before you run out of time before it's too late say what you're feeling waiting is a mistake it's difficult for me to say no you it’s difficult to not to care I don't know why you seem to be so important to me and I'm trying my hardest to be there for you I love how we spend our time talking about anything and everything this awkward friend thing we share sometimes life really has been alright you’re Probably the nicest person I've met and I’m glad to know you and I love you not only for what you are but for what I am when I'm with you but I really care about you and I want you to be happy with or without me Right honestly shouldn't be jealous of pretty much everyone you talk to because you’re not mine even the lightest but I want you to know all these things but I really don't want to tell you because it's embarrassing to tell you how I feel (1/20/17) I know that you're probably just bypass all of this just like every other paragraphs I have wrote you sometimes I wish I could just ask you what you think of me I don't want a sentence that says you're a nice girl I want you to write a paragraph for once obviously I don't want to be like mine because mine are why i love you I want yours to be why you're friends with me I’m not that great To be honest I kind of just wish none of this had ever happened…why do I even love you? You treat me like crap, but I know you don’t really mean it you’re a really good person it’s just you’re going through alot right now I wish you would talk to me about it I wish I knew what it was that was hurting you I wish you would tell me what’s bugging you maybe I could help you through it but you don’t seem to trust me and I know why, it’s because of µ´¬ø∂¥, you know the real me and you shouldn’t trust her I never did those things she said I did, she makes stuff up and I don’t know why you believe her and not me you have known me for a year and her for like 2months it’s not fair you hate me now and you love her I have loved you since I met you and I have been nothing but nice and she hated you and told you to kill yourself and now you love her you love her and not me you talk to her all day and all night you guys hang out for hours on end and I sit home alone and depressed because the one person that I love the only person that I have ever seriously loved hates me and you lie to me you say you care and that you love me but you don’t you know it’s not true because if it was you wouldn’t treat me the way you do, me and Â´¬ø∂¥Ω broke up because of you she cheated on me with you it didn’t even hurt me at this point it didn’t hurt because I feel nothing anymore because you broke me I did feel a little bit of sadness but that was only because of all people to hurt me it was you. you of all people would do this to me. And yet I still love you I would still do anything for you anything at all and the last thing I need is for you to be hurt because of me but I guess this whole time I have been hurting you without knowing it, I held all this in I let it manifest within myself and I became depressed and I did unspeakable things and it hurt you seeing me in so much pain and not knowing why because I wouldn’t tell you I couldn’t tell you I didn’t want to hurt you but I was and I’m sorry for that I’m sorry for loving I’m sorry for caring I’m sorry for everything but I guess the thing I’m the most sorry for is not being sorry I’m not sorry at all for the thing I have said to you about telling you you’re a liar but you are you said you loved me and you cared you said that I’m an amazing person you said that no matter what happens you would be here for me but I look now and I know that you didn’t mean it because you no longer care you no longer text me you don’t call you never want to see me and you avoid me because I’m just another heart you broke that you won’t admit that you hate and I know you hate me why else would you say those things to her but I have to believe that you were wrong because how can I hold my ground when the person I love the most wants me to bury me beneath it I have to believe that you were wrong because I might not have a lot of friends but the few I have are real unlike you I can remember what you said to the last callable, “˚ˆ®ß†´˜ you’re really a great girl I’m always going to be here for you I promise” but soon after that was said you left and I miss you I miss everything about you I miss I miss the way your hair laid perfectly without you trying I miss your crooked smile I miss the way your eyes shimmered when you talked about the things you loved I miss your hugs and how you would hold me tight and tell me everything would be okay. I miss the essence of you, man I even miss when you were being a jerk because at least you were still talking to me then, now you’re not you’re not talking to me you dropped me and acted like you never even knew I existed, do you know what that’s like? Do you know what it’s like to lose the most important person in your life to lose your everything? And the one thing I’m sorry for the most is the fact that none of this is your fault its mine I shouldn’t have acted that way when you started talking to µ´¬ø∂¥ because it’s your life your decisions weather I like them or not. I say that a lot but I never use apply it to my life just to others there is one last thing I would like to say to you before I go. I hate you I hate that you didn’t care you didn’t and you still don’t care that I loved you, you complained that no one loved you and no one cared but it’s your fault you pushed me away you’re the reason you don’t have anyone because you push them away I don’t blame you though you do have a lot going on in your life, your mother drinks and yells and your dad abuses you and pretty much the only time you see him is when he wants something and I guess you do understand, you understand what it’s like to lose someone like this because it happened with ´¬ˆΩå∫´†˙ she was your everything your entire world your only happiness in your life and that got taken away from you but you're kind of okay now but I’m still not I still think about what happened every single night I think about how it’s all my fault and how I could have stopped it from happening if I just would have let you go because if I let you go I know you would have stayed but instead I held onto you I held you close and you pushed me away and after that I did something horrible I tried to replace you I told çø¬¬ˆ˜ I loved him and honestly I thought I did but I didn’t it was just the first person that was nice to me almost like you were but not even nearly close to being the same. He just said what you said that I was great so I told him I loved him in your place and I know now that that was wrong I never should have done that, it hurt him but in the end it put the most on me because I hurt him that bad, and so I guess you're right all the good I have done is now overpowered by the bad I have done because of the hatred I have in my heart, I am sorry for this I’m sorry for leaving you I’m sorry for writing this and not giving you the time to even say okay because by the time you finish reading this letter that I will never send I will have hopefully moved on from the torture of loving someone like you, honestly I can’t believe that I’m doing this, I’m writing this all to you making you feel bad about the feelings you don’t have and I know that you can’t control feelings nor can I and I know you’re sick of hear all this but I’m sick of feeling it so I’m done I’m done feeling I’m done living and so my final thought shall be nothing but the first time I saw you smile the last sound echoing in my head will be your laugh and the last word to roll off my tongue will in fact be I love you and I am sorry, I am sorry that it had to be this way and that I believed that you were in fact not wrong about me and who I am as a person. Goodbye for now (2/24/17) I am okay now. Sure I still walk through the halls at school just with a small hope of maybe bumping into you but I’m okay I’m alive I’m better off without you (2/27/17) You messaged me again today, it like you broke my heart and then you come back just to make sure I don’t recover you’re such a jerk, you’re a jerk because you don’t even know how I feel you know that I love you but you don’t care, you know that I’m mad at you but you don’t know why you don’t even bother to ask, even if you did ask though, I wouldn’t know what to say because I know people can’t help how they feel and I shouldn’t hold you against the fact that you don’t love me. If it’s meant to be it will be, so I guess it wasn’t meant to be, or maybe it was meant to be just not now not here in this year. 3/27/17 you messaged me again i don't know why i let you back in but we are friends now again and the first thing you did was hurt in in the five minutes i trusted you because the first thing you asked was “does µ´¬ø∂¥ still have me blocked?” you didn't ask how i’ve been or say sorry all you wanted to know was all about µ´¬ø∂¥ and it hurt and i still cared, because you hurt me i should be over you but it’s like i cant its like you're the one person meant to stay in my life and you can’t see that. i guess i’m just too selfish to let you go 7/24/17 I no longer love you, i no longer look for you in the crowds of people. I am happy, i was happy until she told me. She blocked you because she had feelings for you and you for her but she knew it was wrong because she loved me. Everything i did and you still didn't love me you loved her. She did nothing but cause trouble in your life but you loved her when we spent hours talking about our lives you still picked her. But now neither of us care, we are happy together. Without you. I used to believe in you in us but now i see it was all just a lesson in life to learn to treat her right.

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writesaboutbangtan17 · 8 years ago

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say you’ll remember me

mingyu x reader fluff, angst, implied smut

6,445 words

a/n: i know some parts of this are so *stares right into the camera* obnoxiously cheesy but guess what? i like this and i just don’t care. i’m currently writing a horribly stupidly long hoseok fic, but i realized the writing had gotten a little stale n asked my bff for a prompt to write a “ficlet” (this was supposed to be 2k or less) and she gave me: mingyu, fluff and angst, wildest dreams by taylor swift (because my mingyu tag is “he’s so tall and handsome as hell”). so ta da, this is what u get

~ in which your young, dumb love will hurt you, will ruin you, has an expiration date…but is so, so worth it

You never forgot to visit your hometown in the summertime. Of course, it was nice to see your family, but you could see them any time of the year, and saw them often in the fall and the winter. What made the long drive from the city worth it in the hundred degree weather, sun glaring down on the hood of your car and baking you inside of it, was the chance to see the seaside in all its glory. You’d been raised in a humble beach town and you’d seen it a thousand times, but you’d be happy to see it a thousand more. As a kid, you couldn’t say you’d appreciated it much. The town itself and the beach were a little dumpy, nothing to write home about.

It was the memories you’d created there once upon a time that made it special. As you pulled into a spot in the tiny parking lot and cut the ignition, you could remember late nights in the backseat of a car a lot older and rustier than this one, making your own heat as you pressed your sweat-slicked body to another. You trudged out onto the sand and as it flattened beneath your sneakers, you remembered squishing it between your toes as you watched a certain young man wading in the shallow ocean waters. He’d splashed some little kids nearby, pretending to fall beneath the surface with the weight of their own splashes back at him, and you’d imagined how this scene would look many years from now with children who were the perfect mix of you and him. You’d been 17 then.

The same old snack bar stood beneath a few palm trees, and you could never forget him buying you ice cream every afternoon, no matter how much you insisted eating one ice cream cone every day would put a thousand pounds on you. He’d wrap an arm around your waist to pull you close, and “I’d still love you,” he’d hum against the side of your head. Every day without fail he’d bump his chocolate ice cream against the tip of your nose, and you’d crinkle it in fake disgust as he insisted on licking it off.

Not far away was the playground where he’d push you on the swing, the bathrooms where you’d lock yourself in a stall and make out every day, the fancy restaurant he’d saved up for a month to take you to once (and even then, he couldn’t afford for you to get anything to drink besides a water—not that you minded). You passed by them all on your way to the watchtower. No matter how many times you visited the beach, you hadn’t gone up to the top of it since that summer five years ago. But you’d just gotten a great job, made some great new friends, and you were even starting to date someone new—your life was nothing like you’d imagined it’d be back then, but it was still good. You’d told your new partner about your trip, and although it was a particularly teary conversation, you explained why it was such an important one to make. They were the one who gave you the strength to take each step up the concrete staircase, to keep your head up instead of turning and running back to your car.

The top level of the watchtower overlooked the entire beach. From one side you could see all the way into town, all the way towards your parents’ house where your old teenage bedroom was waiting for you. On the other side, the ocean went on forever. Facing the water, you wrapped both hands around the old splintered railing and looked down between them. Mingyu & Y/N 4E. It was so childish, you’d known even then that it was childish, but it still brought a smile to your face.

You refused to let the tears at the corners of your eyes fall, and reminded yourself not for the first time that none of this should make you sad anymore. It had been so long, and you’d moved on…but that couldn’t stop the longing in your heart. You wished the waves carrying away the sand and pebbles could wash away the memory of that wolfish grin, the warmth of his calloused hands on your skin, the feeling of loving him so much that you’d give up the stars and the clouds and this whole universe if it meant you’d never have to live a day without him at your side.

You wished that he had kept his promise.

“Oh my god, Mingyu,” you groaned as he shoved the small pocketknife back into his jeans, “we’re almost adults, that’s kids stuff. Some kid wanted to do that with me when I was like eleven.” Mingyu rolled his eyes and grabbed your hand, yanking you over to his side as he blew away the wood shavings to admire his masterpiece. You turned your head towards the water, letting your hair fall over your face so that he couldn’t see the lightest of pinks dusting your cheeks at how nice your names looked together—he’d never shut up about it.

“Who was it? Was it Joonki? Hyunwoo? Hyunwoo has always had a little crush on you. If it’s him, I’m gonna beat him up the next time I see him,” Mingyu ranted, and you knew he was only half-joking. You leaned into his side and reminded him,

“We were literally eleven, and Hyunwoo hasn’t even looked at me in like three years. When will you ever see him again, anyways?” The tall boy beside you said nothing, knowing you were right. He’d probably never see any of the kids he’d gone to school with here ever again.

“It’s not like I’m never coming back,” he tried, his voice small, “and I could drive over to his house right now if I wanted to. He lives like three blocks away.” You should have laughed, should have let him believe that his smallest of attempts to lighten the mood worked, but there was so much unsaid that was smothering you. A part of you wanted to beg him not to go, wanted to ask him if he really couldn’t be happy living a simple seaside life here with you. You wanted to tell him how unhappy you’d be without him, how every day the sun would be a little less bright.

Instead you asked him, “Wanna push me on the swings?” You moved to skip towards the stairs, but Mingyu’s arm around you was tight, and you just fell back into place. He was stiff, silent, and you could feel the melancholy in his bones, underneath his skin. You worked up the nerve to look at his face and wished you hadn’t—you could count on one hand the amount of times you’d seen him look so serious, let alone without a wide smile, and still have fingers left to spare. His eyes were stuck on the horizon, and you ignored the dread building in the pit of your stomach.

“C’mooon, I wanna swing,” you whined, instead of asking him what was so much better about Seoul than this town, what was so much better about being an idol than inheriting his parents’ business, what was so much better about a life without you.

Why didn’t the idea of being apart hurt him as much? Why would he carve these stupid words into this building when he knew they were a lie?

“It’s late,” was all he said, “we should go home,” and you scoffed. Mingyu hadn’t gotten you home before 2 A.M. in months, and that would be considered an early night for you two. Then again, his train did leave at nine o’clock the next morning. He wouldn’t want to be walking dead when he arrived at his new home. You wrenched yourself out of his hold, turned your back on him, took one step away.

“Wait,” he stopped you, “there’s…there’s something we have to talk about first.” You didn’t want to hear what he had to say. It could only be one thing, and maybe you could survive the heartbreak if you didn’t have to hear the actual words out loud. “We don’t, though,” you wanted your voice to be strong, but you were practically whimpering, already felt the tears threatening to fall. “We do. I don’t want to leave you hanging, wondering if you should move on or not,” he mumbled the last part, knowing as soon as the words came out of his mouth that they were the wrong thing to say. A choked sob tore from your throat, and you would have crumpled to the ground if he didn’t catch you. God, at the beginning of the summer, you had really thought that the two of you could make it. You had really thought he’d want to make it work.

You knew that it wouldn’t, though. His life would be a constant cycle of dance, sing, put on a smile for the fans, eat, sleep, repeat. There would be no time for late night Skype dates or calls during breaks, no time for days back home, no time to love you. Even if there was, you would have to be the most tightly kept secret. Once his group debuted, you knew there would be rabid fangirls constantly ready to riot if their beloved idols were seen with another woman. You could never go out with him, especially not during the day, and not without him in a hat and a mask, unable to show off that grin that was just for you. That was if the company even let him keep dating. Mingyu would try to fight it, try to do it without them knowing, but it’d only make the impossible even more difficult. There was just no fitting you into the life that he wanted, and you had to come to terms with that.

“Don’t worry, Mingyu, I know exactly what this means,” you snapped. You knew that you shouldn’t be mad at him, but you’d never felt a pain like this before. You never would again. The anger that had come on so strong, so quickly, melted away as you saw those dark brown eyes of his that had never looked at you with anything but love. He looked so beat down, so sad, and he didn’t deserve to feel that way when he was just trying to follow his dreams. You were being selfish—you weren’t worth giving those up for, and he wasn’t worth giving up yours, either. He was just a person. But he became my dream, you thought.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said, and you reached up to brush away the few tears that dripped down his cheek, “I love you. You know that I love you, right?” You nodded. How couldn’t you know that he loved you? You’d only been together for a few months, but you’d never felt safer, happier, or more cherished than you did with him.

“I love you, too,” you promised him, “I’ll never love anybody the way that I love you.” It was the truth. Young love was reckless, stupid, painful, but there was no love more sincere. You hadn’t let go of his face, and you traced your thumb longingly over his bottom lip. Longing for a kiss, longing for a lifetime with him that you’d never get.

He could at least grant your first wish, leaning forward and pressing his lips to yours fiercely. There was no brush of tongue, no lip biting, but it felt more intimate than those kisses.

It felt like a goodbye.

You were drowning in Mingyu’s shirt, one he’d just pulled out of his trunk and thrown at you before he sprinted into the water. It was barely noon, but the day had already been ruined, as far as you were concerned. You’d been awake for barely an hour and only just stepped out onto the sand for the day when a pelican dropped a huge load off on your shoulder, splattering all over your pretty new slip.

Mingyu, ever the gentleman, had fallen over from laughing so hard as you struggled to pull it off without getting any of the bird poop on yourself. It took him five minutes to compose himself well enough to walk back to his car and get this shirt for you. It was white, with an obnoxious beer logo on the front of it, as if Mingyu had ever had more than one nasty wine cooler at a party he wasn’t even supposed to be at. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he’d given you the white shirt on purpose, waiting for the perfect moment to run up and bear hug you with his big wet body so that the shirt would stick to your skin and show him the tiny little yellow bikini you had on underneath it. Pervert.

You tried not to, but with him splashing around in the water and not sitting beside you, rambling and distracting you from your thoughts, they drifted away to those that you’d been avoiding for awhile now. It was the last week of summer vacation. In six days, Mingyu would be leaving to train in Seoul, and it was yet to be determined what would happen to your relationship with him after that. Ideally, you’d try the long distance thing…but that was for normal people, people like you. Not idols. It wouldn’t be long until Mingyu debuted and the most you ever saw or heard of him would be on TV or the radio. You still had a year of high school left, and your own dreams would keep you in school for a long time, far away from him.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Mingyu popped up beside you, jolting you out of your anxious mind. You smiled and shrugged, “Not much,” deciding to put that off. Today you would be happy. If Mingyu thought you were lying, he didn’t push it. He just grabbed your hand and pulled you to your feet, fixing you with a pout.

“Come swim with me?” He asked, and you just couldn’t say no to him. You pulled off his shirt and dropped it onto the towel you’d been sitting on, glowering at him when he folded the towel over to cover it.

“I don’t wanna get bird poop on it,” he giggled, and ducked away from your swat at him. You chased him into the water, and as soon as you were waist deep, he picked you up to spin you around before dropping the both of you down beneath the surface. Holding your breath, you opened your eyes and looked at Mingyu. His were squeezed shut, but he had that signature grin on his face, canines showing and all. You drifted forward to plant a kiss on his mouth, then sprung back up to take a gulp of fresh air. Your boyfriend followed after you slowly, and stayed crouched down so his body stayed underwater while you stood. You looked down at him and if he asked, you’d swear the red on your cheeks was from the sun and not from the way he looked at you like you made the earth go around.

“Hey, do you wanna eat at at Seaside’s tonight?” He randomly asked, making you sputter through a laugh as you wringed out your hair. The cheapest entree at Seaside’s was forty bucks, you knew Mingyu didn’t have the money to drop on something like that. “But how could we skip out on ramen at Sunwoo’s,” you joked. Most nights you either bummed food off of your friends or picked up something cheap, and on Mondays, you always found your way to your friend Sunwoo’s for dinner. His parents just couldn’t turn the lovebirds away.

“I’m serious,” Mingyu said, and there was no laughter in his voice, “let me treat you. A queen deserves a feast.” There was no way you could lie your way out of this blush now. Mingyu finally got on his feet, standing at his full height and putting him a good half a foot over you. He shaded your face from the sun, and smirked at the shining scarlet staining your face.

“I don’t have anything to wear to Seaside’s,” you said meekly, and Mingyu shook his head, “I got something for you.”

He had the decency to tear the price tag off of the dress he’d picked up God-knows-where, and to admit that his sister helped him pick it out. You’d have to thank her the next time you saw her, knowing Mingyu would most likely have picked out something that just barely covered your ass and held in your boobs. The white babydoll dress stopped a few inches shy of your knees, and had a pretty lace trim on the hem and the scooped neckline. It was simple, but certainly looked and felt expensive. It amazed you that he’d go to such lengths for one fancy night with a girl he’d never see again come a week from now.

He’d sent you outside ahead of him when it came time to pay the bill, and you told him you’d wait at the top of the watchtower. The steps were a little scary in heels you’d only bought to wear to a wedding once, and then never again, but you managed. You figured Mingyu didn’t want you around to see how many bills he had to drop on the counter, for which you were thankful. It was nerve-wracking enough just knowing he’d spent so much money, without knowing exactly how much. He had calmly told you when you sat down at the table that you could order whatever you liked, and had even suggested the most expensive item on the menu. After you insisted that you could never finished a twenty ounce, sixty dollar steak, you told him that one of the $20 salads looked good—but when the waiter came, Mingyu ordered a steak for himself and one of the fancy seafood dishes for you, over forty bucks.

It was something he knew you well enough to be sure you’d love, and you couldn’t be annoyed with him for it, just genuinely curious about what you’d ever done to deserve it or him. This was what you were pondering on when you heard footsteps coming up behind you, and turned to see Mingyu. The sun was just starting to set, and in that light, he took your breath away. He was so tall and broad, filling out his white button-up and dark jeans nicely, with gorgeous bronze skin that he was somehow self-conscious of stretched over his frame, and jet black hair flopping over his eyes. As soon as he reached your side, you pushed his bangs back off his forehead and took another moment to admire him up close.

“You look prettier than me, babe,” Mingyu said quietly, knowing exactly what you were thinking, as always. You shrugged, “True,” and when he looked offended for half a second, you added, “But you do give me a run for my money.”

The two of you watched the sunset in silence after that. When there was only a sliver of the sun left over the horizon, and the deep orange had almost entirely melted away to a darker blue, you finally peeked over at Mingyu to see that he had his head resting on his hand, turned entirely away from the water, with his eyes locked on you.

You sighed and told him, “You don’t have many sunsets left here to watch, you know.” He seemed to concentrate even harder on you at that. “I don’t ever want to forget what you look like right now,” he whispered, “the sunset doesn’t compare.”

You had been seeing Kim Mingyu for exactly a month when he showed up outside your house that morning. The looks your parents gave you as you skipped down the stairs and ran out the front door were of exceptional displeasure, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to care when the most handsome boy was waiting for you.

You fixed the slip over your bathing suit before slipping into the passenger’s seat, and were happy to note that you didn’t even flinch when he wrapped his big hand around your thigh, anymore. Normally, he wouldn’t hesitate to start the car and head towards the beach as quickly as possible, but this morning was different from others. He cocked his head and bit his lip, contemplative, then finally asked,

“Do you have a change of clothes in your bag?” The tote that you’d put down on your feet was heavy, and that weight did include a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, but instead of telling him that, you had to ask why. Mingyu’s other hand was rubbing the back of his neck as he answered, “I want to take you into the city today.” You didn’t have it in you to be annoyed with him for not telling you beforehand, or for sneaking peeks at you as you changed from your bikini top into your bra and slipped into your other clothes while he drove on the empty country roads leading away from town.

“There’s a bunch of different street foods in the city, and weird shops that they’d never have back home, and karaoke bars and stuff like that,” he raved, “and there’s so many more people, lots of foreigners.” You remembered him telling you that he’d gone to the city to visit family a few months ago, but you’d never known exactly how enamored with it he was. It sounded fun, but the slower, simpler life in town appealed to you much more.

He hadn’t been lying about the crowds. It took twenty minutes to get egg bread by the river, and even longer to find a nice quiet spot to sit and eat. Mingyu listed off all the different shops he wanted to take you to, dozens of them that sold things from clothes to stationary to cooking supplies, but you weren’t listening much, more focused on watching him speak. The way his eyes lit up and he stumbled on his words because he was talking so fast made you suspicious. You’d never seen him so excited about anything before

“Do you want to go up to Seoul Tower?” Mingyu asked as he dragged you out of one shop and right into another. The last had been a cosmetics store that spilled products out into the street, this one was a fancy boutique with cute summer dresses and skirts. You pretended you couldn’t hear him as you flipped through some clothes on the rack beside you, pausing for a moment on a pretty white dress you couldn’t afford. If this were any other trip into the city, you’d jump at a chance to go and see the view from the top of the tower, but you weren’t dumb enough to believe this was any other trip. Eventually, Mingyu would admit the real reason he brought you here, but no matter how many times you asked him what that was, he insisted he just wanted you to get out of town and see some place new.

He took you up to the tower, anyways, and you wanted to admire the cityscape, but couldn’t take your eyes off of Mingyu. It was as you saw him devour the sight, jaw dropped and eyes wide like he’d never seen it before, that you realized this was where he wanted to be. Ice spread through your veins at the thought. Maybe you’d gotten too close to this boy too fast, diving into him headfirst before you even thought about what his life looked like, what he wanted it to look like in the future. Maybe your parents weren’t wrong for thinking you were in too deep with him.

“It’s amazing, right?” You just nodded at him. You didn’t know what else you could say. On the ride down the mountain, Mingyu held your hand tight and gushed about some of the people he’d met when he’d been visiting, guys named Seungcheol and Jihoon who took him to the village the cable car would drop you off near. He didn’t tell you how he met them, just how nice and funny they were. You could barely appreciate the scenery there as he kept talking about them, jokes they’d made and funny things they’d done. He mentioned some guys named Soonyoung and Wonwoo, as well.

“Where did you meet all these guys?” You finally asked him, and he told you, “Oh, they’re friends with my cousin,” and that was the last of that. He got you jajangmyeon for dinner, and as you slurped your noodles in silence, he talked about how many more opportunities there were in Seoul than in your hometown. When he mentioned how much easier it was to get into music and acting and whatever other forms of entertainment, you laughed for the first time all day.

“I don’t think it’s easy to do it just because you can,” you informed him, and for the first time all day, the smile slipped off of his face. The knot of anxiety in your chest wound tighter at this as your mind went into overdrive trying to pull together all the pieces of this puzzle, knowing Mingyu didn’t have much longer to stave off telling you the truth, hoping you could figure it out before then. He suggested walking the food off when you finished eating, and led you through the city streets. It seemed he had finally run out of praise to heap upon the place, and you made the mistake of relaxing in the silence, thinking he was taking you back in the direction of wherever he’d left his car so you could finally go home. You shut your eyes and leaned your head on his shoulder, trusting him not to walk you into oncoming traffic. You didn’t even realize it when he’d stopped walking.

“Y/N, babe,” he sighed into your hair, “open your eyes.” You weren’t sure what you expected when you did, but a wide plain building with the words ‘PLEDIS Entertainment’ hung up on the side of it were not high on the list. “What, is this the company one of those idols you like works for?” You asked, and felt Mingyu shift from one foot to the other, moving his weight away from you. He pulled his arm out of your hands and turned to fully face you, with his lip tucked tight between his teeth and his eyes on the ground.

“Well, yes, but,” he took a deep breath, “this is the company that I auditioned for a few months ago. And I got in.” Just yesterday, you’d been imagining what your kids would like, all tan-skinned and sharp canines and thick black hair, splashing in the waves at home every day. I’m so stupid, you realized, why did I think I’d be enough for him? You refused to cry, refused to let this boy who you barely knew break your heart like this, refused to acknowledge the part of your brain screaming at you that the two of you knew each other better than anyone else ever had. You’d never survive this if you didn’t start insisting to yourself that Kim Mingyu meant nothing.

You blinked at him and said, “Oh, that’s cool.” Then you stepped around him and kept walking forward. Shoulders back, chest out, chin up, you told yourself, do not fucking cry. “Don’t be like that, Y/N,” you heard him saying from behind you, “please, I need you to be happy for me.” You spun on your heel with a sharp smile painted on to your face, “It’s great news, Mingyu. You’ll do well.” Then kept walking.

It could have all ended right there. You could have insisted Mingyu drive you home, locked yourself in your room for the rest of the summer, never fallen in love with him. But when you heard a tiny, broken “thank you,” from the boy who you couldn’t stand to see without a smile on his face, you couldn’t help it. “How can I be happy about this?” You asked, stopping at the curb. Mingyu hurried to your side, taking your hand back into his and holding on so tight, so that you couldn’t let go. His other hand locked around your jaw, forcing your head to turn so you could look into his eyes.

“I know it’s hard, babe,” he said, “but this is my dream. I want to be a rapper!” You almost laughed. Kim Mingyu, the sweetest boy you’d ever met—a rapper. But you could tell he was serious, and you’d never laugh at his dream, just like you hoped he’d never laugh at or dismiss any of yours. Seeing the sincerity in his eyes, the desperation for you to be on board, you knew you couldn’t disappoint him, and under no circumstances could you be the reason he didn’t do any and everything he wanted to and was capable of.

“It’s really great, Mingyu,” you assured him, and you meant it this time, “I’ll support you the whole way.” The relief that flooded his face was worth it.

It turned out he did have a cousin in town, albeit a much older cousin with their own apartment that they said you could stay over in. You called your parents to tell them that you were staying over at your friend Soojung’s, and they believed you because you’d never been one to lie before getting mixed up with Mingyu. You remembered that you’d never even told them you were going into the city. They’d kill you if they found out.

“Sejun’s working the night shift,” Mingyu informed you as he came back into the guest bedroom, “he just left.” You were wearing a shirt of Sejun’s and your bikini bottoms and nothing else, and Mingyu was only wearing a pair of loose sweatpants low on his hips, and you really thought he would have slept on the couch, but he was sliding underneath the comforter beside you before you could say as much. The furthest you’d gone with him so far was just barely making out in his car a few nights ago, but the electricity charging in the small space between your bodies really wanted you to move closer and attach your body to his.

“Mingyu,” you whispered into the dark, and he hummed back at you. That was all you could take, rolling over to swing one leg over his thighs, effectively straddling him. Mingyu oomfed with the sudden weight on top of him, but his big hands immediately came up to circle your waist.

“You’re moving to Seoul in a couple of months,” you said, as if he needed reminding, and you could just barely make out his nodding before you dipped down to press your lips to his and swallow his moan when you slowly swirled your hips to grind against his bulge. If anybody back home knew you were so ready to go so far with him so soon, they would think so lowly of you, but you’d never cared less what people back home thought. Now you knew your love story had a deadline, a timer ticking down, and not to a happily ever after. There was no time to waste.

You tossed your sunglasses into the sand, rolling from your back to your stomach and laying your head on your folded arms beneath you. It was a thousand degrees outside and you weren’t really looking to work on your tan, but what else was there to do? Soojung was supposed to meet you, and at least then you could go swimming with her, but she was already a half hour late.

It was the first Monday after school got out for the summer, and the beach was packed. You ignored everybody you recognized from school, not seeing anyone you particularly liked, anyways. Kim Mingyu and Shin Sunwoo were splashing around in the water, and they were cute but they were also obnoxious, and you weren’t friends with them, barely even knew them. Mingyu and you had a class or two together every year, but had barely ever spoken.

You had just started to drift off into a very warm nap when you felt tiny drops of water hitting your back, and in your head, you cursed the weatherman for predicting clear skies all day. “They never get that shit right,” you grumbled, shifting your weight onto your palms to lift your upper body, and heard a familiar voice ask you, “What’d you say?”

You looked over your shoulder at Mingyu leaned over you, drops of ocean water dripping from the ends of his hair onto your skin. Groaning, you reached up to push his legs, and watched him fall onto his ass with a satisfied smile before dropping down to get back to sleep.

“Hey, stop,” he said, “you can’t fall asleep out here, I didn’t see you put sunscreen on or anything.”

You snorted at that, “What, like you were watching me?”

“Well. Uh. Yes?” That was not what you expected to hear, and you felt wide awake now. Daring to look at Mingyu again, you were greeted by a shy grin. You’d never noticed before how his pointed canines peeked out like fangs, and you found it oddly endearing.

“Do you even know my name?”

“Of course I know your name, Y/N,” He said, with the most incredulous tone, but you wouldn’t have blamed him if he didn’t. You finally sat up to face him, and somehow kept your eyes from wandering to his chest and abs, soaked with water, shining in the sunlight. It was truly a feat to admire. “Ok, then why were you watching me?”

“Because you were laying here alone, and we’ve never really talked before, and I’ll be honest, your butt looks really cute in those bikini bottoms.” You fought a blush, and the words didn’t sound as gross in his sweet voice, didn’t make you want to punch his teeth out, either.

“Well, your butt looks pretty cute in your trunks,” you told him, and God only knows where the bravery came from to even throw in a wink. You and Mingyu talked for hours, and when Sunwoo came over to ask if Mingyu was coming over to eat, he was waved off without so much as a glance. You didn’t even notice when Soojung arrived and saw you with him, and headed over to somebody else she knew instead of interrupting the two of you.

“That’s hilarious that you think so, Y/N, but I know that I can eat more tteokbokki than you can,” Mingyu insisted, and if he listened hard enough he would have heard the gears in your head turning, churning up the best bet you could think of, knowing he was wrong. Maybe you’d have him streak across the beach tomorrow, or climb onto the roof of the watchtower.

“Then you’ll have to prove it,” you challenged him, “tomorrow. We’ll meet here and get some from the snack bar and see who is the Tteokbokki Eating Champion.” Mingyu immediately accepted, smile wide, and you thought to yourself that that was a smile you could get used to seeing.

He offered to drive you home when it started getting dark, but you wound up in another long conversation as you were walking towards the car, and ended up lapping the entire length of the beach a few times before you felt too tired to go on anymore. When you passed the playground for the fourth time, you beelined towards its gate, and Mingyu followed.

You ignored the jungle gym, the monkey bars, and the slide, and found yourself perched on a swing, as any normal person would choose. Instead of sitting on the swing beside you like you expected him too, Mingyu walked behind to start pushing you. You ignored the goosebumps that rose as you felt his hands on your skin for the first time.

“Y/N, what do you wanna do after high school?” You couldn’t say that you’d thought much about it. A lot of kids were desperate to leave town, but you loved it here, and had just expected to work at your parents’ restaurant instead of thinking of what you would actually like to do.

“I’m not sure,” you admitted, “I just…want to be happy.” Mingyu gave an affirmative hum. You talked to him about anything either of you could think to ask the other, getting to know him like you’d never expected to, telling him things you’d never told anybody, not even your closest friends. Something about Mingyu made you feel so at ease. It was when he grabbed the chains and abruptly stopped your swing, leaning over to grin down at you over the stupidest pun you’d just told, that it occurred to you for the first time: you could fall in love with this guy.

You could be happy with him.

Mingyu & Y/N 4E. You brushed your thumb lovingly over the words, and even though you tried not to, thought of that morning that he left. You’d fallen asleep in the watchtower, and when you woke up, he was long gone. The sounds of the first beachgoers cars pulling into the parking lot and excited kids yelling as they ran towards the water twinkled into your ear, and you couldn’t even feel angry that he’d left you here. He had a train to catch, after all, and you only lived a few blocks away. Your tote bag had been sitting on one of the steps, and as you grabbed it to sling over your shoulder, you noticed a little note placed delicately on top of it.

I’ll never forget falling in love with you this summer.

You’d kept that note for a long time—it was folded up in your wallet right now. You plucked it from it’s pocket and held it out over the railing, then watched it slowly drift down to the waters surface. It floated there for a minute, before a gentle wave came to carry it away.

It had taken a long time to accept Mingyu’s decision, but you’d always known that you’d never ask him to give up on his dreams for you, that life would go on after he left. You had to believe that one day you’d have a happy life, even without him in it, and you had to believe that he’d be happy, too. Seventeen had been doing well, winning award after award, every comeback seeming to top the last. You liked them, and it wasn’t just because of the voice that you missed, that you could only hear in song or during interviews now.

You made the trek back to your car, and decided that you wouldn’t come back to this beach for awhile. One day you’d bring your kids here and they wouldn’t look like him, at all, and you’d buy them ice cream and tap their noses with it, and you’d give them kisses underwater, and you’d push them on the swings and maybe even show them your name carved into the railing on the watchtower.

You’d tell them that it was worth it to fall into a love that will never last.

And you’d remember the boy with bronze skin and the wolfish grin, and hope one day somebody could make them as happy as he made you, even if it was just for one summer.

#mingyu fluff #mingyu angst #mingyu scenarios #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen scenarios #kpop fluff #kpop angst #kpop scenarios #i wrote this #once again i hope someone likes this #and please validate me :)#i wrote this in only a few hours so!!! idk bye

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