#god forbid i wanted to get a bit of fresh air and some reading in before the storm. 🙄 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

neo-contemporaryfailure · 7 months ago

Text

A chest cold tests Olive and Jack's relationship; Jack thinks about his time with Mary.

JACK is half awake, laying face down, in bed. Olive, across the room, is pulling on a wrap dress over a leotard.

JACK

Why are you here?

OLIVE

I've been thinking of taking a ballet class. I'm getting a bit rusty. But I enjoy our mornings in the studio much more. So imagine my surprise when I get there this morning and you aren't there-

JACK

But why are you here?

OLIVE

God forbid I see my husband in the morning. Just wanted to make sure you're alive.

JACK

I'd never kill myself without telling you.

OLIVE

Gentleman. I wanted this dress and I wanted my shoes that match. I have a bag that goes with it at my place, I'm not sure why this dress never made it over.

JACK

Why are they here?

OLIVE

I spend too much time with you.

JACK

A woman's place is in her apartment.

OLIVE

Yet another thing we agree on.

She looks at him with genuine affection. Disgusting (and she knows it.) She sits next to him and messes with his hair. He half rolls over and swats her away.

OLIVE

(Thoroughly entertained)

Do you want me to pick you up a bottle of NyQuil? You look like shit.

JACK

No. That garbage isn't good for you.

OLIVE picks up a bottle of pills off the nightstand, she reads the label.

OLIVE

You're right. Secobarbital is all you ever need.

She opens the drawer and puts the pill bottle in it. Among others.

OLIVE

Okay, my lord. Whose kneecaps do I have to break for getting you sick? Was it Maurice?

JACK

I think it was the kid’s brat. Children are disgusting.

OLIVE

Well that's unfortunate. I have a “no killing children” rule. Guess avenging you will have to wait 12 more years. See you at the studio tomorrow morning?

JACK gives a thumbs up. OLIVE leaves.

JACK'S MIND. Or maybe the past.

A huge stage. People around him. Jack is 18 years old.

Bright lights. The ensemble is singing.

He is dancing, and has been for at this point, 7 minutes straight.

The number changes into a waltz. He waltzes with Mary. Her eyes are serious.

She is whisked off stage.

The number changes again, into the culmination of the show, something big and serious that makes the audience want to stay. JACK keeps dancing, now doing tap.

It's so aggressive.

He continues, and continues, and continues, then, in one final moment, sticks the landing to thunderous applause. Lights go down, the curtain falls. He cannot breathe. One of the ensemble members helps him off stage.

MARY

(quiet)

I need you not to look like you're trying so hard. It's distracting.

JACK nods. He loosens his collar.

JACK

I'm trying.

MARY furrows her brow.

MARY

Get some fresh air. You're turning purple.

Back to now.

JACK is taking a cold shower because he's a freak. His eyes are closed.

The living room. JACK enters.

OLIVE is on the sofa. She's reading a book. Her ankle is wrapped in an bandage and resting up on the arm of the sofa.

JACK

What happened?

OLIVE looks up.

OLIVE

I fucked the landing right before intermission. Greg dropped me a half moment too early and my ankle rolled and I fell flat on my face.

JACK

Why didn't you call? I would've gone down there and yelled at you.

OLIVE

I did. You didn't answer. But I managed the second act. I'll probably be fine tomorrow, if I rest it tonight, which I'm doing and that's why I'm here instead of going all the way out to my place. Sorry if you had a flu-orgy planned tonight.

JACK shrugs and goes into the other room.

BACK in Jack's mind.

Another day from the same show as before. Something has changed, a costume or an orchestration, it's been a few days.

We are at the beginning of the tap segment. Jack is working so hard and everyone can tell it. He looks younger than he is.

Suddenly, he stumbles, he stops dancing. He steps back.

The ensemble doesn't know what's going on, but they keep working.

JACK gets back to it, but he's all messed up. He keeps trying.

MARY, watching him from off stage, is confused.

He can't do it.

He can't do any of it. He stops dancing again, he stumbles back. He falls over. The audience laughs.

MARY gestures for someone to grab him, then zips out and finishes the number herself, so casually.

A few moments later. JACK sits. Behind him is one of the ensemble members, who is sorta propping him up. So nice.

MARY enters. Everyone speaks in whispers.

MARY

Extra long intermission, I got us 10 more minutes.

She kneels in front of Jack. She barely looks real. She looks like she's going to say something. Mary is not the type of person who can obscure frustration on her face.

MARY

We need to give him something to– does anyone have some- shoot what's it- dexedrine? Get him some of those, he'll be good to go.

Everyone looks at her like she's insane.

Back to now!

Olive is way too close to Jack. She is sitting on his chest, staring into his soul. Jack shoves her away as he snaps back into the real world. They're in the bedroom.

OLIVE

You weren't breathing.

JACK

Yes I was.

OLIVE

I came in here and you weren't breathing. What'd you take?

JACK

Liv, I have a chest cold. I'm not shooting up heroin.

OLIVE

Heroin no. Mixing barbiturates with whatever the fuck your dealer is calling coke–

JACK

Jesus Christ. Fuck off.

OLIVE

You're freaking me out, Jack.

JACK sits up, he's disoriented for a moment. He looks for a pack of cigarettes.

JACK

Fucking hysterical.

Jack finds his cigarettes. Yippee. He lights one.

OLIVE

I'm calling them and telling them to send the understudy– Don't smoke. Don't smoke, Jack, come on.

JACK

Make me.

She grabs the cigarette. She puts it out.

OLIVE

Let's go sit outside.

They sit on the balcony. It's mid morning. Jack has his hands over his eyes. Olive is stretching.

JACK

How's your ankle?

OLIVE

I didn't know you had the capability to remember something from two whole days ago. Impressive. It's fine, thank you. You're so kind and considerate.

JACK

City air is making me feel worse.

OLIVE

Do I need to bring you to the seaside for your delicate constitution? Are you wasting away from consumption?

Jack doesn't get it.

JACK

I don't think so.

OLIVE

You look like a corpse.

JACK

When you were sitting on my chest, my first thought was, “I can't breathe.” My second thought was, “this bitch needs to lose 10 pounds.” No wonder Greg dropped you.

OLIVE

I cannot wait to take everything from you in the divorce.

Jack stands up. Woozy, a bit, he goes back inside. Olive follows.

JACK

Go do the show, Liv. I'll be mad if you don't…

Jack's mind again. Somewhere, Jack isn't focused on where, he is sitting. Mary is sitting up close to him. She's all he notices.

MARY

Jack. Look at me. I'm not saying this to hurt you. I'm not mad at you. I want you to understand that this show needs to go forward.

JACK

I can do it.

MARY

Buddy, kiddo, you can't. You've made it clear that you can't pull it off. Not for 8 shows a week. I can't have you nearly dying every intermission.

JACK

I can do it. I have the skills–

MARY

And you have the talent and you have the chutzpah, I know. But Jack, I built that number around how you can move, just because you can move that way doesn't mean you should.

JACK

(As hurt as humanly possible)

You don't think I can do it.

MARY

You can't. You tried and you couldn't pull it off. You're not meant to do it.

JACK

But I'm ruining your show.

MARY

Bert and I already found someone to replace you. Nothing is ruined. You just can't do it. There are all sorts of things in life that you just have to fail at. And you failed at it, Jack. Okay? Everyone fails all the time. It's a part of life.

JACK

Mary, let me try again. Please. Mary.

MARY

It's been 4 days, Jack. The- the show has to go on. Okay? You know that.

JACK

You asked me to do this show and I have to do it for you, Mary.

Mary looks so overwhelmed by this pathetic loser.

MARY

You're gonna break my heart, Jack. You're going to make me cry. Don't do that. Just tell me it's okay. I know you know that it's for the best if I fire you.

JACK

I don't want you to fire me because I can do it. This show is important, Mary, I can't ruin it.

MARY

Jack, you're going to ruin it if you keep trying to play this role. You can't do it. You don't have the tenacity, you don't have the endurance, you have asthma. You need to be the one who decides that this is not the best option for you as a person.

JACK

I don't care if it is. I can do it and I'm going to do it, until I can't.

MARY

Jack. You are at the can't. Now, you can either let me fire you or force me to. And you force me to, it's going to hurt me a lot. I don't want to send you back to New York upset with you. I need you to tell me you'll be okay if I replace you.

Ouch. Mary touches his face and looks him in the eyes. Maybe there's love, or maybe it's just frustration.

MARY

Say it, please.

JACK

Okay.

Mary hugs him.

MARY

You're fired.

She pulls away. She looks at him. She's very serious but she's not honest.

MARY

This show means less to me than your life, Jack. You understand that?

Jack nods.

MARY

Okay. So you're going to go back to New York, you're going to my place, you're going to recover, and then when we're in New York, you're going to come back and help me finish up the choreography, you understand that? There's always room for you, Jack. There's always going to be a place. It's just not opposite me.

Back to now.

Jack and Olive sit in the living room. It's a few hours later. Olive is reading a book, half resting on him. How embarrassing, enjoying being with a person. Cringe.

Olive adjusts and looks at him. He is a bit startled to see her.

OLIVE

What?

JACK

I forgot you were still here.

OLIVE

You were mumbling in your sleep.

JACK

I was thinking about Mary.

OLIVE

You know I saw her at the the ballet once. As a little girl. I thought she was so beautiful.

JACK

She was. Did I tell you that she fired me?

OLIVE

You have. And to that, I say that, when you and I did the Sunshine number the first time you kept adjusting my legs so I'd stop overextending even though it looked better.

JACK

Mary didn't believe in limitations. She wanted more of everything.

OLIVE

Viability, Jack. The perfect dancer only exists in science fiction. The viable dancer is in the room.

Olive adjusts again, this time sitting closer to him. He puts his arms around her and closes his eyes.

#fiction #jack ainsworth #olive Cameron #writing #writers on tumblr #web fiction #writers #unscheduled because I want to post this one before the one I have scheduled at 6pm

2 notes · View notes

yxstxrdrxxm-a · 10 months ago

Text

POLL RESULT—! > Leave the house. Getting a breath of fresh air will do.

Although the florist was rattled from thinking about even stepping outside of their shop, they needed to get some time outside. Maybe a short walk will help them feel a bit better, even if it won't help them forget what they saw.

Taking a few breaths to soothe their nerves, they began to prepare themselves to head out. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

In the time they spent preparing themselves to head out, they carried the books they borrowed. They needed to start reading these, lest they forget. They were worried that it could lead to them forgetting should they have left it behind.

Trudging down the pavement, they nodded to a few residents and looked around, the feeling of tension still rests on their shoulders.

This isn't good. Why are they still nervous?

Is it a mistake to leave?

They began to walk faster, their hand clutched onto their books tighter. The nerves were getting to them, and it was bad. Very bad.

They needed to breathe, right? They need to. No, they have to. They need to relax, or God forbid they simply forget to do so.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Deep—

"—oh, my. It seems you're about to stumble over."

A firm hand held onto YESTERDAY's shoulder, causing them to flinch and whip their head to see who stopped them.

"Relax, I won't hurt you," the blue eyed man stated, offering them a warm smile. "You looked like you're about to faint, you know. It'd be bad if you walked too far and got hurt when you fall."

... Oh.

YESTERDAY let out the breath they held and nodded, though they looked embarrassed. To think that a stranger would actually stop them... How embarrassing indeed.

"Ah, is that so?" they replied, chuckling nervously. "I'm... So sorry, sir. I'm a bit shaken, you see, and I didn't notice you were there."

He raised an eyebrow, though they can tell it was out of concern. Maybe he wanted to know what had them act like it?

"Hm... I see. What was it that has you so shaken?"

YESTERDAY hesitated. Sure, maybe it was right to tell him what it was, but something about his eye just... Made them so weary. Perhaps enough to make them feel like something is off about him.

This poll will receive answers until 9 PM (GMT+8). Keep in mind that the majority will win, so vote what you think is right.

Additionally, any poll after this with additional votes WILL be null when the results are out. Choose wisely, focus on the recent poll, and ignore the past.

FLAWED TAGLIST: (send an ask to be added for Flawed!) @beloved-blaiddyd ; @mixed-kester ; @mochinon-yah ; @fffiii ; @leftdestiny-posts ; @ambrosia-divine

5 notes · View notes

shiroi---kumo · 2 years ago

Text

"I don't mean to sound cold when I say this, but Kumo's been suffering with a lot worse things that this. Not having his mask for a few more days or maybe a week is the least of my worries. That man is like a cat with an injured paw. He'll walk on it until it causes major damage but the minute someone else enters the room, he'll hide it and pretend he's completely fine. It's frustrating."

It's a sigh that leaves him as she continues and the technician finds himself perching in the chair at his desk as he does so. There's a motion to the other chair in his office for her to take a seat. The one the Misterican in question was getting in only hours prior with a sour look on his face when he got told no yet again.

He can't say he doesn't agree with her on the idea of not rushing it - it's honestly a breath of fresh air to hear Hawkeye agree with him so at least maybe someone can talk some sense into the swordsman on the subject. Kumo hardly seems to be listening to him, and if he dared to tell the man that he had been considering going to the Misterica remnant so he could retrieve information about their technology - something tells him that would either produce an explosion unlike he's ever seen or a passive shut down that would only feel like a stab to the heart.

And he wants to experience neither.

"I don't want it rushed either, obviously, Kumo doesn't seem to want to listen to me. I've already had it for a week. If I have it for another one, I think he's likely to get miserable to be around. I mean I can try to explain it to him again but I don't know if he'll listen. He normally just waves me off and lets me do as I will."

He's leaning forward with an elbow on his desk as he keeps his chair turns to face her. He could fix the mask easy without going to Misterica. He could just replace the wiring but he wouldn't be able to do anything else about all the other problems. That filtering system needs an upgrade because the last thing any of them need is for something toxic to get into Kumo's lungs and cause damage. He doesn't even know what would happen if it did.

They're going to need to go eventually but he refuses to go behind Kumo's back. It wouldn't do any good any way since any books or text that could be useful would all be written in Misterican anyway and no one but Kumo can read it.

"I mean I could probably have Sumi running properly in a couple days. Give a couple more for recovery, he'd be down for a week. The mask isn't the problem though. It's the port. I need to get him in here so I can look at the port on the back of his neck.

I glanced at it a little earlier today but I felt him lock up as soon as I started poking around in it. It'd be better if I could just knock him out for a little while, and I mean I don't blame him. He's got advanced circuitry embedded into the base of his skull and spine.

Every one of the main nerves are setting in a housing unit and using the electrical pulses they generate to fire off commands. That's why his mask responds the way it does and as quickly as it does. Sumi has no power source, so it's not like I have a battery or something I have to recharge. Kumo's nervous system is it's power source.

So when I poke around inside the port, it's impossible not to shock him a little if he's conscious. It's painful for him. I know it is; it has to be. His whole boy locked solid just a little bit ago when I was trying to get a good look at it. So I mean, if he was in pain when I was just poking around looking at it - imagine what it would feel like if I need to go in there and replace wiring and pneumatic actuators, or god forbid a housing unit. I don't know what's wrong with it completely but I know the power output levels are all wrong.

So I'm going to need to go in there and replace something. So that means surgery whether he likes it or not and surgery means recovery so he's going to get stuck in the medical ward again, whether he likes it or not. So that puts us exactly at why Kumo's mad at me. He wants an instant fix, but it's not instant. Surgery of that kind means he's going to be down for at least a few days longer than normal. His body heals a little different than ours does for obvious reasons.

So if I don't fix the port, Sumi can be up and running for him in the next couple of days. However that route means the increased risk of further damage to the port and Kumo. Basically, the longer I put off fixing that port, the more his risk of paralysis increases, because the next time he dies - the shock might back flash and fry the entire system. Do you see what I'm saying?

I need someone other than me to convince Kumo that letting me do this surgery is all of which a good idea, safe and productive. I need someone other than me to get this through his thick skull. If I could get Kaze to tell him, he would do it without question, but that's impossible. Kaze will want to rush back out there and get moving just as quickly as Kumo does."

His head falls into his hand as his elbow sets on his desk and he heaves a sigh again. Neither Kaze or Kumo is going to like this, and neither one of them would really want to listen either if he knows those two stubborn mules.

"I just need someone to talk to him, Hawkeye. I would do it myself but I can't talk to him and work on Sumi at the same time. I think you'll be fine. He seems to like you well enough. He's had nothing but high praise thus far, so I think you'll be okay. For as upset as he is about this whole situation, he's been smiling so that's a good sign. If you're unsure about it though, you can always talk to him with Mr. Mustang. Kumo has had high praise for you both."

Was it because White Cloud didn't trust them yet? That could explain why he showed no signs of migraines. To compare, she was in a place of privilege when it came to the Colonel. Around most people, he hid the fact that he suffered from migraines---or any sort of pain in general. He carried on as usual while he privately lamented to her, or other members of the team, that he needed something to mitigate his suffering. His public persona of a lazy Commanding Officer allowed him to get away with slacking off more on those days.

If a lack of trust was the case, then she wouldn't push the issue. Trust was earned, not demanded. Only White Cloud could determine whether or not anyone from Amestris was worthy his trust. Considering what they just told him about the Philosopher's Stone, and their history with war and murder...

For now, she dropped the subject. If Misterica was here, that needed to be the focus. An amber gaze stayed focused on Cid, curious as she wondered if he knew anything. From the look on his face, and how he folded his arms over his chest, he did know something, but he was hesitant. He had to sift through his knowledge and determine what White Cloud wanted others to know. This required a certain amount of care, she supposed.

A great amount of care, it turned out. As Cid spoke, and sighed more than once, she recognized the change in demeanor. His words held weight as they traveled to her ears, and she did her best to hold them. What remained of Misterica in Wonderland was all that remained of White Cloud's entire world, its people---everything. He probably didn't have much of a chance to grieve that loss, if she had to guess, and he didn't want anyone else to see something that caused him such immense pain.

With beings like Chaos, that pain could be weaponized. It probably was weaponized at one point or another.

A heavy sigh left her lips as she nodded her head. What could she do in this position? Cid needed to fix the mask, and he stood a better chance with a firm grasp of Misterican technology. That required going to what remained of Misterica, but that... there was a reason White Cloud didn't talk about home. It was a grief she couldn't begin to understand. Grief in general didn't make much sense to her. Losing her father was almost a celebratory moment, and, while she missed Hughes, she didn't have the strong connection to him like the Colonel. Even then, why miss someone who wasn't coming back?

As for the lives she took in Ishval... No. She had no right to grieve them. Or anyone.

This was more of the Colonel's area of expertise by far. He was the tactful one, the one who knew the right words to say, how to be there for someone going through hell. She was the blunt one, the one who followed orders, the one who did what needed to be done. Maybe, when he woke up, she could ask him what he thought was the best course of action. After all, he spent more time with White Cloud, and he likely had a better idea how he might react. But, right now...

"Either way, he suffers. We just have to let him know that he doesn't have to suffer alone." Her gaze wandered to the floor for a few seconds before it found its way back up to Cid. "I don't want this rushed, and I doubt White Cloud wants that either. But, I think we need to go to Misterica, and we need to be upfront with White Cloud about why. I know you don't want to hurt him, but if you tell him that you want to understand how his people built his mask, I think he'll be more understanding."

Maybe. She could be completely wrong. Considering she wasn't a people person, her analysis could be opposite of what would actually happen. White Cloud might close off from them completely and be insulted by this direct approach. They didn't need more mind games.

"How long would it take you to fix his mask without going to Misterica? If he's given time frames to work with, that could help. In the meantime... I don't know if I'm the best person to talk to about his home, but I could try. I only know what it's like to be alone with a burden like this, and carrying it without help... it's not easy."

#v; Nobody Else Would Know #Arc: Amestris No More #Hawksights #She Held My Hand as We Walked || Hawksights #Guest Muse: Cid #tw; doctors #tw; hospital #tw; injury #tw; surgery #tw; long post

21 notes · View notes

pilothusband · 4 years ago

Text

All Hail The King

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

Warnings: Alcohol, oral sex, p in v sex, praise kink. I’m a horny bitch, okay? This is purely indulgent.

Word count: 5k

Author’s note: Special thanks to @wyn-dixie for reading this over before I posted it and for enabling this filth. ❤️ This idea entered my brain randomly and I had to write it out. Please let me know what you think! I want your feedback. If I had Photoshop I would have made an edit of Frankie with a crown for this but I don’t have it so here’s this gif instead.

The bar is humming with activity, but the table you’re nestled at in the back provides enough shelter to allow you all to converse without having to yell at each other.

You’ve been nursing a glass of water for a while now, since you’re the designated driver this week. It doesn’t bother you, though— you’re just happy to be out with your friends.

Every once in a while you steal a glance over at Frankie, who’s sitting diagonally across the table, next to Santiago who is directly across from you. Benny is to your left, his large body crowding you into the wall, and his brother Will is at the head of the table.

“Hey Fish,” Benny claps a hand on his shoulder. The force of his hand jostles Frankie’s solid body backwards a little, but to his credit he doesn’t flinch. “How are things with that girl you were seeing? Jennessa? Jennifer?”

You take a sip of your water and look down at the table to mask your interest at the sudden change in conversation.

“Jessica,” Frankie clears his throat. “They aren’t. We didn’t have much in common so she broke it off after a few dates.”

Queue the internal cheering. Jessica was a bit of a wet mop, to be honest. She never had anything to say when Frankie brought her around and she would scoff at everything that was slightly unsavory in her eyes. Deep down, you had to come to terms with the jealous twinge you felt in your gut every time she would squeeze Frankie’s shoulder affectionately, her immaculately manicured nails pressed harshly into his jacket.

“I’m sorry, Fish,” Benny said, slinging his arm around the man, the clumsy movement knocking his hat slightly askew. “Her loss, brother.”

“Here here,” Santi agrees, raising his bottle in the air. “To the king!”

Benny cheers clinks his bottle against Santiago’s echoing his sentiment. Will huffs out a laugh and Frankie groans, hiding his face in his hands.

You gape at the two men in question, but they just giggle like a couple of school girls.

“I didn’t realize I was in the presence of royalty,” you say, trying to figure out what they’re talking about. You look over at Frankie as he takes an impatient sip from his drink.

Benny just about spits out a mouthful of beer onto the table.

“Shut the fuck up, guys.” Frankie warns his friends. “Seriously.” Santi and Benny give him an innocent look. Will focuses his gaze on the bottle he’s holding, picking at the paper label, damp and curling at the edges from condensation .

Santiago leans towards you, his breath hot in your ear.

“We call him the pussy eating king.”

You thank the powers above you weren’t mid-sip, because the choked sound that emits from your throat was both involuntary and sudden. Heat blossoms in your stomach and your thighs clench together as you make eye contact with Frankie. He looks away nervously, embarrassed even.

“So was this a self coronation or..” You trail off, grinning at the flush on Frankie’s cheeks.

“It was that really talkative chick he was seeing for a while,” Benny says, turning to you. “Brianna?”

“Brenda,” Frankie sighs.

“So Brenda crowned you the pussy eating king?” You ask Frankie, who still refuses to meet your eyes.

He grumbles in response, waving off the subject.

“Yeah, she went on about it in detail for the whole night one time. I think you were away for a work trip or something” Santiago is absolutely smirking, loving the way Frankie is physically shrinking under the group’s attention. “Come on Fish, don’t be so modest. You’re a beast in the sack, it’s a good thing!”

You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You remember why you weren’t there. It was because you couldn’t stand seeing Frankie so happy with another woman, so you feigned sick.

“Well, I can see why things with Brenda didn’t last,” you respond, knowing Frankie was kind of a private guy. “But hey, at least she can tell all her friends she got the royal treatment while it lasted.”

Benny, Santiago and even Will all roar with laughter, fists banging raucously on the table. Frankie huffs out an embarrassed laugh, despite himself.

“Yeah, yeah,” he takes a swig of his beer, emptying it. “I need another drink.”

“Hey Ben, what time is your fight next week again?” Will calls over to his brother. You’re grateful for the change of subject. Frankie’s had enough torture for one night and you aren’t sure how many more details about Frankie’s sexual prowess your nether regions can take.

Benny turns towards Will to talk about his upcoming match and you take a sip from your glass to try to hide how flustered you’re feeling. Did this bar get hot all of a sudden?

The glass lands back down with a dull thump and you look up to find Santiago studying you, his eyebrow raised.

“What?” You don’t mean to sound aggressive, but his gaze is unnerving, as if he’s trying to suss out something you’re hiding.

“Nothing, nothing at all.” He smirks and tips up his beer, taking a long gulp. You roll your eyes at him and look down to pick at your nails.

A few moments later, Frankie returns with a fresh beer and you can feel Santiago turning his face in your direction again to read your body language. You school your reaction, fingers digging painfully into your pint glass. Sometimes Pope is too fucking nosy for his own good.

He must lose interest after a moment though, because he turns his attention back to Benny, who’s still talking about his upcoming fight.

The topic doesn’t come up again, thankfully, and you’ve dropped all the boys off at their separate destinations, save for Frankie, who lives the closest to you.

The car ride alone with him isn’t as tense as you were expecting, since his tongue has been loosened with the fair amount of alcohol he’s had tonight. You both chat easily about the upcoming week and how much you’re dreading going back to work on Monday.

You can’t resist one smart remark though, as you pull up to Frankie’s house.

“Your castle awaits, my liege,” you quip, trying and failing to hide your amused smile as you look over at him.

Frankie throws his head back and laughs freely, opening the car door with a wink.

“Goodnight, my queen,” he bows exaggeratedly before shutting the car door.

The butterflies don’t tamp down until you’re securely inside your own apartment, locking the door behind you.

That night was a month ago, which means it’s been a whole fucking month since your brain flew the coop. Every time Frankie does just about anything with his mouth, everything else around you ceases to exist.

Take last Thursday, for example. Frankie dropped by after work to help you change your porch light, since the fixture is too heavy and the light is too high up to easily reach.

He steps up the ladder with ease, unscrewing the fixture and holding it with his left hand. He puts the screwdriver in his mouth so he can hold onto the ladder as he gingerly hands you the fixture. You grab onto it and hand him the replacement bulb so he can swap them out.

He gets the lightbulb in and gestures towards you to hand the fixture back, which he screws back in before stepping down.

“Blegh,” he wipes his mouth on his sleeve, an action that has your last two brain cells screeching to a halt. “Screwdrivers taste awful.”

His statement is cute, self-deprecating, and you try to respond appropriately but all you can do is gape at him like a fish out of water.

‘Get your shit together, he’s wiping off the taste of rust, not your pussy,’ you try to mentally shake yourself out of your stupor, but it does no good.

He turns back towards his toolbox to drop the screwdriver in and close the lid.

“All set,” he says, dusting off his jeans. He sounds a little uneasy, probably because you’re acting like a complete weirdo.

“Thank you so much, Frankie. I really appreciate it.” You find your manners and pull him in for a hug, secretly reveling in how good he smells.

“Any time,” he tells you as he wraps his arms around you and squeezes softly.

Before he pulls away you make a spur of the moment decision, and reach up to give him a small kiss on the cheek. He’s so impossibly warm and so inviting, you can feel your heart flutter in your chest. The sparse hairs on his face tickle your chin.

Frankie clears his throat and ducks his head down, mumbling a hurried goodbye before he heads back to his truck, toolbox in hand. You don’t miss the way his lips are turned up and the crows feet make an appearance in the corner of his eyes, nor do you miss the brilliant flush that spreads over his face and down his neck.

It’s Saturday now and your torment knows no end. You decide you’re too tired to go out and opt to invite the guys over for a movie night, to which they all agree.

You decide you’ll just have to look away every time Frankie takes a sip of a drink, or eats a handful of popcorn. Or God forbid, if he licks his lips.

The group chat has been a nightmare, with everyone trying to come up with a movie to watch. Benny wants to watch The Expendables, Will mentioned something about wanting to see Dunkirk for ages now and Santi is playing devil’s advocate, disagreeing with all of their choices but not coming up with one of his own.

Frankie has been quiet in the chat, besides initially agreeing to come over initially.

It’s 9:00 PM, you have a 30 rack of beers in the fridge and some popcorn set out for everyone. All you have to do now is wait for the guys to arrive. Your phone chimes with a notification from Benny.

Benny and the Jets 🥊: Sorry lady, I got called in for a last minute practice. Raincheck?

Ironhead 🦸🏼: I gotta duck out too. The lady wants to have a date night. Sorry!

You type out a reply to them, a little disappointed but bidding them a good night all the same.

A knock sounds on the door and you rush over to answer it. The door swings open to reveal Frankie, wearing the softest looking navy blue hoodie you’ve ever seen, along with his Standard Oil cap. He looks as unsure as ever, holding a bottle of red wine.

You chirp an over-enthusiastic greeting, internally cringe at it, and step aside to welcome him in.

“I know you like red wine, so I got some for you on the way here. I hope it’s the kind you like.”

You accept the wine and look at the label. It’s a California Zinfandel. You can’t believe he remembered your favorite wine.

“I love it, thank you so much.” You pull him into a hug, nuzzling into the soft material of his sweatshirt. He returns the hug just as enthusiastically, pulling away to kiss your forehead.

“Is Santiago on his way?” You ask, padding into the kitchen to grab a glass from your cabinet. “Do you want a glass? Or I have some beer if you’d prefer.”

“Beer is perfect, thanks,” he says a little breathily as he looks over at you. “Santiago said something came up and that he’s sorry.”

Something feels a little fishy with the three of them ducking out all at the same time, but you don’t mention it as you hand him a beer and search through your drawer for a bottle opener. A few minutes later, you’re both set up on the couch and are scrolling through Netflix for a movie.

“I have no idea what to watch. Do you?”

“Want to watch Civil War? I know the guys will bitch we’re continuing the rewatch without them but they can deal.”

You tip your head back and laugh, navigating over to your Disney+ app.

Frankie takes off his hat and sets it aside while you spread a blanket over your laps, braving a chance to scoot closer to him. He takes the hint and wraps his arm behind your shoulders, nestling you closer to his chest. You settle in and try to pay attention to the movie, despite the wild fluttering that is taking place in your stomach.

Frankie shifts uncomfortably and winces a little. You can tell he’s trying to hide it, but little does he know you’ve been watching every single movement he makes like a hawk. Or a nervous lap dog.

“Does your back hurt? I can move,” you start to get up but Frankie grabs onto your wrist and pulls you back in.

“No, stay. I just need to find a comfortable position.”

You make a soft noise of surprise when he lifts you up and pulls you towards him, settling back so he’s spread out on the couch. You’re settled on top of him, your legs stretched out over his with your back to the cushion, half draped over his torso.

This position has your heart thumping hard in your chest. His face was just a few inches from yours. All he’d have to do is tilt his face towards yours, and you’d be practically kissing.

Focusing on the movie is harder than ever. Your left hand rests on Frankie’s chest and your right is near his head. Without even thinking, you reach out and start stroking your fingers through his soft curls. He hums contentedly, the pleasant sound rumbling through his chest.

A hand makes its way up your arm leaving goosebumps in its wake, landing on your shoulder.

You brave a glance at Frankie and feel your heart stutter in your chest when you realize he’s been looking at you. His eyes are as dark as ever, twinkling against the flicker of your TV.

He closes the gap and captures your lips in a tender kiss. His lips are warm and soft, melding to yours perfectly. The brush of your mouths together is intoxicating. Your tongue darts out to lick at him and he complies, letting out a guttural moan at the sensation as your tongues meet languidly.

You shift your leg so it slots between his and both of your hands find his shoulders and squeeze them, eliciting a soft mewl from Frankie’s mouth. His hands are hot on your back and he slides one down to your ass, kneading the soft flesh over your leggings.

Your hips press into his, rutting into him, soft pants falling from your mouth– mingling with his. You need to be closer, closer, closer. He tightens his grip on your ass in response and rolls his hips so you can feel how hard he is against your belly.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasps, breaking the kiss, words tumbling out between his ragged breaths.

You can feel yourself throbbing for him, wetness rushing to your core as his hushed baritone makes your head spin with need. Somewhere in the back of your mind you’re convinced this is a dream. That there’s no way you’re dry humping the man of your dreams on your couch right now.

You duck down to hide your expression, not wanting to ruin the moment with your anxiety and doubt. You’ll take whatever this man gives you, even if it’s just this moment.

You busy yourself by peppering small kisses on his neck, trailing them up to his jaw.

“Hey,” he slows your movements and holds your chin with his thumb and forefinger, tilting your face up gently up to look at him.

“I want you. I want this. Do you?”

You feel the urge to look away, his gaze is intense and laser-focused on you. Eye contact has never been your strong suit, so this was a lot for you to handle. But you fight the urge to flinch and stare back, searching to see if there was anything that will give away any trepidations. His expression remains hard set, serious but not unkind. It’s just like Frankie to have eyes as clear as day, giving away all of his secrets. They’re just like him— strong, unrelenting in their hardness and softness.

“Yes,” you reply. Your voice cracks a little, thick with emotion. “I’ve wanted this, wanted you, for so long.”

You feel embarrassment wash over you with the admission, but Frankie doesn’t let it last long before you crushes his lips to yours in a searing kiss. He breaks it off after a moment, lips swollen and pink.

“Baby, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.”

He strokes a hand down your jaw, his thumb caressing your skin as a goofy smile blooms over your face.

“I want to make you feel good, baby,” he whispers, his thumb catching on the swell of your bottom lip. “Will you let me make you feel good?”

You blink and swallow heavily, a fresh wave of arousal flooding to your center as the deep rasp of his voice utters those words, smooth as caramel– dousing over you like kerosene on a fire.

You nod, not trusting your voice at this very moment.

“I need you to say it out loud, honey,” he says, his lips brushing against yours ever so lightly.

“Yes, Francisco,” you breathe out. “Make me feel good.”

He bites your bottom lip and tugs, then growls playfully before he grabs your shoulders and flips you over. You let out a delighted shriek, giggling as he lifts up the hem of your shirt and kisses every inch of skin that’s revealed.

“Wait,” you call out. He stops his movements immediately. “You first.”

Frankie grins. You want to press your fingers into the dimple that appears and feel the scratch of his beard under your nails. He leans back and lifts his sweatshirt over his head, the grey t-shirt he’s wearing sticks to the inside of it and he rolls both garments down his arms.

His chest is bare to you now, smooth except for a smattering of hairs in the middle of his chest, and a patch leading down into his jeans. You want to reach out and run your hands down the planes of his torso and follow the path of hair, but your arms aren’t long enough to reach.

You remove your shirt, leaving you in your leggings and bra. It’s a soft lace number, a delicate pink with no underwire. You watch as his hungry gaze roams over your chest. To your surprise, he doesn’t motion for you to take it off. Instead, he leans over you, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

He moves downwards, tongue darting out to taste the salt of your neck. He continues his path and mouths between your breasts, one of his hands reaches out to squeeze the plump flesh in his large hand. You nipple instantly pebbles under his ministrations and he pulls the fabric aside to tease it with the pad of his finger. You moan softly at the sensation and yelp in surprise when he sucks it into his mouth and bites it, soothing the sharp sting with a flick of his tongue.

“Mmm, love how responsive you are already,” he hums, moving down. Your back arches as his mouth makes a hot trail down the rest of your torso. You look down and notice he’s left wet patches where his mouth has been, coating you in saliva and leaving goosebumps in his wake.

He reaches the waistband of your leggings and pushes them down, letting out a strangled groan when he gets an eyeful of your panties, the same shade of pink that matches the bra you’re wearing.

“So fucking sexy,” he breathes.

He peels your panties down your legs and pulls them off along with your leggings, leaving you completely bare from the bottom down. You start to cross your legs to hide yourself, feeling self-conscious at how exposed you are, but Frankie grabs your thigh to halt the movement.

“You better not hide this pretty pussy from me,” he says, licking his lips.

You half expect him to dive in, but he takes a moment to look at you. He’s resting a hand on your hip. His pointer finger makes a path down, tracing an invisible line up and down your slit. You hiss at the ghost of his touch and thrust your hips towards his hand, seeking out more friction.

Frankie lets out an amused chuckle at your reaction and leans forward to plant a wet kiss to your inner thigh. You let out a shaky breath in anticipation– your heart feels like it’s beating out of your chest. He kisses up your thigh until he reaches the apex between your legs, then licks a stripe through your folds with the flat of his tongue, pulling a surprised gasp from your parted lips.

He sucks your clit into his mouth and you can’t help it– you buck up into his mouth and grab onto his hair and tug at the strands. He grabs onto the flesh of your hip and whimpers into your pussy. Despite being almost dizzy with need, you feel a rush of power knowing you have this effect on him.

“You taste so fucking good. So wet for me,” he punctuates his words with bold licks up and down. “Never want to stop.”

He changes patterns, making tight circles on your clit with his tongue. The sudden switch has you mewling and your legs clamp around his head involuntarily. Frankie grabs your thighs and wrenches them apart, hooking them over his shoulders as he latches onto your pussy. His hands are on your ass, holding you up as your back arches off the couch.

All you can do is scramble at the cushions below you for purchase as Frankie buries his face into your cunt, lapping at you with abandon. His tongue licks into you with an intensity you’ve never experienced before; it has you seeing stars.

You have no idea how he knows exactly how to manipulate your body to pull the pleasure from you so naturally. Every lick feels like it’s searching for treasure, every suck hits somewhere deep inside, reverberating through the muscles of your thighs and up in your abdomen.

He gently places you back down to the cushions and rubs at your entrance with his pointer finger, looking up at you for permission.

“Yes, please–“ you whimper brokenly. He complies immediately and plunges it into you, following with a second finger, and curls them up. His pace is slow at first and he flicks his tongue out to play with your clit at the same time. He’s soon spurred on by your moans and sets a brutal pace. You once again feel the urge to clamp around him to increase the pressure, but Frankie uses his broad shoulders to hold your thighs apart.

Seeing his shoulders, bare and perspiring from his intensive movements, so wide and flushed, coupled with the furrow of his brow, his eyes pinched closed, makes something primal within you awaken. You barely have time to feel your orgasm coming before it’s hitting you– thighs shaking, back arching, hands in his hair. You don’t even realize it, but you;’re shrieking his name, chanting it like a prayer. He’s groaning in reply, milking you through it with his fingers and tongue, lapping up your release, syrupy sweet and indulgent.

He doesn’t stop until you’re flinching from overstimulation. He kisses up your body lazily, taking his time before capturing your lips. You kiss him back, licking into his mouth and tasting yourself on his tongue. He grinds into you, his jean-clad erection rubs against your aching cunt and rekindles the fire, molten heat shooting through your entire body.

“Wanna fuck you so bad, baby,” he says, panting the words into your mouth.

You moan and break the kiss.

“Want to take this to my room?”

He doesn’t reply, but instead swings his body off the couch and picks you up bridal-style. He stumbles a little with the first steps and you both laugh, kissing each other with each step he takes towards your bedroom.

He tosses you onto the bed softly and you let loose another delighted giggle when Frankie flops over you dramatically, caging you in his arms. Your tongues tangle together in an impossibly sensual kiss. He’s momentarily distracted, caught up in the feel of your body underneath his with the soft touches of your tongue, and you take the opportunity to roll him over and straddle his hips.

Frankie is looking up at you as if he’s in awe, like he can’t believe you’re here right now, naked from the waist down and grinding down on his hard cock, tenting his jeans.

You move down his body and zip his fly down, pushing down the denim along with his boxer briefs. His cock springs free, hard and hot and leaking at the tip. You can’t help but lick the bead of precum, and a broken whine rips from Frankie’s throat. His hands are clenched into the sheets, knuckles white with how hard he’s gripping the mattress beneath him.

You’re bobbing your mouth up and down his length, tongue licking around his shaft and cheeks hollowing out. His moans are loud, constant. He’s babbling praise, telling you how fucking amazing your mouth feels, how badly he wants to fuck you. It’s a heady feeling, bringing a strong and quiet man to his knees like this. You love that he’s letting you know how much he’s breaking for you.

Your tongue finds its way down to his balls and you suck them into your mouth, moaning at the musky taste. His moans are high pitched now and his hand is squeezing your shoulder.

“Baby, you gotta stop,” he grabs onto your hair to pause your movements. “I need to feel you.”

You give him one last broad lick up his shaft and shift back up, and look down at Frankie to catalogue the number you’ve done on him. He’s absolutely wrecked– brown eyes blown wide, chest rising and falling rapidly with his uneven breaths.

You remove your bra, stretching it over your head and throwing it to the side. Frankie follows the movement and lets out a needy, staccato moan at the sight of you, completely bare before him.

You reach down and kiss him soundly on the mouth, lining his cock up with your entrance.

“I’ve got you, baby boy,” you coo, sinking down on his length.

“Fuck,” he grits out between his teeth.

You give yourself a moment to get used to his size and rock into him. His hands fly up to your chest, squeezing lightly and rolling your nipples in between his fingers.

“So fucking big,” you pant out. “So good for me.”

It seems Frankie loves praise as much as you do, evidenced by the twitch of his cock inside you.

Your pace is agonizingly slow. You’re trying to tease out the moment, stretch it out so it lasts forever. It doesn’t last long– you can’t stand it anymore. You bounce up and down on him, snapping your hips when they meet his.

“So fucking perfect,” he pants out. “Wanna fuck you from behind.”

You breathe out a moan and stop your movements. Frankie mistakes your pause for hesitation and reaches up to brush the hair out of your face.

“We don’t have to,” he says, voice gentle, brow furrowed in concern.

“No, fuck. No, Frankie. I want to.”

You gingerly get up and whimper at the loss when he’s no longer inside you. Frankie sits up, shoulders rocking forward and cock bobbing with his movement as he settles onto his knees. You watch him and bite your lip, getting on all fours and lifting your ass up in the air to present yourself to him.

Frankie can’t help the groan that falls from his lips and sinks forward to lay an open-mouthed kiss on your pussy from behind before he lines himself up. He enters you without hesitation, hips slapping against your ass rhythmically, setting a decisively fast pace.

All you can hear is the filthy sounds of your wet pussy as he pounds into you, along with your strangled moans, and his heavy breathing, laced with whispers of praise you can’t discern. The waves of pleasure are too much, too strong. You can feel the familiar build up of an orgasm. Your head is in the clouds as it climbs and climbs– then crashes.

His fingers on your clit is what does you in. Your whole body shakes and all you can do is whimper and moan around his cock while he fucks into you. The strong, practiced rock of his hips become sloppy as he chases his release, muttering words of adoration into the air as he pulls out and cums, spilling onto your back. He pulls every last drop out of his cock before collapsing over you, forehead resting on your spine as he catches his breath.

“Fuck, baby,” he says, once he’s caught his breath. “Should have done this ages ago.”

You both laugh and Frankie gets up to grab a wet face towel from the bathroom

A little while later, you’re both in bed, blissed out and wrapped up around each other. The movie, drinks and snacks are all forgotten. All that matters is here and now– your breaths mingling together as you kiss each other lazily, tongues probing slowly.

In the other room, both of your phones ping on the coffee table with unheard notifications.

The first text is from Santiago.The other boys follow suit, not a minute apart.

Pope 🤦🏻‍♂️: 👑

Benny and the Jets 🥊: 👑

Ironhead 🦸🏼: 👑

Neither of you see the texts until the next morning.

The following weekend, it’s Santiago’s turn to be the designated driver. He’s parked outside of Frankie’s house, waiting to pick both of your asses up. He starts to tap his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel after the first 15 minutes.

“What the fuck are they doing in there?” He asks Will and Benny. They all know the answer, but don’t say anything.

Meanwhile, Frankie has you crowded against the front door, your sundress is hiked up and his face is buried in your pussy. Neither of you can hear the sound of Santi’s impatient honking over your moans.

And if you end up going to the bar sans panties because you can’t find them before Santiago is pounding his fist on the door, well that’s just a secret you and Frankie will have to keep.

Taglist: @tenderclio @softdin @darnitdraco @freeshavocadoooo @recklessworry @wyn-dixie @manalg14 @codenamewife @comphersjost @princessxkenobi @manalg14 @comphersjost @a-skov @sheresh0y @greeneyedblondie44 @blackmarketmummy @brandyllyn @gracie7209 @bootyliciousbilbo @dobbyjen

#frankie morales #frankie morales smut #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #francisco morales #francisco catfish morales #triple frontier #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #francisco morales pilot of my heart #all hail francisco morales pussy eating king

1K notes · View notes

jwritesandrambles · 3 years ago

Text

“Supposed to Be”

Hi there! Yeah I still barely use tumblr but hey lookit I did the wrote thing down!!!!

I would like to give a bit thank you to @schweeeppess and @dragonsworn05 for editing my messy dyslexic rambles. @noroomforcream and @just-a-little-in-over-my-head did some really cool art for this!

(if I missed tagging someone, it’s not personal I appreciate you so much, I’m just posting in a rush mwauh)

Jason was back in Gotham. For the second time since he died, actually.

The last time hadn’t gone well. Technically, it had gone according to plan--for the most part--but Jason was still shambling together the broken pieces of his mind. Back then in December, all that was left of Jason were the shards of hurt and anger. He had been living for nothing but the idea of someone else’s death. Coming back to the real world, away from the sheltered and hidden places of the League of Shadows and the All-Caste, seemed to bring a bit of him back. Seeing Bruce, talking to him…everything that went down, and the reminder that he cared about him--loved him, even--it woke something up in Jason. Something that he thought had died along with him and never came back.

He had spent a year by himself, taking any mercenary jobs he could get, trying to find something other than the all consuming anger that had fuelled him for the past few years, but his travels didn’t matter now, as he stood in a back alley of Gotham, the protective red helmet tucked under his arm. He wished his replacement, Tim Drake, hadn’t chosen this particular alley to meet up in.

The balcony and rickety old fire escape were unforgettable to Jason. It was where he had met the Bat, after trying to jack the tires off one of those many damn expensive cars that Bruce had. Not only where it began, but where he once thought it would end. It was only a year ago he had stood, gun trained on Bruce, the man he had, for a time, called father. His voice shook and tears rolled down his cheeks, “it would be so easy to kill you.”

Jason was ripped from his reminiscing as a soft thud signaled that Red Robin had landed behind him. Jason flinched more than he’d like to admit, but fought the urge to draw his weapon. Quick reflexes was a nice way of saying jumpy.

“Hood,” The teen greeted.

“Replacement,” Jason said with a nod, echoing Tim’s tone back at him, relaxing.

“Weren’t you a replacement too?” Tim pointed out, seeming to take no offence.

Jason shrugged, “True. I’m not denying it. Just as long as you know that’s probably what B expects. Another Grayson,” he mumbled.

Sure, he was less angry than before, but that didn’t mean Jason wasn’t a bitter son of a bitch.

Tim bit the inside of his lip, an awkward and slightly uncomfortable look on the visible part of his face. It flickered away and was replaced with a more professional, neutral expression as he cleared his throat.

“Yes... well... We’re here for a job so let’s focus. You got all the information B sent you?” He was honestly trying his best, but he was hesitant about this mission. Could anyone blame him? Jason Todd had proven himself to be... volatile. The memories of Jason’s violence were all too fresh in Tim’s mind.

“Yeah, I got it. I read the file over,” he mumbled. He puffed out a weak breath, “Scarecrow set up a chemical mixing shop by the docks, at least one shipment has come in, but we can expect more, right? Anything I missed?” Jason asked, rummaging through his coat pockets.

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He had been trying to quit, but he didn’t want to be getting distracted with cravings while trying to focus on the mission.

Tim watched him quietly as he lit off, smelling the tobacco from up on his perch.

“Um... yes, that’s all,” the teen dragged his teeth along the edge of his lip. The skin felt slightly raw and sore from his empty minded nibbling.

Jason started walking off down the alley, leaving a slight trail of lingering smoke in damp air. Tim followed.

“So,” Jason pulled the cigarette from his lips, careful not to let his helmet slip from under his arm. He held it between his first and second fingers, “Uh.. Why’d you have us meet here instead of anywhere closer to the docks?” He asked, trying to break the awkwardly growing silence.

“Scarecrow has patrols circulating around the docks. We’re less likely to be spotted if we’re not waiting around there to meet up,” Tim explains with a little shrug.

Jason hummed a brief note of understanding, “Oh yeah, that makes sense. I’m, uh, I haven’t worked with anyone in... years,” Jason paused, taking another drag from the smouldering cigarette, “Y’know, really nothing team oriented since working with B. Even then I was a shitty teammate,” he laughed hollowly.

Tim nodded, thinking about what Jason’d just said. Had it really been that long? Maybe… maybe the fact that Jason was even admitting to being a bad teammate didn’t bode well. It could mean trouble for them later. If it was so obvious that even Jason could admit it, perhaps Tim shouldn’t have done this team-up.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Tim ran to catch up to Jason quickly, “Wait... how old are you?” He asked upon reaching him.

“I’m t- uh... hold on, well... how long was I gone?” He asked Tim in return.

“You were thought to be dead for five years,” Tim told him, in a tone like he was reciting a Wikipedia page written about the formally deceased, wayward Wayne boy. Now that Jason thought of it, he was certain Bruce had a file written up on him now. Bruce had written up for every major criminal in Gotham city.

Jason let out a low whistle and soft huff, “I must be… twenty one now? Weird.”

“So... you didn't know how old you were till now?” Tim raised a brow, causing the mask to shift.

“Yeaahh,” Jason drew the word out sarcastically, pretending to took him deep thought to reconcile. “Somethin’ about the severe head trauma, dying, comin’ back, and being isolated from the normal world for years, all while being a wreck the whole time seems to have made my memory a lil’ fuzzy,” Jason said with a wry, sarcastic smile.

Tim seethed silently, letting out a series of apologetic mumbles, eyes dropping to ground ahead of him- it was a tactless and rude thing to ask, and Tim should’ve known that!

Jason laughed weakly, hand quickly coming up towards him and... ruffled Tim’s hair? The boy hadn’t even had a chance to recoil. He was just confused; that was the last thing he’d expect from Jason.

The man stubbed out his cigarette and lumbered on ahead of Tim, dropping it in the trash, “Don’t worry about it, kid. I was just being a bitch, you’re fine.”

Tim opened and closed his mouth, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. A man who tried to kill him only a year ago had just ruffled his hair?! He decided not to comment on it, because-- after all--what the hell could he even say?

Tim cleared his throat again, “We should get into position, we’re almost there. Maybe get your, uh, helmet-thingy on?” He suggested.

Jason glanced at the helmet- he’d almost forgotten he had it tucked under his arm.

“Yeah, of course,” Jason said, lifting his helmet and plunking it on his head, “good reminder, Timbers.” His voice became modulated the second the helmet covered his head. His low, gravely, smokers growl of a voice, was nowhere near and deep and gravely as Bruce’s--but sounded like it took a step closer with every box of cigarettes--became a pitch lower still. An odd robotic twang edged his words, giving him a metallic, cyber sound.

Tim adjusted his own mask, making sure it was firmly in place before nodding to Jason. The two silently started up again, approaching a warehouse that was supposed to be locked until the next morning’s shipment. “Supposed to be” being the operative words. Instead, there was muted huffing and shuffling as two of Scarecrow’s workers uncomfortably hauled a large crate into the building.

Both Jason and Tim seemed to shrink into the shadows at the same instant; each becoming one with the wall. Jason drew his weapon quietly, earning a disapproving frown from Tim. “I’m not gonna kill them. Chill,” Jason whispered in that odd robotic voice.

Tim seemed satisfied enough to quit pouting at Jason. They crept closer, making little dashes between hiding spots when the coast was clear.

Jason let out a breath of curse as his eyes fell about the giant, glass, canister. It was filled with a bubbling, sickly, arsenic green substance.

“No way, that shit is all fear toxin? Fuck! He’s got enough to blast the entire downtown!” His voice came through in a synthesized hiss.

“Worse.” Tim whispered, spying the large pressurizer on top of the glass container. “That’s just the liquid form. When he releases it, it’ll be gaseous. If it’s released from the container from a high vantage point, a small breeze could cover the entire city in minutes.”

The severity of the situation washed over what little of Tim’s features were visible from beneath the mask.

This wasn’t just a quick little in and out operation anymore. One wrong move and there could have a small, yet very messy, catastrophic outcome.

Tim had to plan this carefully, because there was no way they could afford to mess this up.

He turned to Jason...or, rather, where Jason had just been seconds before.

Jason had evidently had a similar train of thought to Tim’s. He’d realized this was a serious situation, though, instead of drawing the conclusion to re-evaluate, re-plan, and carry on with caution, or something sensible-- he seemingly forgot any sense of subtlety he had. Oh, God forbid carefully thinking his actions out, like any sane rational person would do. Or calling for backup, like anyone with a vague semblance of self-preservation. No no, instead, Jason had decided it was best to act now and not waste a second with plans or any ideas of safety. He jumped into action.

Jason was already leaping over the crate the two vigilantes had been hiding behind seconds ago, as Tim let out a quiet imploring hiss of “Wait--oh no-”“ but it was too late.

Jason already had his gun drawn.

“Scarecrow!” he yelled, “this ends now!” He fired at the box the two workers were carrying, sending it out of their hands and clattering to the floor. A series of shattering followed the initial crash as the contents shattered. Whatever chemicals that had been inside hissed loudly, a faint smoke rising from between the boards of the wooden box.

“Hood!?” The Scarecrow rounded to face who he knew as the ex-criminal, ‘The Red Hood.’

“In the flesh.” Jason kept his gun trained on Scarecrow, while a third worker who had been off to the side started to shuffle his way towards him.

“Thought you moved your little operation away from Gotham when the Bats got the better of you,” Scarecrow commented, not seeming pleased about the interruption at all.

Scarecrow’s worker lunged at Jason. Tim kicked himself mentally and left hiding, kicking the worker --physically, not mentally this time-- back away from Jason. The third worker scuttled back, apparently deciding this altercation was above his pay grade.

Jason felt something he hadn’t really felt in a long time; it was a feeling akin to camaraderie. He had someone watching his back for once. If the circumstances hadn’t been so dire, he might have even cracked a smile. Or, rather, he might have felt a slight tug at the corner of his lips, at least.

“Well, yeah, the bats did get the best of me. Now I’m tryna give them my best. And that involves bootin’ your sorry ass out of here.”

“Quick witted, aren’t you?” Scarecrow tensed slightly. His eyes darted away from behind his mask for a moment. He was glancing to the side. Tim followed his gaze over to the-

Shit! The canister! If the bullet missed Scarecrow it would-

Tim knew what scarecrow was thinking, but it was too late.

“NO!” Tim shouted, helplessly watching as Scarecrow dove.

As expected, Jason pulled the trigger reflexively, but the Scarecrow had already ducked. The bullet made a resounding bang as it fired, hitting the large gas canister.

Tim seized up, every nerve buzzing, every muscle tensed, every fibre of his being filled with an awful sinking sensation. The room was deadly-still. It was like something written by the hand of a fool-hardy novelist, who was paid far too much for over-the-top paperbacks; The bullet had embedded itself in the glass, acting like a stopper. A sickening series of cracks emanated from the canisters, as a thin spidery web formed across the glass. All tendrils originating from where the bullet hit.

Jason let out a low whistle, “Well. That coulda been disastrous.”

Tim couldn’t help but feel relieved, a stressed laugh escaping his lips.

Scarecrow was scampering away, his workers already having pulled a quick disappearing act themselves, because, this wasn’t what he’d planned.

“Don’t even think about it, Crane,” Jason said as he turned, taking a heavy step.

Said heavy step was apparently too much. The glass gave a shuttering groan, followed by a small hiss as gas began to leak.

Tim made an involuntary distressed sound. Something akin to an exhausted sigh mixed with a whimper.

The one word that ever so eloquently graced Jason’s lips was, “Fuck.”

And the canister...

Burst.

The pressure placed on the glass had built up and could no longer hold.

Jason’s final step had been the breaking point, the spider work of cracks along the glass giving way with a great shatter.

Shards of the canister flung themselves across the room. The liquid that had been held within instantly began vaporizing into a thick, sickening gas. To anyone that had the misfortune of inhaling it, it felt as though the gas was trying --with every atom of its existence-- to choke the life out of its victim. It reached into their lungs, clawed at their insides, grabbing at their desperately beating hearts, and squeezed. It forced their brain to fill their body with adrenaline and hallucinogens. Tim knew this.

He’d studied the Scarecrow’s fear toxin many times. He’d been exposed to it before, too. Tim knew this fear and knew he was helpless to do anything about it.

Tim was helpless to stop this. He had failed. He’d failed Bruce. He’d failed this mission. Because he was weak. He was weak, helpless, hopeless, a failure, a burden, unwanted. He was nothing more than a replaceable replacement. No one would care if he was gone, God, it’s not like anyone would ever notice! He was a forgettable nothing. Tim coughed and wheezed. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe!

Tim staggered. He tripped over his feet trying to get away from the intense fear that gripped his throat. Tim realized something physical was gripping his neck. The thing dragged him back roughly, towards what he could only assume was something horrid. Tim clawed at the thing gripping his throat. As he gasped for shuddering breath, he couldn’t help but begin to sob. He was going to die. He would die and no one would care. No one would even try to find him when he didn’t come home, they wouldn’t even notice because he was worthless, replaceable, weak, failure, helpless!

A new level of fear washed over Tim as he felt something cover his face, it encased his head. Tim could feel it squeeze his skull, he swore the pressure felt tight enough to crush his cranium like a tin can. It was claustrophobic. He felt his own shallow breath bounce back against his lips, because it had nowhere else to go. He was trapped and suffocating.

He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t BREATHE! OH--oh, oh no... no? Wait a moment... he COULD breathe.

Tim took a moment to try to get his bearings. He needed to remember how his lungs worked. He awkwardly sucked in a breath of filtered, recycled air. It tasted tinny on his tongue. Tim blinked the tears from his eyes. They rolled down his cheeks, and he became aware of the taste of salt too. There was the faint scent of stale tobacco and smoke. His mind was reeling as he processed each detail. He dragged tongue over his lips nervously, and began to chew at his bottom lip. Tim’s heart was still pounding and his hands were shaking. He raised his hands to feel his head, glancing at his twitching fingers as they passed in front of his face, confusedly. Everything had a red tinge to it. He pressed his hands to his head, feeling a hard smooth surface.

Tim’s brain felt slow and groggy, taking a moment to clue into what was on his head. Was it Jason’s helmet? Yes, yes it was Jason’s helmet, that was certain, but where was Jason?

The thick gas still hung in a green fog, but the helmet seemed to be filtering the worst of it out. Tim swept his arm though the air, watching the gas clear slightly, before swooping in to fill the gaps. Tim knew he needed to thin this stuff out if he wanted to have any hope in finding Jason before tripping over him. He rushed through the room, feeling his way over to the door. Scarecrow’s men had closed it, containing them --and more importantly the gas-- inside. Small mercy the fear toxin wasn’t being released on the city though.

Tim dragged his fingers along the wall. His senses were so heightened that it was almost overstimulating. It was likely due to the toxin, Tim guessed. He could still feel the rough brick as he scraped along, even through the tips of his gloves. It was oddly reassuring. A steady constant he could focus on until -thunk- His hand bumped into a smooth metallic protrusion from the wall. Exactly what Tim had been looking for.

“Bingo.”

Tim swept his other arm through the air again, doing his best to fan the gass away for him to get a bit of a better view of what he was hoping to see. A metal switch box, old and slightly rusted around the edges. Tim had been counting on any wearhouse by the docks having a ventilation system to keep the products safe from humidity. Of course, he was right. With some difficulty, Tim wrenched the switch box open. After straining to read faded, dusty labels through the gas in the air, he flipped what he hoped was the right switch.

There was a small whine of aching metal that hadn’t moved in a long time and Tim cracked into a grin underneath the helmet.

He’d done it!

The fans kicked into a regular pace. The smooth ‘whoomp whoomp whoomp’ of turning blades filled Tim with a sense of muted triumph. The foggy haze of fear gas began to thin as the building began to filter it out, mixing it with the humid air. Tim figured it would be condensed and drip out to puddle with the dirty water in the alley behind the warehouse. If Tim was right, which he usually was, it wouldn’t harm anyone unless they decided to drink from the puddle water. Which was unlikely, but not impossible. It was Gotham after all.

Tim looked around the room as the gas dissipated. His gaze found its way to a shaking heap on the floor next to the shattered remains of the canister he had been standing before. The proud grin faded from Tim’s lips.

That... that wasn’t a good sign at all.

“Hey, um, hood? Red hood, status?” He asked, the words felt strange as they left his mouth. Hearing his own modulated voice echo slightly in the room felt vaguely surreal.

The heap of muscle and leather known as Jason didn’t reply.

Seeing Jason’s twitching body on the floor emptied a hollow pit in Tim’s stomach. Jason had never seemed like he was even capable of fear. Capable of rage, capable of hurt, and capable of pain, sure, but fear seemed like something Tim would’ve assumed Jason was beyond. Something so... innate, that the unnatural nature of Jason’s second life would’ve swept it away.

Tim made his way over, hesitantly rolling the helmet forward off his head. The fear toxin seemed to be thin enough now that it wasn’t harming him.

“Ja-er, Jason?” Tim’s soft voice seemed thunderously loud in the quiet room. The only other sounds around were the fans quietly whirring away and, far more disturbingly in his opinion, the even quieter shaking breaths and distressed whimpering tumbling from Jason’s lips.

Jason was not in good shape. He was shaking violently, hands over his head. His whimpers were punctuated by violent spasms that racked his body every few seconds, accompanied with a louder more pronounced cry.

Tim felt the colour drain from his face. He quickly kneeled down, setting the helmet on the concrete floor next to them both with a slight clink. Tim grabbed Jason’s arm, trying to turn him on to his back. Jason heftily flailed the arm Tim pulled, unintentionally hitting Tim in the face. Tim yelped in surprise as a sharp pain sprung from his nose, warm liquid leaking down his face. The blood pouring down his face didn’t deter Tim much, the blood coursing through him seeming to do the opposite for pain as it did the rest of his senses. The pain was slightly numbed--or, rather, it had become easy to ignore. He fought to wrangle both of Jason’s arms, quickly scrambling to sit on Jason’s torso, struggling to pin Jason’s arms down with his legs.

Tim took off his mask. He knew it was against protocol, but an un-obscured face was easier to recognize when the toxin took hold, in Tim’s experience.

“Jason? Jason, look at me. Can you hear me?” he asked quickly, holding on to Jason’s shoulders. He desperately hoped Jason wouldn’t throw him off. Jason’s eyes were unfocused, spinning around wildly all over the room.

Tim tried to process Jason’s words, “No, not again, ple--I can’t I--it hurts! Fuck! It hurts,” Jason’s words became incomprehensible for a moment, then his fists clenched tightly. “I don’t want to die! Not again. Not again not again not again! He’s gotta come save me, take me home, he’s gotta! Shit, not again!“ he choked and broke off with a shout and another full body jerk.

Tim was jostled but didn’t fall off, by some miracle. “Jason!” he tried. “Listen to me!” Tim put his hands on either of Jason’s face. Jason flinched away from Tim’s touch with a sob of “It hurts, it hurts, I can hear all my bones snapping, I’m dying, it’s crushing me, I can’t--I can’t--”

“I know,” Tim cut him off gently, “I know it hurts and--and you’re scared, but you’re not alone, I’m right here. I’m going to help you,” Tim tried to catch Jason’s focus.

Jason’s roaming eyes stopped dodging around the room, and turned towards Tim. He kept looking from Tim’s shoulders, Tim’s chest, back up to his face and then to his eyes and back to his chest again. Perhaps not the ideal image of calming down but it was a first step.

“Good,” Tim praised softly in relief. He ran his thumbs over Jason’s cheeks gently. Now more so than ever did Tim take notice of the scars on either side of Jason’s face. On Jason’s left cheek, there was a jagged line that traced from his cheek bone down to his jaw. A similar yet smaller one was mirrored on Jason’s right. Tim could understand why Jason flinched from him. He shook the thought from his mind, “See? We’re okay. Just try to breathe, in and out. You can do that, right, Jason?”

“No! No! I c-can’t, I’m crushed, I can’t. My--my lungs, they’re all full of blood, and mud, and dirt, and fuckin’ I dunno what!” Another violent thrash went through Jason’s body, almost toppling Tim off this time. “I can’t breathe, it hurts! I want it to stop hurting! How do I make it stop!?”

“Uah--yeah, I know it hurts, but I promise nothing is crushing you. It’s just me, I’m light, and I’m here and I--I know it hurts I’m going to try to make it stop but I need to--” Jason thrashed, but Tim didn’t relinquish his hold on him, “--but I NEED you to stay still!”

Jason’s eyes finally locked on to Tim’s, “M-make it s-stop?” he echoed back to the smaller vigilante.

“Yeah, yeah I’m going to try to make it stop.” Tim slowly pulled his hands away from Jason, sitting back slightly, starting to fish through the many pockets and pouches attached to the strap around his waist.

He almost always had the antidote on hand. Bruce had trained him and prepared him meticulously, making certain that Tim would be ready with everything they had at all costs. The only issue was it was enough antidote for him; almost seventeen, about a head shorter and ninety pounds lighter--nowhere near enough antitoxin for the two hundred and forty pounds of murder that was the shaking mass of Jason Todd slumped before him.

Jason dropped his head back against the concrete floor, beginning to mutter once again.

“My fault. All my fault. I can’t--all dead.”

“No one is dead, Jason, everyone is okay,” Tim said, soon after feeling a small surge of triumph as he located his field fear toxin antidote kit. He opened it, quickly pulling out a small vial, and a syringe.

Jason’s eyes snapped to the syringe in Tim’s hand as he filled with antidote. Jason grew quiet for a second before starting to try to fight Tim off of him, “No, no no no no no no! Don’t go! don’t go! Not again, I can’t be alone, can’t be asleep he’s gonna kill us. Dad said he’ll get rid’f his mistakes!”

Tim knew Bruce wouldn’t have ever threatened Jason like that. He could only assume Jason meant his biological father.

“Said he would--don’t, don’t! It’s crushing me I can’t be alone!” Jason couldn’t keep hold of his own fears. They ran together, all mixed in to become some dread filled nightmare he couldn’t wake up from.

Tim was lucky Jason was so sloppy in this state. If he’d had a bit more of his wits about him, Tim figured Jason would’ve easily shaken him off already.

“You aren’t alone!” Tim reminded Jason, struggling to inject Jason without hurting him. “This is going to make it stop, I promise!” Well, that wasn’t fully true. But the dose would reduce it.

When Jason wouldn’t hold still enough for him to properly gauge where the vein he needed was, Tim unceremoniously jabbed at where he hoped it was instead.

Jason shouted, thrashing around like a heavy shark in a net being lifted out of water.

Tim pulled the empty syringe away quickly, letting Jason throw him off. He stumbled and crashed back down, landing on the concrete floor a few feet away. Tim only now realized how heavy his breath was as he watched Jason writhe freely on the floor before him. As Tim caught his breath, Jason’s movements gradually began to slow. The mutterings of fear faded into soft whimpers, then into deep breaths like Tim’s. Tim bit at his lip again. “Jason?” he asked, leaning forward slightly.

Jason groaned in response. He took a moment to collect himself as he grew conscious of reality again. Really, reality was a shit hole too, but it was a better shit hole. He shifted slightly, cussing under his breath.

Tim felt an invisible weight lift from his shoulders; swearing like a sailor was promising in Jason’s case.

He quickly scooted across the floor to him.

“Hey,” Tim said in a hushed voice. “Jason? How you feeling?”

Jason--with what felt like the struggle of Sisyphus rolling his boulder for the millionth time--rolled over to face him. The white shock of hair stuck to Jason’s forehead with panic induced sweat. He puffed out a lungful of air in a feeble attempt to blow the hair from his face. Jason swiftly gave up on that and swallowed heavily.

“I-I... yeah, yeah, I uh... I--okay. I’m feeling okay,” Jason rambled, looking dazed. He took up scanning the room again, hyper-vigilant to any danger.

Tim nodded slowly. He grabbed a water bottle that was shoved in one of his many pouches. He helped Jason sit up, just enough so he could sip at the water, and forced the bottle into Jason’s hands.

“Drink,” Tim ordered, quietly.

Jason’s hands still shook lightly, causing him to fumble with the cap in his hands.

Now that the danger had passed, Tim finally had time to process what had happened; he often found himself acting and only having time to absorb the details afterwards. Details like that Jason had traded his safety and immunity for Tim’s.

Why did Jason do that?

“Not... that I’m ungrateful,” Tim began hesitantly, “but that was a stupid thing to do, just… now- today,” he stumbled out awkwardly.

“I know,” gasped Jason after a long chug of water, a weak smile on his lips.

“I mean--it’s like in those before flight messages on planes. Put your mask on before the baby’s or whatever,” Tim joked slightly. Tim’s nose wrinkled slightly, cringing just the tiniest bit as he realized he implied he was the baby in this situation, “Well, you know what I’m getting at…”

Jason seemed to only take even more amusement out of the teen’s regret. Tim never thought he’d see the day where he felt tension draining at the sigh of Jason Todd, a man that tried to kill him and about eighty other people, smiling.

Jason laughed weakly, though it came out a little haltingly, as the shivering shakes hadn’t yet subsided. “Yeah, well, I d-did have my mask on. I just... gave it to the k-kid before the plane went down,” he mused. He didn’t really believe in his own point, and shook his head.

“No, no you’re right. It was stupid and I know that.”

They fell into a slightly awkward silence for a second, the burning question still gnawing at Tim’s mind.

“Why?” Tim said, abruptly. “Er, why did you do that? If you knew it was stupid?”

Jason didn’t answer for a long moment. Instead stalling by taking another swig of water. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand before answering.

“I don’t know,” Jason admitted, with a little smile.

Jason was breathing heavily, but seemed more focused, “I didn’t... really think. Maybe I was just makin’ up for other stuff I f-fucked up or... dunno. I guess I j-just... I knew if one of us was gonna be safe, it had to be y-ou.”

Jason swore he could practically see the little loading sign twirl in Tim’s nerd-brain as the teen processed what he’d said. The mental loading bar filled, and Jason’s words seemed to click. Tim’s eyes dropped away, and he smiled a little shyly. Not an awkward or uncomfortable smile. Just complimented.

“Thanks,” Tim’s voice was just above a whisper, “ that was... really nice of you.”

“It’s okay, don’t men-ention it. Like literally ever. It’ll ruin my rep,” Jason cracked a teasing smirk once again and Tim got to his feet laughing lightly.

“Annnnddd he’s back to normal,” Tim chuckled and offered Jason a hand. Tim yanked him, not without obvious difficulty, up to stand tall. Jason leaned on him for a moment before straightening, keeping a hand on Tim’s shoulder to steady himself. Tim quickly bent down and scooped up their masks from the floor where he’d set them down.

“Let’s get you home,” Tim hummed, putting Jason’s arm around his shoulders again when he stood.

“Hey, I’m fin-ne, you don’t have to take me back,” Jason argued, but Tim was already starting to lead him away.

“Too bad, I decided I am.”

“Rep-placement Robin number whatever you are--I am fine!”

“Sure you are, that’s why you can’t stand up right by yourself?”

“Shut up!”

“I speak only truth.”

The two bickered all the way back through away from the docks. All the way back through the city. All the way until they reached Jason’s apartment complex. Then they bickered some more. Though neither knew it yet, what had begun forming was the beginning of a close bond. One that nothing would be able to break.

#batman #robin #jason todd #redhood #red hood #Tim Drake #red robin #batfam big bang 2021 #Just for Fun #idk how tumblr works

27 notes · View notes

cosmiclatte28 · 3 years ago

Text

The Wall(Jaemin story)

Hello, this was a super quick writing I did. I lowkey spent 45 minutes of free writing. This comes up after reading the first part of the book Five (I had to read this for a class) and this keeps bothering my mind. So, now I warn you Jaemin is a rich guy here who is nice but the other members are a bit snobby and ignorant like rich people in the past. I just want to idk remind people that history once showed how two separate society tier destroyed lots of people and that actually at the moment, it is still happening somewhere out there. We can make changes. Idk i just wanna try to write again and I hope this is either inspiring or make sense Warning : poor girl, (y/n) is a laundry girl, snobby members, rich and poor mentioned explicitly. rough hand (?) but yeah it's not a romance a/n : i am just trying to write again, i'm taking my writing to fiction class and i am so nervous coz everyone looks so good but i will try and keep practicing. thank you for staying..

His younger self cannot understand how the social tier works, nor does his current young mature self. Jaemin smooths his hair back and tightens his neck tie while he watches his proportionally healthy reflection of himself in the mirror. His mind keeps running to the wall that separated the people of the west and the east. As much as he remembers, his father only brought him once there because he wanted to show him about what’s beyond the wall and how he should be grateful he lives in the East side, where all the riches party and shower in luxuries. Jaemin was seven when he witnessed a young dirty lad pick up moldy bread from the trash and popped it into his mouth with gleeful eyes. Until this day, his fifteen year old self cannot get the idea of why social status barred two different lives. Moreover, why the rich cannot help the poor by raising them to be their wife or adopted family.

“Your tie will choke you if you keep tightening it Jaem,” his older brother pops his head into the room. Jaemin smiles and takes his arms down. “What’s so special about dinner?” he questions his brother who is once again fixing his appearance.

Renjun sighs, “We need to present ourselves clean and tidy or we are just like the,” Renjun gives his eyebrow some wiggles and Jaemin blurts out the words “The West people?” Renjun nods “The commoners and poors.”

Jaemin rolls his eyes “You mean the humans living on the other side of the walls.”

“Why are we always talking about this?” Renjun finally shoots a questioning look to the taller guy.

Jaemin shrugs his shoulders “I don’t know why we, the rich, cannot share and make the poor live equally like us.”

“That is because you are too young to understand that.” his oldest brother, Doyoung, appears in the reflection.

“But we can share, we tone down our living style, give this money to the poor and make them slowly have a better life.” Jaemin still stands still despite seeing how Renjun and Doyoung are both already rushing to use their shoes and checking the clock. Their two brothers sigh “And if we do that, won’t that make us poorer?” Both of them ask the youngest, and Jaemin almost talks back but he doesn’t feel like arguing against two of them, so he internally thanks the gods when Doyoung cuts him off.

“We’ll be late if you don’t stop questioning and wear your shoes now. Quick Jaemin, time is expensive.” Doyoung pauses midway to toss the younger a pair of socks and rushes down the hallway.

On the ride to the fancy restaurant his father booked for a regular Friday, Jaemin keeps thinking alone.

It has always been in his mind how can he understand this society level thing and how can he make a change. He didn’t know it was about time he will meet a special someone who really moves his heart and makes him very motivated to make changes for the society.

Jaemin is eighteen when he accidentally sees you working in his best friend’s washing room. He was lost in his thought when looking for the bathroom. Despite knowing Jeno’s (his bestfriend) house by heart he somehow that day stumbles into you.

His heart skips a beat the moment he sees you looking graceful while pouring your energy and emotion into washing the clothes.

“Oh, sorry. I am afraid you missed the bathroom.” you blurt and secretly whisper that you shouldn’t have done that and now your job is in danger. However, Jaemin shakes his head. You are surprised that he doesn’t get mad!

“What are you doing here?” he asks, while his eyes wander along the tubs of clothes, all separated by colors, some soaked in soap water, some in water only.

“I am working as you can see,” you continue doing your task, “Washing the laundry of the Lee family.”

“And how much are you paid?” Jaemin clasps his mouth when he sees your face turn surprised. “I am sorry, I shouldn't have asked that.” he turns super red and you only smile weakly “It’s okay, I should answer all questions a man proposed to me.” you bitterly smile.

Jaemin must have seen how uncomfortable you are so he changes his question and upon seeing your figure he questions,“Forget that, but does Mr. Lee give you food?”

You almost laugh out loud but you just stay silent. “Judging by your cleanliness and your clothes, you sure are a nobel too. Mayhaps a friend of the young master, but you sure don’t know much stuff.”

If this is any other rich man, you are fired right now, but to Jaemin, your answers spark curiosity.

“Then explain to me young lady, what’s your name?” he reaches out his hand and you look at it confusedly. Gingerly you wipe your wet hands into your working gown and shakingly you take his hand into yours. “(y/n) young lord.” He makes a firm grip and shakes your hand, making an internal note at how rough your hand is. “Jaemin.” You gasp in your heart at how soft his hand is, must be a man who never works in his life.

“I’m afraid I must continue to work.” your eyes grow wide when you hear footsteps coming to your place. Jaemin is still shocked from the whole thing and he freezes.

“Jaem? What are you doing in the laundry room, our restroom is not even here.” A deep voice, he believes belongs to Jaehyun or Jeno’s brother, echoes.

“Oh, I’m sorry.I was just lost in my head.” Jaemin quickly turns his head away, his other hand leaves a wave to you and you feel your heart warms a little. Not all rich men are annoying!

---

After his play date at Jeno's house, Jaemin is back seated in his room. His head is trying to remember if he ever hears anything about working as a laundry girl. To no avail, none of his classes mentioned it. He just brings his mind back to how frail you look, how tiring it must be to wash loads of dirty clothes every day, takes them out to the drying room in the attic and hangs the big sheets over strong strings.

“Doyoung, have you ever tried washing your clothes?” Jaemin pops his head inside Doyoung’s study room and the oldest just shakes his head, not even sparing a glance.

“Does the lady doing our laundry get proper food and wages?”

His brother looks up and sadly shakes his head “Proper wages are only for people who run their own company. Those labor workers, they only have enough to pay for their food for one day and maybe rent a bed for sleeping. Why?”

Jaemin clenches his fist, “Then why can’t dad pay them better? Give them food from our tables.”

Renjun shows up upon hearing the commotion from his room, “It’s because society is selfish.”

“Then we need to stop it.”

The two big brothers laugh “You’re too naive and too young. Why don’t you go back and finish your reading? History needs your attention and stop thinking about the poor.”

The youngest feels ridiculed by the answer. No, he is not too naive or too young. He just wants what is best and equal for everyone, especially for (y/n). He needs to know if she can read or if she has someone else to help her raise money for surviving, he wants that rough hand to be soft like his or maybe his soft hand can be a little bit rough. He finds out from the kind laundry lady their family has that their hands become rough from the strong detergent they have to deal with every day.

The young man is more than determined to find a way to live their life and understand how hard it is to be a less rich person. He needs to make changes and he knows exactly how to do it.

He is sad Jeno’s house is far from his, he cannot sneak his way to give you some foods or help you wash but every time he makes a visit to Jeno’s house he used to say he needs to take some fresh air alone, and what he did was secretly come to you and helps you hang the laundry. You forbid him from washing it because you know his rough hand will be a question to his family. But the effort of hanging heavy wet clothes is enough to actually make Jaemin skip his morning classes the next day. When his brothers ask him why, he slides it off as he is feeling sick. Yes he is sick of how society works, and as the future law maker of the town. Since Doyoung is assigned to be the king and Renjun is next in line but he chooses to just be the advisor, Jaemin will take part as the law maker. All he needs to do is fix the law, propose it to his brothers and he believes with enough evidence and proper explanation he can make the poor lives better.

It is still a long and tough journey, but because he keeps learning secretly, he can edit and fix his law one by one.

He wants equity and equalism, he doesn’t want to see a wall anymore and he doesn’t want to hide behind the comfort of being born as the rich.

All thanks to you, (y/n), the laundry girl he shook hands with.

end

net @superm-net @hotpink-ent

#supermnet #hotpinklists #jaemin angst #jaemin x reader #jaemin story #jaemin scenarios #jaemin x you #jaemin x y/n #jaemin fanfic

17 notes · View notes

witchersgoldenbard · 4 years ago

Text

Bards are Meant to Love (not to cook, honestly)

The Prompt: "You remembered my favourite food" and "I've missed you so much" with kisses accompanied by happy tears

read on ao3 (~1.8k words)

“Agh, bollocks!”

Listen, Jaskier is struggling. There are way too many pots and pans to manoeuvre, too many instructions on the sheet in front of him, and simply no instinct on his part when it comes to cooking. Seriously, the best thing he can do with a fork is bury it in the hand of some loud-mouthed dickhead who dares to talk shit about Witchers. And even so, that is a far safer use for a fork around him than in an actual kitchen.

And yet, here he is.

In a kitchen.

Cooking.

Because Geralt is coming back.

Finally, finally coming back! The mere thought of it makes his hands shake and his heart flutter, the air in his lungs briefly replaced by something way more dizzying.

Because Geralt is coming back.

Home. To him.

The least he can do, the very fucking least, is cook his favourite meal. Gods, he sure hopes it’s not gonna be as terrible as the last couple of times he practiced this. But the scribbled and scratched notes he added to the recipe, perfecting it, should do the deal this time. They are necessary, because apparently the professionals who composed it did not account for the sheer chaos that is Jaskier. If you want something done right, you gotta do it yourself!

“Aw, fuck you!” he tells one of the pots as it gleefully, spitefully, spills its contents all over the stove. Who thought that this was a good idea again? Oh, right. This dumbass with a nationwide, nay, Continent-wide reputation of being chaotic. Great. Yeah. Right. What could possibly go wrong?

Turns out, everything can go wrong.

And Jaskier is struggling.

Somehow, miraculously, it doesn’t even taste shit. The main course is a rather simple meatloaf, a giant thing to suit Geralt’s Witcher metabolism, and seasoned exactly the way Geralt prefers. Not the bland shit you get in the taverns, Jaskier has class!

It’s the extras that make it special, that make it Geralt’s favourite. And they don’t suck yet, he has somehow managed to not overcook or oversalt them.

He barely doesn’t even dare to touch any of the pots and pans at this point, afraid to ruin something at the last minute.

Because it would not be salvageable. The sun is already setting, painting the sky a beautiful shade of pink and gold, and Jaskier takes a second to stare. Just a second, though, because, see, technically he is still busy struggling.

He wipes sweat from his forehead and groans in despair. Cooking sure is not worth all the sweat, all the stress, all the freaking out and headache, especially as the process of actually eating the meal is only a manner of mere minutes.

Now there’s a contrast for you! Jaskier has vowed to always leave a special tip for cooks that manage to produce decent food from now on. Well, when there is coin to spare. Oh, well. Maybe a compliment will have to suffice.

He sure would appreciate a compliment right now, that much is clear!

But then, sooner than anticipated, he’s… he’s done! The food seems to be pretty decent, it looks and smells better than shit – which, well, improvement on his part. And he is really proud of himself.

Now that this is out of the way, though, Jaskier has time to indulge his fluttering heart at the thought of presenting all of this to Geralt. He leaves the food on the stove to keep it warm until his dear heart arrives home, while he goes to change out of his sweaty clothes.

A few minutes later find him touching up the bouquet of flowers he put in a vase on the table. Geralt doesn’t care much about them, he knows, but he also knows that, secretly, he very well does. Not that the Witcher would ever admit to it. With a smile, Jaskier leans in and takes in a deep breath of fresh, sweet aroma.

The table is set, the food keeping warm, and Jaskier has trouble keeping calm. But why keep calm when his heart is positively beating out of his chest with the very beat that belongs only to Geralt? It’s a wonderful thing, to feel it again. To be as nervous as he was on the first day.

To see Geralt again after all this time. He cannot help but smile and let his heart beat wildly in anticipation, in excitement, in love.

He loses himself in that love for a moment – or, well, maybe a moment more – and jumps when he hears the front door falling shut. Mere seconds later, arms are wrapped around his waist from behind in a most gentle but firm way, and suddenly Jaskier finds himself all wrapped up in his Witcher.

“Hello, dear heart,” he whispers, leaning into the embrace as Geralt presses his forehead into the crook of Jaskier’s neck. And just like that, the stress of the day, the trouble, the entirely too exorbitant struggle of actually making food… everything is forgotten.

Because Geralt is home. In his arms – or rather, Jaskier is in his arms. Which is even better.

“Hmm,” the Witcher grunts, and Jaskier chuckles in delight, turning around in his love’s strong arms.

He runs his fingers through Geralt’s hair, the white locks in desperate need of a wash and proper care. Gods, Melitele’s tits, has he missed this man. What he feels for Geralt is so strong, so all-encompassing that he can’t even put it into words. None would suffice.

So, instead, he smiles at him and leans in, placing a sweet, tender kiss on the man’s lips, humming when he feels them curve up into a smile. When he pulls back, golden eyes in the softest hue are regarding him with pure, unfiltered affection.

Jaskier could come alive under those eyes, and he leans in once more. Geralt lets him, the tension of all those months apart finally seeping out of his shoulders under Jaskier’s gentle hands.

“Words overwhelming, my dear?” He knows how his Witcher gets sometimes, especially after long periods apart. The nod he gets in return, followed by a tired grunt, is answer enough. As he buries deeper into Jaskier, breathing him in, resting for a moment, Jaskier doesn’t have it in him to pull away and make him eat.

Food can wait a bit longer. First Geralt needs his cuddles. And who is Jaskier to deny him?

They stand like this for a while, holding each other, enjoying the moment, neither of them having the words to fill the silence. It’s perfect.

When Geralt moves his head to rest his chin on Jaskier’s shoulder, he takes a moment to sniff the air. Jaskier can feel his nerves return to him full blast, especially when Geralt tenses in his arms.

The Witcher pulls back and regards Jaskier with a damned unreadable expression. He meets golden eyes and wonders where he went wrong.

But Geralt’s eyes soften immediately and he’s obviously grasping for words. Jaskier smiles at him, relief filling him like the golden light of the setting sun fills the air around them.

“Hungry, my dear?” he asks, pulling back and out of Geralt’s embrace so he can get the food.

Geralt, bless his entire soul, still stands there and stares at Jaskier, the gears of his mind obviously still working, looking for words to say. It takes him until Jaskier comes back with two plates, filled to the brim with steaming, deliciously smelling varieties of food, to find his words again.

“You…” he begins, but his voice cracks and he tries again. “You remembered my favourite food.”

Now it is Jaskier’s turn to stare, because what? Of course he does! Is that what has his darling Witcher out of commission right now? Oh, this sweet, sweet man!

“Why, of course, dear heart! You would be surprised by all the things I remember. Come now, eat before it gets cold.” He sounds a lot like his mother, though his is gentler than hers could ever be.

Geralt grabs his fork and knife, but his movements are stilted and he doesn’t look away from Jaskier. Like he is trying to figure him out. Like he doesn’t already know the very depths of his heart. Jaskier lets him, doesn’t look away from this perfect, perfect man if he doesn’t have to.

“Why is this so odd to you?” he asks after a moment, wondering what moved him so.

Geralt shakes his head slightly, one shoulder lifted in a shrug, and Jaskier can see his throat working. He has never seen Geralt like this, physically lost for words. It is incredibly, impossibly endearing.

“I just—” Geralt swallows. His eyes are shining, glistening, and it’s not only from all that staring he has been doing. He shakes his head again, a minute motion, but Jaskier takes it all in. His Witcher closes his eyes, and when he opens them, there is nothing but love to be found. “I’ve missed you so much.”

The wet eyes, the hoarse voice, the unbridled affection in both, they nearly brought Jaskier to tears as well.

“I’ve missed you, too, my love. So much,” he promises, barely more than a whisper between them.

The mere thought of not kissing Geralt now, of not hugging him in favour of simply having dinner first, is appalling. It would be a waste to discard a moment such as this for nothing but food! His bardic soul, his romantic instincts forbid it!

So, still holding the shining golden eyes, Jaskier gets up and moves around the table. Geralt, bless him, gets the message and moves his chair back so Jaskier can sit in his lap.

Strong arms wind around his middle and pull him impossibly closer as Geralt nuzzles his cheek, pressing featherlight kisses to his face. Jaskier has never felt so loved as he does in this moment, and as he closes his eyes, he can feel tears coming as though they are trying to extinguish the fire in his soul, burning only for his Witcher.

But they can’t extinguish it, they only serve to make it stronger.

He turns his head towards Geralt to catch his lips in a kiss, holding him close, his hands burying themselves in the long, white hair.

Geralt kisses back, meets his passion, his affection, his love halfway. Holds him, catches him when he falls – and he does, over and over and over again does he fall for his Witcher.

“Hmm, what about the food, Jask,” Geralt tries to get in between the kisses, but it’s half-hearted at best and Jaskier chuckles, twirling Geralt’s hair around his finger.

“I’ll reheat it later,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to Geralt’s nose, his forehead, his cheek, before burying his face in the crook of his neck. “Let me have this first.”

“Have what?”

He leans back and gently strokes Geralt’s cheek, wiping away a single tear. “You, dear heart. This moment. All of it.”

“You’ve got it,” Geralt whispers. A familiar promise that never fails to make Jaskier shiver. The tears come again, but it’s okay, because Geralt’s match his own. “You’ve got it all, Jask.”

And he does. They both do.

That is all that matters.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #witcher fanfic #nat writes #hit me up with a prompt if you want!

39 notes · View notes

clandonnachaidh · 4 years ago

Text

The Fireballs

Read on AO3

“Just take them and get away from the central belt for a while. It’s nae too far.”

Those were the words that left Geillis McKenzie’s lips as she pressed an unfamiliar set of keys into the palm of the woman sat across from her. Claire Beauchamp sat, chewing the inside of her cheek while she mulled it over. The offer on the table was simple enough. A week off work and a change of scenery in an attempt to wipe the bastard memory of Frank Randall from her mind. She would leave Glasgow and head to another part of the country, barricading herself inside a seaside cottage with enough food and wine to see in the new year in blessed peace and quiet. Her resolution for the burgeoning 365 days would be drunkenly pronounced to an empty room before fastening her fingers around the neck of the wine bottle, relishing in the sweet oblivion it promised.

It was a tempting prospect and the truth was, she was dreading the idea of spending New Year’s Eve in the flat that now sat practically empty after Frank had removed his belongings.

A few days after she took the keys from Geillis, Claire found herself in the small seaside town of Stonehaven in Aberdeenshire, pulling her scarf tighter around her neck as the bitter wind nipped at any uncovered flesh. She thumbed through the information that Geillis had texted her earlier that day, a surprisingly cohesive set of directions to bring Claire from the platform at the train station to the bright purple door of Geillis’ childhood home that now stood in as a place for her to escape to.

Thankful that she didn’t have to drag her wobbly-wheeled suitcase any further, Claire pushed the door past the collection of food menus and pamphlets announcing the next local councillor surgery that littered the doorstep and found herself to be pleasantly surprised with the room that she found herself in. Geillis was fastidiously minimalist in her home, all sleek black furniture and not a single piece of clutter in sight. The quaint seaside cottage that she’d grown up in was anything but minialist. The wooden floorboards were warped with wear and tear, a sneaky bump that had been hidden under a thread-bare rug almost sending Claire flying onto the couch. There was a huge stone fireplace in the centre of the living room but Claire had no idea how she would go about setting it to keep her warm all through the evening. Poking around a bit, she easily found a small kitchen with a huge navy blue Aga stove and a downstairs loo. Geillis had explained that the main bedroom was up a particularly rickety flight of stairs and Claire found herself sweating from the exertion of having to haul her suitcase up them. She quickly set herself to unpacking the few bits of clothing that she’d brought, opened the bedroom window to to let in some fresh air and arranged all of her toiletries in the small ensuite bathroom before jumping into the shower.

Feeling slightly more rejuvenated after scrubbing the travel grime from her skin, Claire heard her stomach rumble in protest. She hadn’t had anything since the hastily grabbed pastry that took her fancy when she ordered her coffee before getting on the train. She remembered that Geillis had drunkenly proclaimed, more than once, that the fish and chips from the local shop in her home town were the best in Scotland and so, Claire grabbed her purse and set off to find it.

Surprised that the streets were quite as busy given the cold sea wind, Claire allowed herself some time to stroll down to the harbour in search of battered haddock soaked in vinegar. It was a good sign that the small shop was queued out the door when she finally found it. She withstood a small wait before placing her order and moving back outside, waiting for her name to be called. She looked out at the sea, forearms set against the weather-beaten wooden fencing that separated the beach from the road and took in a deep lungful of sea air as the wind whipped her curls across her delicate skin.

Someone with lungs big enough to be heard over the wind called her name and she collected her order with a smile, her mouth watering at the smell. There was nobody there to stop her or, God forbid, ask her to share and so she delicately unwrapped the paper and sourced a single, salty chip.

Another voice drifted over the wind and something about it made her look for the source.

“Ye dinna want tae be daein’ yon, quine, the scurry will be awa’ wi’ yer chips!”

That was when she saw him for the first time. His red curls were moving wildly in the air as he sent her a dazzling grin, showing off a set of straight white teeth. His nose was crooked, obviously broken a good few years ago but it gave him a rakish air that Claire found quite charming. The piece de resistance was a pair of bright blue eyes, squinting at her in humour as he fished his car keys out of his pocket.

Despite having lived in Scotland for a number of years, not to mention being around Geillis whose speech became almost unintelligibly broad as she moved through different states of inebriation, Claire’s brain could barely attempt to untangle the mess of vowel sounds and dropped g’s that had carried over the wind in her direction.

There was only one thought in her mind.

What the hell was a ‘scurry’?

The redhead seemed to be taking no small amount of pleasure from having put her on the back foot. His large frame shook slightly as he chuckled, quite pleased with himself, as he slid himself neatly into his small car despite his gargantuan size. Just as Claire was away to dismiss him as some lout, he rolled down the window, trying to give her what Claire thought might have been intended as a wink as he shouted his parting shot over the rising gusts of wind.

“Hae a rare Hogmanay, quine!”

***

“…and with only an hour or so left until the bells, we hope that you’ll stay tuned to BBC Scotland this Hogmanay as we bring you all the best entertainment!”

Claire sat, idly clicking the buttons on the remote as she moved from one channel to the next, not actually paying attention enough to settle on any one thing. She was wrapped up in the sofa under a thick tartan blanket after her attempt at setting the fire had proved fruitless, as she knew that it would. She felt bad for the kindling that she’d wasted in her attempt to get it going but she figured Geillis wouldn’t mind too much.

With a mind of its own, her hand sought her mobile from its space on the couch beside her. Even though she knew it was a bad idea, she opened the usual apps to see that everyone else seemed to be having a great time at various functions and house parties, all sporting alcohol-induced rosy cheeks and arms slung across shoulders of friends that they had spent the whole year bitching about. She counted her blessings that at least she didn’t have to put on any fake smiles, gritting her teeth through another painfully pleasant evening with Frank and his colleagues.

No, Claire Beauchamp was quite happy to be sat on her own, a belly full of deep fried goodness and a glass of her favourite Chablis in her hand which she delighted in pouring down her throat.

“Next to perform on The Hootenanny, please welcome Idles!”

Thumb pressed firmly on the big red button, the screen on the tv reduced itself to black.

Silence descended over room.

If she hadn’t drained the contents of her wine glass mere seconds before, Claire would have thrown the liquid into the air as a series of loud bangs came from the front door.

Before she could figure out what was going on, the bangs turned into shouting.

“Here, Duncan, open yer fuckin’ door! I’m dyin’ fer a pish!”

Claire pulled the blanket from her legs and got to her feet, feeling irritated at the stranger’s apparent lack of manners. Another few bangs and her worry morphed into anger as she stomped towards the door and arranged her delicate features into the sternest face she could manage.

Unbolting the lock, the wrenched the door open ready to give the stranger an earful.

But there was no face in her eye line to angrily confront. Only a pair of broad shoulders.

The glow from the streetlights creeped its way over the meridians of his almost too large body. Claire’s immediate view was of the man’s chin, slightly dusted with an orange gold smattering of hair, before he ducked down so that he could see underneath the lip of the smaller than average door.

Electric blue eyes, slanted with an air of mischievousness about them. Eyes that had surprised her when they drifted into her thoughts on her return from the chip shop.

“Oh,” he frowned. “It’s you.”

She raised a single eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest, “It’s me.”

“Yer nae Miss Duncan. Fars Geillis?”

He took a step back, allowing her to take in more of him now that he wasn’t cramped into the confines of the small door.

Quickly, she realised that she was staring. And that she hadn’t answered his question.

“In Glasgow. And she’s Mrs Geillis McKenzie now.”

“Och, I ken that fine well enough, ’twas one of my uncles that she married. Although she’ll always be wee Geillis Duncan tae me.”

Claire found herself relaxing a bit to hear that the man wasn’t a completely stranger. Geillis had never mentioned Dougal having any nephews and Claire couldn’t see any family resemblance between Geillis’ husband and the man stood in front of her. Dougal was bald and average height, not anything to write home about. Whereas this man was quite the opposite.

“If you’re aware that she lives in Glasgow, why are you knocking on her door?”

“Saw the light was on,” he frowned as though I had asked the stupidest question possible, shifting from one foot to the other.

There were a few seconds where neither of them offered up any words, waiting for the other to speak first.

When Claire realised that the man was looking at her expectantly, she had to ask.

“Can I help you with something?”

He really tried his best not to blush but failed miserably, “Aye, ye may have heard but ye find me requirin’ the pleasure of utilisin’ yer loo.”

Suddenly the hopping from one foot to the other made more sense. Trying her best not to laugh at his predicament, Claire crossed her arms over her chest and hoped that he would understand the universal symbol of ‘not a chance in hell’.

“Call me crazy but I don’t think I’m going to let an inebriated stranger into the house that I’m staying in, in a village that I don’t know.”

“Am no’ inebriated, I’ve only had a few pints. And as for stranger, any friend of Geillis is a friend of mine.”

Claire rolled her eyes dramatically at the cliche, not convinced in the slightest.

“Well, I’m sure you can find somewhere else.”

The expression on his beautiful face changed from one of mischievous banter to one of grave seriousness.

“Well, I’m guy sorry tae dae this, Sassenach, but I’m afraid I’ll hae tae report ye tae the authorities.”

“Excuse me?”

“’Tis the law in Scotland. If someone knocks on yer door and needs in for a pish, ye have to oblige them.”

“I bloody well do not!” Claire shouted, exasperated. “What absolutely bloody nonsense!”

“‘Bloody nonsense’, she says!” The man countered, grinning wolfishly as he attempted to mimic her English accent.

Her anger was growing by the second, seeing red at his mockery and trying to get up the courage to slam the door in his beautiful face. She would’ve too if she wasn’t glued to the spot, unable to tear herself away from the maddening, handsome, stupid, charming man.

“Yer hospitality is lacking, Sassenach. And on Hogmanay an’ aw.”

Claire’s patience snapped. This man would not make her out to be some uptight English woman. She had heard the term ‘sassenach’ a few times since she moved to Scotland and it had never been said with kindness behind it.

“Fine! You can come in but as soon as you’ve, er… relieved yourself, you must leave.”

“On my honour,” he said solemnly as he raised both hands in supplication.

Claire stepped out of the doorway to let him duck inside and she opened her mouth to explain which door lead to the lavatory when he moved through the small living room with purpose. Of course, she remembered, he knew Geillis. He’d probably been in here more than once.

She watched as his back disappeared behind a now locked door and pondered the idea that that if he knew Geillis, he couldn’t be that bad. If there was one thing that Geillis Duncan nee McKenzie was skilled at, it was taking the measure of someone from a single look. At the very least, the man wouldn’t be dangerous.

And he was rather beautiful. Arrogant but in a way that endeared him to her. Finding that her fingers had a mind of their own as they began to smooth out her curls, Claire looked around the room and embarrassment creeped its way insidiously into her body.

While the world was celebrating the new year, here she was, sat alone in an otherwise empty house with a coffee table covered in discarded fish supper paper, an already empty bottle of Chablis and a box of chocolates that had been dipped into more than a few times. Across the world everyone would be getting on their party outfits while she wore her favourite cosy leggings and big thick socks with her favourite knitted jumper. Anything but glamorous.

With that realisation in mind, the room before her morphed from a scene of quiet solitude to pitiful isolation.

She had been run out of her city by the mere memory of Frank and that enraged her even further.

“Jesus H Roosevelt Christ, you prick,” she muttered exasperatedly, unbridled rage filling her from head to toe.

“Again, I apologise fer disturbin’ ye. But thank ye for lettin’ me inside.”

His voice made her spin on her heel.

“Oh, I didn’t mean—“ she began before deciding it was best to not delve into her dirty laundry with a perfect stranger and sent him a tight, resigned smile.

He made to move towards the door, his head slightly bowed from either humility or inebriation, Claire couldn’t decide on which.

For some reason, she felt disappointed at the thought of him leaving.

“So, any other strange and unusual customs I should know about before you leave? Is a man going to knock on my door in five minutes asking for only my left shoe?”

The man paused and turned around to face her again, his lovely face shining out a look of mischief and excitement.

“Well, I canna say that we’re nae kent for our strange and unusual customs but I think the fireballs are the only other thing ye’ll hae ti’ deal wi’ the night.”

For a moment she thought that she’d had too much to drink. Had the man really just said the words ‘fire’ and ‘balls’ as though they were the most normal things to come out of someone’s mouth?

He noticed her gormless expression.

“Surely ye’d hiv seen the High Street being cordoned off for the night?”

“I haven’t been to the High Street.”

It was his turn to balk.

“Ye came tae Stoney on Hogmanay and shut yersel’ inside? Geillis didnae think tae tell ye?”

“For the love of God, tell me what?”

He smiled a wry smile, “When the clock gets tae midnight, about 40 folk will walk down the High Street swingin’ massive balls of fire around their heids. All the way through the auld toon and then down tae the harbour.”

When Claire didn’t answer, he dug his hands into his pockets, straightening his arms so that he stretched to full height, the top of his head almost hitting the low ceilings.

“It’s an old Viking thing,” he said with a straight face.

Subconsciously, he flexed the muscles of his shoulders and back, taking up even more space. He really was very large.

Viking indeed.

He jerked his left shoulder up slightly and tried to seem nonchalant as he said, “Usually I swing one masel’ but I dislocated ma shooder earlier in the month and it’s only jus’ healed. Shame otherwise I could’ve gied ye a shotty, get ye the best view over the crowd.”

“I’ll pretend I understand a word of what you just said and bid you goodnight,” Claire said firmly as she shifted her weight towards the door, trying her hardest to appear aloof in front of a man that she was fast forming an attraction to.

The Viking surveyed the state of the living room and looked back at her from underneath his eyelashes.

“Havin’ a quiet een, are ye?”

“Yes. I needed a break from the city. I work with Geillis and she was kind enough to let me borrow her place for a few days to get some peace and quiet.”

He gave her a cheeky grin at that, “And then here a stranger comes, crashin’ intae yer front door.”

He put his hand to his chest and smiled kindly at her before bowing his head slightly.

“My maist sincere apologies tae ye…?”

“Claire Beauchamp.”

“Weel, it’s affa fine tae meet ye, Claire,” he said as he pressed a thumb into his chest. “James Fraser.”

“How do you do?” she nodded her head in acknowledgement of his introduction and tried her hardest not to get lost in his eyes.

Looking into his eyes was like looking into the heart of the sun.

Jamie narrowed them at her with a smirk and Claire felt herself blush slightly.

“Yer affa posh tae be a friend of someone as debauched as the one and only Geillis Duncan. Ye said ye work thegither?”

“Yes, we do. I’m a surgeon as well. And I promise, there is nothing posh about me,” Claire scoffed.

He looked at her again, closely, and Claire could practically see the cogs of Jamie’s brain working as a plan came together.

Even though she had failed to light the fire, she could swear that there were flames dancing in his eyes.

“Ye ken, if ye wanted me tae believe ye werenae posh, ye’d dae somethin’ spontaneous.”

Claire was surprised to find that his words sent a shiver down the back of her spine. She couldn’t put her finger exactly on what she was feeling but she knew it felt good.

“What exactly do you mean?”

Jamie took a step towards her, casting another glance at the coffee table of sadness and then settling his eyes on the front door.

“Take a turn aroon the toon wi’ a manny ye’ve jus’ met? Canna be by yerself on Hogmanay, Doctor Beauchamp.”

The offer had been made and Claire knew that she’d be mad to pass it up. She pretended to think it over, lips pursed in fake contemplation as she waited what she felt was an appropriate time to not seem too eager.

“Might as well see these fireballs, I suppose.”

His smile split his face in two and Claire couldn’t help but feel her stomach flip.

“Ace. Weel, we can get going? It’s only an hour until the bells.”

Claire tried to seem casual as she asked for a moment to change into something more appropriate for the outdoors and quickly extricated herself upstairs.

Standing in the middle of the bedroom, she looked at her reflection in the mirror and panicked.

Her mind was completely blank as she tried to flick through the items that she’d brought with her, trying to come up with something that hit the perfect balance of sexy and comfy. Frustration building, she grabbed her phone and shot a text to the woman who was responsible for all of this.

Claire: James Fraser, alright enough guy?

Geillis: Christ, nae wasting any time, are ye?

Claire: Shut up. Anything I should know?

Geillis: He’s an arse man!

Geillis: Nae many better ways to start the new year than a shag with a ginger god!

Claire: Very helpful, thank you. I don’t know why I bother, you are no use at all!

Geillis: Och wheesht, you love me really.

Geillis: For real, Jamie is a sweetheart. We’ve been pals since we were bairns. You’re in good hands.

Geillis: Affa good hands 😏

Claire huffed a laugh at her best friend and quickly pocketed her phone into her jeans, stripping off her leggings and jumper.

As quickly as she could, she dug around in her suitcase for the single pair of jeans that she’d brought with her. Thankfully they were the black ones that hugged her arse perfectly. She grabbed a plain white t-shirt and her favourite burgundy cardigan before she realised that it was too long and would effectively hide the said perfect-arse-in-these-jeans situation.

Resigning herself to an evening of being frozen stiff, she decided against the warm winter jacket that was hiding downstairs and grabbed her trusty leather jacket.

Thankfully her reflection in the mirror showed that the jacket stopped just above the line of her hips, allowing the jeans do their all important job.

“Doctor Beauchamp?”

She moved towards his voice, opening the bedroom door and quickly closing it behind herself so he wouldn’t be able to see the mess that it hid.

“Please call me Claire,” she implored.

“I like calling ye Doctor, ’tis…”

“What?”

“Och, nothin’.”

Claire raised an eyebrow, “Spit it out.”

She could swear that she saw him blushing as he rubbed the back of his neck with an open palm, looking her straight in the eye.

“Sexy.”

The single word was said with such obvious flirtation behind it that she couldn’t stop the rush of heat and need that spread through her body. But the wine had made her bold and she decided to give as good as she got.

Without responding to him, she crossed the room and put her hand gently against the small of his back as she made it to the front door and pulled her boots on.

She heard three heavy footsteps and then he was behind her, so close that she could feel his steady breath.

A large arm circled around her body, grazing her waist ever so slightly as he went to grasp the doorknob.

“Let me get that fer ye, Doctor Beauchamp,” he whispered into the mess of curls that were tickling his nose as Claire resisted the urge to close her eyes and lean back further.

Shaking her head slightly to try and dispel the haze that had come over her, she tried her best to keep her voice from trembling, “Lead the way, Mr Fraser.”

Once they were out in the cold air, Claire could see why Jamie had made fun of her for not noticing the preparations earlier in the day. The entirety of the small village was alive with light and music and bodies. Doors were propped open to allow for a steady stream of people coming in and out of pubs and homes alike, shouts and laughter filling the air with sound. The colourful lights that were still strung up from Christmas glistened against the wet pavements but thankfully the rain had passed and was on its way north towards the city, leaving a cool freshness to the air. Children scurried around with their parents, thick mittens and hats almost falling off at every opportunity and as they turned towards what Jamie had called the Square, Jamie grasped Claire’s hand in his own so they wouldn’t get separated in the crowd that seemed to be every resident of Stonehaven and then some. Claire couldn’t help the huge grin on her face as Jamie expertly navigated the both of them through the community, returning well wishes and clapping a few people on the back in greeting.

She was completely entranced by it all. Even though she was new to Stonehaven, people hugged her in greeting and raised their drinks, offering sentiments that she didn’t quite understand but could nevertheless feel the warmth that they were uttered with.

“Aye Jock! Fit like en?”

“Aye aye, loon, nae bad, nae bad!”

When they made it to a spot that apparently promised the best view of the procession, Jamie made sure that his massive frame wasn’t blocking the view for any children and spotted an old friend.

“Alright Jamie! Foos yer doos?”

Shaking the man’s hand firmly, Jamie gave what Claire assumed was a response to the nonsense question he’d just been asked.

“Aye, a’wis pechin’!”

Claire couldn’t concentrate on the rest of the conversation that was going on between the two men. She was much too preoccupied with the fact that Jamie was stood so close to her, his chest resting against the length of her arm. Even the small amount of pressure being shared between the two bodies was enough to make Claire’s head spin. Not to mention the heat radiating off the man even though it was easily below freezing out in the night arm. A frisson of energy that she could not put a name to coursed through Claire’s limbs and she jerked, accidentally elbowing Jamie in the ribs.

Ending his conversation, he turned to her sharply.

“Fit wis that fer?!” he exclaimed in mock outrage.

She tried her hardest not to laugh at the pout on his face.

“I’m pretty sure you’re just making up these words to make fun of me. Honestly, ‘foos yer doos’?”

Jamie laughed, air bursting from his lungs and turning into soft curls of mist in the dark. Claire felt the vibrations move through her body, tingling in her own extremities.

“’Tis a common greetin’ roon these parts, Sassenach,” he put his hand on the small of her waist and turned her towards him, eyes glimmering. “Take a guess fit it means.”

“I have no idea,” she said primly as she accepted the proffered hip flask from Jamie’s hand.

She realised that she wasn’t the only one aware of the charge between them when she saw his eyes darken at the sight of her bring the flask to her lips. He didn’t know but seeing it made Jamie’s tongue dart out to moisten his lips.

Claire took a small drink of the whisky that flooded her mouth, already feeling a little more than intoxicated after the bottle of wine and the arrival of a certain ginger Scot.

“I’ll gie ye a hint, it’s tae dee wi’ birds.”

Her features scrunched in confusion, “Human or avian?”

“We dinna call women ‘birds’ around here, we call them ‘quines’.”

“That’s not an answer to my question.”

He rolled his eyes at her, unable to keep the smile from his lips, “Another hint is that up here in the northeast, we replace our W’s wi’ F’s.”

She sent him a death stare that hopefully conveyed the message of ‘stop-taking-the-piss-out-of-me-or-I-will-empty-the-contents-of-that-flask-over-your-head’.

Thankfully, he seemed to take pity on her, “Foos yer doos is how we ask folk how they’re deeing. It translates to ‘how are your pigeons’?”

“Pigeons?!” she laughed incredulously. “You ask people about their pigeons?!”

Before he could answer, the clocktower rang its first bell to signal that midnight had been struck. A cheer could be heard from further up the High Street as the first fire ball started to make its journey towards the water.

Claire had never seen anything like it. Men and women dressed in kilts, their feet clad in sturdy shoes as they swung huge balls that had been set ablaze in a beautiful arc around their head. It was the perfect heady mix of awe and fear as they made a great ‘whoosh’ every time the fire almost kissed the ground. The darkness of the night made them shine all the more brightly and Jamie bent down to Claire’s ear so she could hear him over the excitement of the crowd.

“Yer hair is affa bonnie in the firelight, Doc,” his voice sent shivers down her spine. “Mo nighean donn.”

She didn’t know what it meant, didn’t care really. She just knew that she wanted to hear him say it again and again.

Claire seized the opportunity and pushed herself back firmly against his chest, taking his hands in hers and bringing them to wrap around her body in invitation. She hoped that she hadn’t massively misread the situation but her worries were assuaged when he tucked her head neatly under his chin and sighed in relief.

They watched as the spectacle continued but both of them would have been more than happy simply standing there, holding each other.

The bells finally chimed their last, signalling that it was now officially Hogmanay.

Claire refused to move from the safety of his arms but craned her neck up to look at Jamie whose full attention was on her.

“Happy New Year, Jamie,” Claire whispered, her heavy breath mingling with his own.

“Happy Hogmanay, Claire.”

Jamie’s head dipped, closing the space between them and pressing his lips against hers, deciding that his wish for the coming year would be to never part from the woman in his arms.

#the fireballs #clandonnachaidh #outlander fanfic #outlander #jamie fraser #Claire beauchamp #stonehaven #aberdeenshire #northeast scotland

114 notes · View notes

stuck-in-hawkins · 4 years ago

Text

When He Left- October 29th 1993

Stranger Things Fanfic

Pairing: Will Byers/ Mike Wheeler

Read on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24656785/chapters/69920109

Will jolted awake, drenched in a cold sweat. The dream was forgotten as soon as he woke, but the fear lingered like smoke. The way his heart was pounding he knew enough to tell it had been a nightmare of the mind flayer sort. Running… that was all he could remember. The air seemed denser and harder to breathe. He had to concentrate on each breath. His body didn’t feel like his own, it felt like a puppet he was trying to command. And a new sensation prickled at his spine: Cold.

He froze, straining his ears for a sound, anything that resembled the guttural, animal sounds of the demon who had haunted his nights for the past 10 years. He heard something out in the living room.

Mike. He was sleeping on the couch. He would be able to shake Will out of this in-between state. He’d go out, see Mike, and reality would set in again.

He opened the door quietly, or at least, he opened it slowly. He couldn’t hear much over the pounding in his ears and the gnawing sounds that he knew was just the remains of the night terror. It was just the normal sounds of the fan blades spinning mixed with all the chattering noise of the city. They would be familiar again once he’d shaken off the lingering fears. They would stop sounding like the chewing of flesh.

He couldn’t trust his senses. He just had to speak to someone who could shake him out of it. He didn’t feel embarrassment in that moment, he could feel nothing else but the fear and cold. He walked down the hallway. He could see the back of the couch and Mike’s shadow as he moved. Will was trying to make it out in the dark. Mike must have unplugged the night light in the hallway. Will could only see by what the street lights illuminated from the window.

It looked like Mike’s back was arched. Will’s stomach dropped as he saw the taut gray skin stretched over sinew. The sounds of chewing. He stepped on a board and the creak drew the attention of the demogorgon, who looked at him with its blood stained rows of teeth and screeched.

Will gasped and opened his eyes. He was still in his room, he could breathe again. He took in every sense he could: the smell of his sweat soaked sheets, the wind on his skin as the fan circulated the air, the click of the clock as the numbers flipped from 4:49 to 4:50, the warm glow from the night light in his room. He whipped off the sheets and took in breath after breath, trying to slow them down, to hold onto the air in his lungs and stave off hyperventilation. With every sense, he distanced himself from the sensories of the dream. Upon waking, he’d realized how many of these things had been missing from the dream but… it all felt so real.

He put his head in his hands and sobbed. His brain had played with the cruelest of scenarios… losing Mike. He had to see. He knew it had been a dream but he had to see Mike and make sure he was still there.

He opened his door without caring for the sound now. He didn’t want to play into the fear. He listened to each step echo as he padded his way into the living room. He got to the couch and looked over to see Mike sleeping soundly. His long curls scattered across the pillow, the gentle breeze of air through his lips.

Will clutched his chest, his heart was still thumping against the inside of his rib cage. Slow breaths. Come back down, he coached himself. Mike was okay. He was sleeping peacefully, untouched.

His own mind had betrayed him. To have twisted reality into such a cruel form. To let him think he was dead...

Would it do this to him every night that Mike was here?

There was a stirring on the couch and Will wiped his eyes. Mike had turned to lie on his back. Will watched Mike’s chest rise and fall. He knew he shouldn’t be out here, hovering over Mike. God forbid he woke up and saw him. He’d think Will was a creep, or Will would have to tell him his dream. Both were equally awful scenarios. So, he turned back towards his room to wait for daylight, knowing there was no way he’d be able to sleep.

As he made his way to the hall, his foot caught the strap of Mike’s backpack and nearly toppled him over.

“Fuck!” He hissed, catching himself.

“Will?” Came that beautiful, groggy voice. He remembered a time, however brief, when it had been the first sound he heard in the morning.

“Sorry… I just came out for some water.” He didn’t look back.

“Are you okay?” Mike sat up on the couch, dazed and concerned.

“Y-yeah.” And Will heard his voice waver. It gave him away. He turned to Mike, he’d have to face him after a failed attempt like that. He faked a smile and gave a thumbs up. Another pathetic attempt, he chided himself.

He could see the worry in Mike’s brow, in those big brown eyes. He wordlessly pleaded Will not to go.

Will hesitated and Mike took the opportunity, “Can you show me how to work the TV? I kind of like to have background noise while I sleep.”

Will knew what it was. Mike was coaxing him to the couch, bringing him in, the way he used to after an episode. Mike had learned over the years not to expect an honest answer from the question, ‘Are you okay?’

Will made his way over, “What? You aren’t lulled to sleep by the serene sounds of the city?” Will played it off with sarcasm but he was still shaken. He grabbed the remotes. “This one is for the TV and this one is for the VCR. We don’t have a lot of channels but I can get out a movie if you want.”

“Just the TV’s fine.”

Will turned it on. There were lions stalking in tall grass. National Geographic.

Mike said, “This is good.”

Will nodded, and forced a smile. “Remind you of home?”

“Oh, yeah. The wilderness of Indiana.”

Mike reached over Will’s hand and took the remote, their fingers touched for a moment. Nothing felt more tempting in the whole world. To just take Mike’s hand, to fall into him, to lose himself in those arms. But knowing now why Mike was there, he couldn’t. He had wanted to tell Mike; to be upfront about his feelings, but how could he? Mike, Lucas, and Max were all coming out of concern for Will, to wait out the anniversary. He didn’t want to put Mike in a position of having to turn him down.

Still, Will was weak and wishing for comfort. He ought to leave. He had been about to get up when he saw the lion tear at the flesh of a gazelle and he jerked his head away. The image of blood dripping from the demon’s mouth was still fresh from the dream. Mike changed the channel quickly. Will put his head in his hands. So much for playing it off.

Mike’s hand was on his arm. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But you don’t have to pretend either.”

Will couldn’t look at him. “Dustin told you.”

“About the night terrors? Yeah, he did.”

“What did he say?”

“Not much. Just that they were coming back.”

“That’s it?” Will brought his hands down and searched Mike’s face for the truth.

“Yeah. I swear, Will. I was worried and kept asking him what was up but he said that if I wanted to know… I could come here, and ask you myself.”

Will looked ahead and nodded. Dustin really was a good friend.

Mike said, “I’m sorry I haven’t been here.”

“What are you talking about? We talk on the phone all the time.”

“But I’m not here.”

Will shrugged, “You’re here when it matters.”

Will didn’t say it in so many words, but Mike knew what he’d meant. The last time he’d come to California had been for June’s funeral. Will and June hadn’t dated since high school there but they had still been close. Will took care of him at the end. When it was all hospital visits, talking with nurses, and a long goodbye that stretched over days. After his death, Will’s grief had pulled a fog over those days and they all seemed to blur together. But Mike had been there for him, like a lighthouse in a storm.

Mike’s voice was soft, “Do you want to talk about what you saw?”

Will shook his head, “Not really…”

“Okay. Do you want to watch something out here for a bit?”

“I don’t want to keep you up.”

“You won’t. Look.” He plopped his head down on Will’s shoulder and slumped over, “I’m already asleep.”

Will could feel his senses ignite under the touch with an all too pleasant warmth. It was a welcome feeling that shook away the memory of the all encompassing cold from his dream. He wondered if Mike was doing it on purpose. If he knew how the touch was sweeping away the terror.

He playfully smooshed his hand into Mike’s face, “Oh yeah? Fast asleep, right?’

Mike laughed and sat up. He flicked through the few channels between the static noise. The gray crackle alerting them when he’d reached the last channel. In the early hours, the only things that seemed to be on were infomercials and televangelists. Mike avoided the National Geographic channel and as he was flicking back, he heard the familiar notes, ‘-beautiful day in the neighborhood.” He clicked back to it and looked at Will with a wry smile.

“We are not watching this.” Will said.

“What’s wrong with Mr. Rogers?”

“We are two grown-”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t have a Daniel the Tiger stuffed animal. You smothered that thing for all of Kindergarten and brought it over to most sleepovers until you were 10.”

Will fired back, “What about you? Remember that library questionnaire in 2nd grade? When you were scared to put it down as your favorite show?”

“I’ve grown past my denial stage unlike you. Besides, if there is any show that will help us fall back asleep, it’s this one.��

“I don’t know. QVC could do the job just fine.”

Mike handed Will the remote and sat back so that their arms were touching. The sensation echoed through Will’s every nerve ending. He left the show on and laid back, leaning into the touch ever so slightly.

Will didn’t know what he was doing. It was a bad idea to be this close to Mike after an episode. Everything in him longed to curl up into him, to let himself be held. And Mike was just there, toeing the line. Offering enough touch to make it all confusing, to send him into the stars wishing and hoping for something that he knew couldn’t happen. Mike would never leave Hawkins. And Will wouldn’t leave California.

All the same, Will didn’t want to go back to bed. He’d rather stay in the uncertainty, absorbing every kindness, gesture, and touch. He was scared to close his eyes in that dark room lest he return to the same hellish visions.

They watched through the episode and made jibes at the ridiculousness but then a moment came on and both of them got kind of quiet. The man named Clemmons sang, “There Are Many Ways to Say I Love You,” and Will caught Mike staring intently, the way he did when he was looking for meaning in a movie scene.

Mike caught Will’s quizzical look and answered it, “I never realized how profound this show was. I mean it’s a little hokey. But, no one… talks about love like that. Just so openly.” He shrugged, “Two guys sitting with their feet in a pool singing about love… who does that? It feels embarrassing to watch, but I wish it wasn’t.” He said quietly, “I wish it was more normal to do that.”

Will responded, “I think, it doesn’t feel normal because it’s for kids, so everything is said out loud and in the open, so it can be explained. Things that aren’t usually talked about.”

“I guess. I don’t know. I… there have been moments with you guys, where I just-” he shrugged, “When you guys all flew back home to see El after we found her… I went to bring in El’s lunch and everyone was around her bed, trying to comfort her. I remember just wishing I could have said it right then. That there was some way to tell you all…” ____________________________________________________________________

Will remembered that day. How eerie and unfamiliar El was. The last time he had seen her, she had been all rage, hell bent on finding Brenner. She had left a hole in their lives, all to destroy the man who had once been a nightmare but had come to haunt her days. When Hopper found El, wandering the streets of New York, they all thought she had lost, that Brenner had scrambled her brain the way he had with her mother.

It was months later that they pieced it all together: the CAT scans that showed the scarred tissue in her brain, the article of a burned down government facility in Montauk, New York written by a familiar journalist. She had pushed herself too far. She sacrificed everything to make sure that there was never a 012.

Will stood in the room with this shell of their former friend. The girl who had whispered words of hope all those years ago, who had shut out the demons from the other world, was silent and stared like she was looking beyond the people gathered around her, somewhere far off.

Will remembered the heavy sinking feeling in his gut, wondering how long Mike would still be chasing her. Mike finally had El back, but only in body. Her mind, her personality, everything else that Mike had loved about her once was gone. What if Mike was hoping for something that El was no longer capable of?

When Mike had come back into the room, holding the tray of waffles, he looked so uncertain, like he was afraid to hope. But then he had looked up at his friends, and his eyes looked glassy, and a small, grateful smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. ___________________________________________________________

Will pondered about the moment and about the song, “I think that's exactly what they are saying. Love doesn’t have to be said to be felt. I remember that moment, by the way, you coming into the room. You had this look and you were saying it, even if you didn’t know you were.”

And there was this soulful look in Mike’s eyes, of genuine love and gratitude. It made Will want to melt.

It was quiet for a moment. And suddenly Will didn’t trust himself. Talking about love with Mike, being so weak after an episode, it all made him just want to pull Mike in close. To have their lips crash in a sensation that was only a faded memory now.

So, Will redirected their focus, “How’s El been? Has there been any progress with her talking?”

Mike shook his head. “The doctors say that she probably won’t be able to talk again. They’re calling it global aphasia but they can’t explain the scar tissue. Global aphasia is normally something that happens after a stroke… affects all the areas of that part of the brain, not only speaking language but understanding it. The scar tissue wasn’t just from Montauk. It was built up over time. Everytime she used her powers… she was using that part of her brain… communicating and it was all hurting her. The only way the doctor could really explain her condition was to compare it with concussions. Just recurring injury overtime. Never being given the chance to heal…”

“Maybe… maybe he has it wrong. I mean he doesn’t know the whole story, right?”

Mike shook his head, “He may not have all the pieces. But everything he’s saying makes sense. So, we’re going to stop trying to rebuild her language. It's only been frustrating and... in all likelihood... it can't come back. It makes no sense to push her. So, we’ve been using sign language and there’s been a lot more progress. She can sign basic functions, hunger, bathroom, hot, cold, tired. She doesn’t have as many outbursts now. She still can get overwhelmed at times and then the signs go out the window but… yeah.” Mike could hear his own frustration and apologized, “Sorry. I don't mean to complain.”

“It’s not complaining, Mike. You’re allowed to talk about the tough parts, you don’t have to gloss it over.”

Mike sighed, “I know. I just hate sounding like a downer. I am happy to have her back. And this is improvement.”

“It is.” Will had to make every effort to keep the concern out of his voice. He knew the toll it was all taking on Mike and Hopper.

“And, she has really started to join the space a little more. She’s mostly in her own world but she’ll come to the dinner table, sit with us for TV. And I’ve been taking her out places lately, just around town. A little at a time. She actually seems to look forward to them now. It’s nice.”

Will faked a smile, “That’s great.” He wanted to be happy for Mike that he’d found a way to be content but an old worry crept, wanting a foothold in the conversation.

Mike turned toward the TV and fell silent, having read some sign in Will’s face. “Don’t pity me, Will, please. Not you.”

The comment shot through Will. All those times he hated when people had done the very same to him, “I don’t!”

“Then, say what you actually were thinking. Please.”

Will averted his eyes, his fingers fiddling with the throw pillow. “You… you do things for yourself too, right?”

“What do you mean?”

Will instantly wanted to recoil, to backtrack the conversation. But it had been weighing on him for months.

“It’s just… over this past year… just…” Why couldn’t he get the words out? He breathed and tried to make the thoughts coherent. He hated how the words would just get stuck inside him.

He finally shoved the words out. “You used to volunteer for IYG. You used to go to game nights at the comic book store. You used to go on dates… but since El started living with you… one by one. All those things have stopped.” He took the risk of looking Mike’s way and he could see it. The way his brow crinkled when he was about to get defensive. But he also saw him trying to hold it back.

“Look, I get why- why you’re concerned. But I’m okay. My life has just- it’s changed. It’s changed a lot. I can’t do a lot of the same stuff: volunteering at the youth group, those game nights- they would take up several hours. They were commitments. And I just don’t have that kind of time, anymore.”

“And the dating?”

Mike shook his head. “It was more stressful and aggravating than it was worth. It felt like I was constantly feeling either rejected or disappointed. And once I stopped chasing, once I just decided to stop, I felt so much better. Like the pressure was off. So now, I do the domestic stuff. The cooking, maintaining the house, taking care of El, and I enjoy it, Will. Maybe it’s not the type of life you or Dustin would want, but I’m content with it.”

That last part had hurt. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just… I worry is all. You give too much of yourself, Mike. You give your all until there’s nothing left.”

Mike took in Will’s words, considered them. “I have Hopper and your mom. They give me a break when I need it. And I do things for myself, too. I’ve been reading a lot more. And, while I don’t have a novel planned out, I’m getting ideas. I want to write again. When my coworkers get together on lunch break, I will usually go out with them, as long as it’s not in a bar. I do things. I promise I am okay.”

Will nodded. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

Mike got up, “You don’t need to apologize, Will. I don't think you're the only one that's thought it, but you're the only one that's talked about it. It's sort of become the elephant in the room. I… I’m sort of glad you asked. Talking about it with you, I..." He stumbled over his words, "Just... Thank you for listening.” He threw a smile over his shoulder as walked over to his suitcase.

Will’s heart jumped like it was catching the smile. Mike's sincere words nestled themselves in Will's rib cage. Mike had been so open. Will knew what was coming. They were unloading burdens from their mind and now the ball was in his court. He had just asked Mike something very personal. It was Will’s turn to offer something back, he’d have to tell him about the nightmare. But he’d wait to be asked.

Mike offered, “Let’s make breakfast.”

Will blinked. “What?”

“Breakfast. I am insanely hungry right now. I don’t know if it’s a jet lag but I’m wide awake and ready for the day.” He took out his clothes for the day from his suitcase and pulled out a grocer’s bag.

“But… it’s not even 5 in the morning. You’ll be exhausted.”

“Yeah. It’ll probably mean another early night for me.”

“But aren’t you going back to sleep?”

“Are you?” Mike looked up, eyebrows raised, taking the supplies into the kitchen and setting them out on the counter.

Will answered honestly, “Probably not.”

“Then might as well take the opportunity to make you my world famous chocolate peanut butter pancakes.”

“I’m sorry, your what?”

“Chocolate peanut butter pancakes.” He pulled out a jar of peanut butter from the bag.

“No. I mean ‘World Famous’. You can’t claim that status unless anyone else has tried them outside of Indiana.”

“Official title is pending.” He then took out some Reese’s Cups, cocoa, pancake mix, and chocolate chips.

Will laughed, “Did you pack those?”

“Nah. Dustin took me to the store yesterday. I knew I wanted to make them sometime this week. And turns out today’s the day.”

Will smiled as he watched Mike start getting things ready in the kitchen. He got up from the couch to help Mike find all the necessary supplies. Will couldn’t help the happiness floating up inside him. He knew he owed Mike a conversation but for now, he was just all smiles. Mike was giving up his sleep to be awake beside Will. He knew what Mike was doing. It was to distract him from the fear, to distract them both from the weights they carried. For the moment, it was all someplace far away. For this morning, they were just two friends stumbling around the kitchen, making a mess. Will watched Mike mix up the ingredients, his profile more gorgeous than ever as the early morning light began to come in through the windows. Although Will’s old wounds echoed their memories, warning him, Will couldn’t stop himself from falling in love all over again.

53 notes · View notes

discojupiters · 4 years ago

Text

Another Lonely Night in New York

Casually uploading Bee Gees fanfic as if I haven't had this account for almost five years and I'm just now using it to post stuff because I am upset at the lack of Bee Gees fanfic that exists and I need to change that also cuz I haven't posted on any form of social media in literal ages and I just really want an excuse to post classic rock shitposts and whatnot. :D

Ao3 link to the fanfic if you'd prefer to read it there

Another Lonely Night in New York

Robin/Fluff

The rain had been predominantly worse at night than it had been in the morning. Dense raindrops splattered onto Robin's hotel room window as he sat near the window, flinching every now and then at the speed at which the pellets of rain struck the window. The weather had been like this for almost the entirety of Robin's stay in Manhattan, which made it difficult for him to see many of sights that he originally intended to see. He stayed for nearly 4 days straight cooped up in his hotel room and if he forced himself to stay in there a minute longer, he was about to go mentally insane; he had to get out and go outside for a stroll. Despite the brutal showers and the absence of an umbrella, he put on his coat and made his way down to the lobby and out the door. He knew not where his first stop would be nor how long he'd be out, all he knew was that he needed fresh air, whether the air was battling fierce weather or not. Robin trekked out east in hopes to find something worthy of his time.

Robin had originally desired to head to New York in order to find inspiration for new music for his solo album that he was working on. After the Bee Gees decided to take a break for a bit following the release of Living Eyes, Robin found himself in a great opportunity to release more solo albums and expand his talent as a songwriter. His intentions were unfortunately tampered with as the climate in New York at this time was not the best. Little to no inspiration had crossed through his mind for the entirety of his trip and he only had one more day before he needed to be back in London to begin recording sessions.

Robin's mind was as blank as a fresh piece of paper as he strolled through the streets of midtown Manhattan. Bright and colorful lights guided him to Times Square in what felt like no time. Robin had only prayed that something in those lively, radiant billboards and lights would make a light bulb go off in his head and give him enough material to write a perfect song.

The rain showed no signs of stopping any time soon, and it wasn't until now that Robin realized how foolish he looked sopping wet with his hair sticking to his face and neck while everyone else were as dry as bones under their umbrellas. Robin reached for the hood of his coat to hide his drenched hair only to notice he brought the coat without a hood instead of the other one he had in his room that did have a hood. He thought for a moment about heading back to the hotel to spare the rest of his embarrassment but he kept walking, tenacious to find even the smallest bit of inspiration for a new song.

The stop at a crosswalk was the first break Robin had given his legs in God knows how long the amount of time he had been walking for. They ached almost enough for Robin's knees to buckle and give out on him. He could feel people staring at him, businessmen coming home late from their office jobs, young fools in love heading to various restaurants and clubs downtown, rebellious teens on their way to their secret hideouts. All these people nice and dry under their umbrellas while they stared at the lonely freak in New York who couldn't have even bothered to bring the correct coat in order to save his head from the rainfall.

'Another lonely night in New York'

Eagerly waiting for the crosswalk light to flash white, at this point he couldn't wait until it was time to go back home to London. This trip had been nothing but disappointing to him. No benefits to his song writing or even his own well being what so ever. The only thing he'd catch from this trip now would be a cold from the rainwater coating his entire body, making his pants stick to his legs, seeping into his sneakers and making his socks damp, that he'd have to deal with once he got back home. On the bright side if he did catch a cold then he would be able to delay the recording sessions until his voice got better which would give him more time to write some more material for the album.

'The city of dreams just keeps on getting me down'

In the midst of all the dismay washing over him, he almost didn't notice that the rain had suddenly begun to repel him. He could still see the rain in front of him, yet none of it was touching him anymore. Puzzled, he looked above his head to see what had happened, but all he spotted was a black, dome shaped piece of nylon; the canopy of an umbrella above his head. The misty scent of perfume filled his nostrils. He glanced over to the right of him to find a woman holding the umbrella over his head for him. Her resting face was nonchalant as she peered across the street, also waiting for the crosswalk light to turn white, but she gave a coy smile to Robin when she noticed him staring at her.

Robin wanted to speak up, wanted to thank the winsome young lady for sharing her umbrella with him, but the words wouldn't come to him. As the crosswalk light finally changed, everyone made their way across the street. New Yorkers were fast walkers, it was strenuous to keep up with the woman. Her strut was self-assured, even in the six inch stilettos that she wore; it was like she injected confidence into her veins every morning. Robin was mesmerized by her. He was still thinking about the smile she gave him when they were on the other side of the crosswalk, trying his best to hide a cheeky, daydreaming smile.

As the walk with the woman continued, Robin couldn't help but wonder: Was he going to be following this woman around until she reached her destination? Did they both have the same destination? Robin didn't even know where he would end up, he wracked his brain wondering if this woman was gonna lead him somewhere or if she was just doing a quick favor and wanted him to leave now. The woman hadn't spoke the whole time. Her nonchalant expression turned into a gentle smile yet she refused to look at Robin anymore than that one glance she shot at him when he noticed her.

Robin and the woman were now exiting Times Square, the high-spirited lights merely staining the background now as the woman continued to head for the subway. Robin knew right then and there that it was time for him to head back, as much as he adored this woman, he couldn't take a chance. He didn't know her and God forbid he let himself get killed tonight all because he had love fogging up his brain just for a woman who did a single kind deed for him. Again, Robin's mouth couldn't open to say a goodbye. It was like his throat was frozen every time he was near this woman. After an extensive fight to make the words come out, he gave up and instead stayed put in his spot on the sidewalk, waiting for the woman to notice and hopefully say goodbye first. After the woman reached a few paces noticing Robin had left her side, she worriedly glanced around, holding onto her hair to make sure the rain didn't touch it. She glimpsed behind her to find Robin slowly sauntering backwards in order to give her the indication that he was leaving. She relaxed her arms as her gloved hands waved goodbye to Robin, granting him the same kittenish smile she had given him earlier that night. Robin waved back and finally turned around to make his way back to the hotel.

Robin tried hard not to glance back every few seconds to get one last look at the woman, but failed miserably; he couldn't help it. After fully losing sight of the woman, he ran back to his hotel. He was grateful that she helped him, yet suddenly glum now that he was aware that he may never see that woman again. He didn't know anything about her, not her name, not her voice, not her story, but that didn't stop him from falling head over heels for her. He knew that feeling wouldn't last long, it would probably be gone by the time he'd step foot on the plane back to London, but it was a nice thought to occupy his mind with for the time being. It fascinated him at times that he could be so in love with a woman that he knew absolutely nothing about all because she noticed him and did something good for him.

'Cause my baby's no longer around and my feelings can never be found'

Robin made it back to the hotel, tracking puddles of the water all the way up to his room. The first thing he did upon entering his room was remove all of his drenched clothes and head for the shower. Once he dried himself off, he frantically searched the room for a pencil and paper, heading to his window when he finally had one. Before he could even write down a single lyric, he found her. The woman who had helped him. She was making her way down the street of the hotel as if she had been walking in circles this entire time. Was she actually trying to reach a certain destination? Or was she just out and about looking for men to swoon over her through her acts of kindness? It didn't matter to Robin, because at least he got to take one last look at her that night. That was all he needed for inspiration. If that woman was enough to give a songwriter with writer's block inspiration for a new song, than in Robin's book that woman was enough to make the world go 'round. Robin wrote down lyrics as swiftly as they came to him.

'Another lonely night in New York, and my sorry eyes are looking out on the world'

#bee gees #barry gibb #robin gibb #maurice gibb #bee gees fanfic #robin gibb fanfic #robin gibb fluff

25 notes · View notes

bangtanblurbs · 4 years ago

Text

young forever

song: young forever by BTS

first experience: strangely enough i have a very visceral memory of when forever young dropped. it was during finals week of my final year in undergrad. the song released on a sunday in the wee hours (or perhaps a monday? - days tend to run together during finals week). i didn’t have many assignments due that year since my course load was light and i was really just coasting into grad school the year afterwards (at the same institution i attend for undergrad). i remember logging onto youtube and catching the video as it premiered. i was stunned. HYYH pt. 1 and HYYH pt. 2 were heavenly to me, so of course young forever was greatly anticipated for me - the aesthetics, continuation of the story, and also simply getting new bangtan music. the cotton candy color pallet loaded onto my phone screen, and RM’s beautiful voice can through my earphones... i was immediately in love.

every member looked completely stunning. the message i got from the video was... incredibly powerful. the maze. the lyrics. all of it resonated with me, a young woman -- 22 years old -- soon to turn another corner in life. i sat in my dorm room preparing for a busy week, as i was the RA in my dormitory and needed to help my students move out that week... as i prepared for my graduation and transition into my next step in life... i was also shipping out to macau, china for the summer in a few weeks so i geared up for that. this video dropping was almost a breath of fresh air from everything going on. i was able to really sit and enjoy it, but also reflect on my past, present, and the future to come.

feelings: well, i have quite a lot. as someone who has been chronically obsessed with the story of peter pan since age seven, i’d say that youth is something i value - perhaps a bit too much. what’s interesting though is young forever isn’t necessarily about youth in the rawest sense... it’s also about dreams, reaching the point in your life where you’re happy, with yourself, your circumstances, ultimately your place in life. which i suppose most people equate that with youth, the innocence and naivety of it all. for me, thinking about forever young is kind of about that anxiety we carry as we get younger - have a made good use of my youth? did i squander it, getting caught up in the day to day or bogged down by my demons? the worry that our youth is our prime and when it’s gone, where do we go next? retire? it’s kind of funny thinking about this now as I’m 27 instead of 22. do i feel any older? no, not really - i feel the same. the same energy, the same zeal for life. do i look back on the days when i was younger and think that my youth is gone? no. for me - youth - it’s a state of mind. it’s an ethos, a way of proceeding forwards in my life. i didn’t always think this way - perhaps that was wrapped up in my anxiety about getting older. i used to lament my birthday each passing year - god turning 23 felt the absolute worst for some reason. it’s funny now though - how i almost feel younger, lighter, now than i did. youth should be a feeling of unburdened peace right? ideally it would seem so - but the reality in our world today... youth is pain. youth is struggling. youth is stumbling through the dark and trying to figure out who the hell you are, who the hell you want to be. i still feel like i’m stuck in that place, that place of wonder - of reaching out, exploring, experiencing... i feel as naïve as ever despite the pain that courses through some of my life.

so back to young forever - how does the song make me feel? it makes me feel at home. at peace. forever we can carry our youth, forever we can approach our lives with childish curiosity, with the energy to follow our dreams, with a dedication to our passion, and an and endless realization that change is the only constant in our lives. despite the ups and downs that might come with living with this mindset - i wouldn’t want to live any other way. what’s the point of continuing to grind hard every day in the cruel systems our society has built if we can’t at least say we did it with voracious appetite to experience fully our surroundings, emotions, and imaginations?

personal connection: it’s rather hard for me to nail down all of my personal connections to young forever. as i mentioned, i have a really strong connection to the story of peter pan. i’ll briefly explain why and how that plays in here - but i must warn you... if you’re uncomfortable with strangers oversharing on the internet, perhaps this isn’t the blog for you to read. i’m quite comfortable bearing my soul to people i don’t know. for some reason vulnerability has never been something i’ve struggled with - perhaps it’s the naivety i love about myself. anyways... here we go.

when i was 17 my best friend passed away from cancer. it was relatively quick. just a summer we spent together gossiping in a hospital room, machines beeping while we tried our very best just to giggle about boys and lament our torturous IB courses. i’d known her nearly my whole life. meeting in second grade - and bonding quickly over a love for the whimsy of peter pan’s story. we’d gush on the playground about flying away to neverland - where we could do whatever we wanted. explore, sing, fly. but she was gone then. gone far too soon. frozen in a youthful state in my mind. her passing is still the hardest thing i’ve ever been through in my life, and i’ve been through some scary shit. immediately when i hard young forever i thought about her. i thought about how she lived. she was fearless. the bravest and strongest person i ever knew, and still to this day, have ever known. knowing her - experiencing her soul - it changed me. once she passed away i had to be strong, my classmates looked to me as their rock, my parents forbid me to cry, everyone pushed me into adulthood way too quickly. i was just a seventeen year old girl. i was having a crisis - i wanted nothing more than to speak to my best friend as i navigated choosing my next steps after high school. but she wasn’t there, and i wasn’t allowed to feel. i was terrified. my youth was gone. nothing seemed fun anymore. youth became pain as i looked around at my peers who were back to normal in a matter of weeks. giggling with one another, moving along with life. i became a robot. quickly i threw myself into school work. i was already a high achieving student but i climbed higher. i worked harder. i had decided that for the life she couldn’t live, i would live it for her. i’d go to the best college i could, i’d do all the things i never dreamed i could. i’d do it for her. but i wasn’t living. i had let my youth go. i was fading away. just a shell.

it’s funny. or perhaps it’s not. young forever is a comfort song. a comfort song with some incredible darkness in it. the anxiety in namjoon’s verse, yoongi’s speaking to hiding feelings - pushing forward despite what he carries, hoseok’s verse about letting himself go and just giving what he has to keep pushing. their words - that’s how i felt. the song dropped around four years after my friend’s passing. i needed it before then. although perhaps it wouldn’t have “saved me” because music doesn’t save, music gives us the strength and comfort we need to save ourselves (i’m not a fan of taking way my own agency in MY story), it might have offered me a light in an increasingly blurry world.

a year prior to the song’s release i’d spent a summer in china. my life changed there. i lived with seven incredibly bright middle school girls. that experience, i never thought it would start to heal me the way it did. they were under immense pressure (the education system in china is total bullshit)... and they told me “caroline, youth is pain. it’s not beautiful. it’s a period where we struggle the most.” i’d never heard this. the typical western perspective is that youth is “the most beautiful part of life” - it’s where you fall in love, it’s where you get hurt and you pick yourself up, it’s where you find yourself, you feel invincible. but that’s just it - it’s also where you can get incredibly lost (like the maze in the video). not all of us experience youth without pain. this perspective helped me to heal. i wasn’t so alone - i wasn’t squandering my youth, sure - i was treading water - but that was okay. i could cry. i could feel. and so, at this point i began to write my own story again. rather than living for someone else, i decided to throw the book out the window, to pick myself and run like hell towards what i wanted. to accept the freefall of life. that’s youth. that’s the most beautiful part of life. the part where you free yourself from whatever chains society has on you. youth is only associated with being a child because that who should be the most free. when truly youth, youth is that period in your life when you learn to live for yourself, your dreams. dream, hope, keep going. don’t fucking stop.

so this brings us to 2016. i was weeks away from a new journey abroad when young forever dropped. i was doing better. life felt lighter. i still had a long way to go, but some things i’d gotten right. i gained confidence, i navigated my interpersonal relationships with more poise. etc etc. going to china the second time, it changed me more. i did things on my own i’d never dreamed of doing. crossing multiple national borders, making friends with people i couldn’t communicate with. i opened my heart to it all. and i fell in love with myself. for the first time. i fell in love with how completely i embraced my freedom and coupled it with my drive, my passions. that is what young forever is about. it’s about the struggle but the continued commitment to the state of mind that once you’re free - once you embraced that childlike state of being - you can achieve so much happiness.

which brings us to now - how do i connect to the song now? much in the same way that i did before. carrying these emotions connected to this song so deeply into adulthood has been incredibly touching. i’ve matured with bangtan. from 2015 to now. i’ve only grown in how i embrace my youth. sure, i have to conform at times, play the adult, but the motto “dream, hope, keep going.” that’s what i live by. nothing can change that for me now. i’m still fucking lost, but i’m running like hell. i have my setbacks, my demons, my challenges, but i’ve never been so fucking free. that’s young forever for me. thank you for reading my story.

song breakdown:

musically: something i truly love about young forever is that it’s really atypical in how it flows musically and the entire structure of the song. it’s creativity run wild - it’s a story and build. and i love that. it starts off slow, soft, with a sweet sadness. the highlight isn’t the backing track, it’s the honey rap voices. it’s absolutely perfect. understated and building. with each new voice that comes in the beat speeds up. it’s like running. which is fitting. because the story in the song is that of bangtan. the lyrics say it, the boys are worried - worried about how well they’ve done, when they’ll stop gaining success, concerned that all of this life will end, wondering who they are in this - the performance the journey. they are quite literally running towards their dreams. we see this in the song lyrically.

once the chorus comes, we need an increased speed in the beat and the song picks up with the chanting of the mantra. “forever, we are young.” us together, bangtan and ARMY. the song fades into the beautiful clapping beat, the refrains of dream, hope, keep going. musically the song is beautifully understated in a way that can only draw out the listeners’ emotions and highlight the charged encouraging lyrics. the story here is clear and only more illuminated by the musical choices.

vocally: young forever is such a treat. it’s a rap heavy song, but not in a way that takes away from the beautiful second half of the song which is full of beautiful vocal line refrains and ad libs. it’s a chant song. a comfort song. and perhaps that’s why it’s stuck with me for all these years as one of my ultimate favorite BTS songs.

when the song begins we are greet by namjoon’s beautiful low rap register. he delivers the rap melodically slow. you can appreciate the way his voice carries emotion and the tempo of the beginning story, of the emotional journey the song embarks upon. following namjoon’s beautiful voice is yoongi. who assumes a slower rap style initially. he has a few parts where he treats us to shout rapping as well - which give us kind of a pleading emotion - we can hear his lament for the pressure placed upon him as he stands in the spotlight. finally, rapline is rounded out by hoseok - i’m gonna say it - this is one of hoseok’s best slow verses. he offers his usual spicy tone, giving the trap style endings to each line. the emotion hits it’s peak with the punch tones and hoseok’s strong committment to his lines expressing his desires, his drive.

the second half of the song is dominated by the beautiful tones of vocal line. taehyung leads us into the chorus with his beautiful deep register, followed by jungkook’s high tones. the juxtaposition of their voices coupled by jin and backed by jimin’s beautiful melodies is absolutely stunning. rapline takes turns coming in with the refrain “dream, hope, keep going.” all of this mixed together is simply stunning. it’s like hope in vocal form. we have the low and the highs, the singing voices and the speaking refrains. most devastatingly is jimin’s forever ever ever - piercing the background of the song. highlighting the longing - the conviction - to youth - the spirit of it, the beauty of it. the chant portion of the song is also what makes this song so devastating to hear live. everyone comes in, blends together and makes the message resonate completely.

lyrically: here. we. go. a DEEP DIVE. i think firstly, it’s important to start with the fact that we have a song, young forever, that was released as the epilogue to two devastating HYYH albums. HYYH was the epitome of youth themed albums. it encapsulated everything we associate typically with youth. love songs, songs about pain, songs about healing, songs about not being enough, songs about our dreams, songs about being lonely... it’s all there. both the beauty of youth and the beautiful pain of youth dominate HYYH pt. 1 and HYYH pt. 2. then, those messages, those themes, were sealed with epilogue: young forever. why? well, my feeling is this is bangtan’s way of leaving us with the reality that youth isn’t something that’s fleeting. it’s not an age or state in time. it’s something we carry within. it’s how we approach the things we confront in our lives, how we live and move forward through adversity towards our passions and dreams.

now - with that out of the way it’s time to dissect some lyrics. there’s quite a lot here in the three rap verses so i truly hope to do them justice.

namjoon’s verse starts like a story, “the curtain falls” the end of a performance, often used as metaphor for the end of a certain point in one’s life. “the curtain falls and i’m out of breath / i get mixed feelings as i breathe out” clearly the chapter that’s closing for him has been an exhausting one, but he’s not sure about moving forward even though now he has the time to finally reflect and see what he wants next. to me, this speaks directly to where bangtan was at this point in their career. they’d been through the bullshit - the trainee days, the ridicule, the exclusion from the typical korean music system... they’d made it. I NEED U had one awards, RUN did as well, 2016 bangtan had begun to see the fruit of their labor pay off - but with that, what’s next. where do they climb next? what’s to come? there’s that feeling of unease for namjoon. “did I make any mistakes today? / how did the audience seem?” are the next lines, bringing in that sense of reflection. even though now he can breathe - he worries, what’s his impact, how do people feel about what he’s given them, did he have shortcomings? these thoughts flood in and set the mood for the next steps forward. these questions only become more as the pressure continues. the next and final three lines of namjoon’s verse group well together and offer us much more hope that the foreboding in the start of the verse: “i’m happy with who i’ve become / that i can make someone scream with joy / still excited from the performance.” the peace in these final lines, it’s kind of like the rest of the song - starting with the hardship, the unease, what must or has been overcome - mellowing out to realization that things will keep going on. namjoon is at peace with where is at the end of this chapter, he is glad he can stand on this stage bringing smiles to faces, and finally - the buzz of just being able to do music, that remains with him through all of the constant pressure. something about these lines, they’re beautiful.

just like that, yoongi’s verse begins. he provides the same metaphor to the listener. he is standing on an empty stage. the performance is over. the chapter is closing. HYYH is becoming the past for BTS. the struggles, will they be over too as they move forward with their progressing careers? “i stand on the empty stage while holding onto an aftertaste that will not linger for long” he begins - he knows that the high of this moment, the place they’ve reached in this time... it can’t be forever, the emotions of it all are beginning to fade into something else. he then moves on to offer some more insight into how he feels about that unknown of moving on: “while standing on this empty stage, i become afraid of this unpleasant emptiness.” this line seems telling to me - yoongi is someone that gets a lot from recognition, achievement, sharing his works with others. leaving the stage, moving away from this performance moment... it’s hard on him... he feels empty, his moment, his purpose - they’re over... at least for now. the anxiety seeps in. “within my suffocating feelings / on top of my life’s line” he starts to try and explain deeper his emotions, suffocation, a feeling of panic, likely anxiety or pressure induced. what’s next? will it demand more? he’s on top of his life’s line - he feels like he’s reaching his peak, not knowing where to go next, plateau? down? yoongi then lodges into almost a picture perfect description of what society can make us do in moments of pressure where we are feeling anxiety or panic - “without a reason, i forcibly act that i am fine / this isn’t the first time, i better get used to it” he’s going to put on a strong face, suppress how he really feels because at some point there could be another audience, he remains on the stage even if the curtains have closed. he forces himself to do so, and it’s a habitual thing for him. it sounds like truly this is habitual for yoongi - really needing to mask his fear, his panic, his anxiety for the sake of those watching. it tears me up, because it seems like he also knows that this will continue in his future. and the he realizes that keeping the mask on, it’s not something he’s able to do or perhaps interested in doing “i try to hide it, but i can’t.” the final lines of his verse leave us with some unease - they’re unclear - but perhaps they’re speaking to the fact that performing won’t be his forever... “when the heat of the show cools down / i leave the empty seats behind,” so at some point -- the excitement, the hype, it will be gone... those who want to see him, they’ll be gone too, and he’ll move on to what is next. or perhaps this could allude to the fact that the pressure of those watching goes away and he will finally feel comfortable? there’s a lot here. a lot left up and open.

and finally we round out rapline with hoseok’s verse - which leads us into the chorus and refrains. the first three lines of hoseok’s part go hand in hand with one another - they’re a natural progress of coping with one’s emotions and situation: “trying to comfort myself / i tell myself the world can’t be perfect / i start to let myself go.” the chapter is closing and hoseok is trying to tell himself, it’ll be okay. almost like listening to the song young forever - seeking comfort. a home. realizing that things aren’t always going to go his way, he can’t have this moment forever, and sometimes things are going to be ups and downs... the final line is perhaps the most startling, letting oneself go. realizing that there’s some pieces of yourself that are okay to let go, whatever is holding you back, keeping you stuck, sometimes we need to shed that to go forward with the youthful exploration that keeps life invigorating and exciting. or perhaps hoseok is thinking about the day in which he will let “j-hope” go and just be hoseok, without a stage in the traditional sense. “the thundering applause, i can’t own it forever” he moves on saying that this life won’t be his forever, at some point he will need to move on - realize that this moment is down, lose himself to it, and see what is next. yet - even with this knowledge hoseok continues “i tell myself, so shameless / raise your voice higher” it seems that there’s a conflict he’s facing - letting this moment go or screaming as loud as he can to hold onto it, and shamelessly so - letting go of all the constructed norms for how he should behave. perhaps, holding onto his YOUTH even as he grows older in age and should grow away from a youthful mentality. he is raising his voice and hopefully pushing forwards, perhaps just away from this stage and onto an even larger one. it seems this is the case “even if the attention isn’t forever, i’ll keep singing” he states. he will hold onto his passion, keep moving forwards with his music, his voice, his connection to whatever it is that wants to be connected to him - because this is his very soul and being. finally - hoseok closes out his verse “as today’s me, i want eternity / forever, i want to be young.” it seems that hoseok is choosing to be who he is at this moment, his youthful self, as long as he goes on. he will leave this version of himself, this beautiful, loving, hopeful version of himself as his mark on the earth for eternity.

moving into the chorus we have the iconic title line “forever we are young” which to me, it’s about taking youth forward with you in all that you do. taking your passion, your drive, your love, your hope -- pouring it into all that you do and not letting the outside spoil you and take that from you. keeping your passions and running towards them. that’s the core of the message in young forever.

jungkook then croons “under the flower petals raining down / i run, so lost in this maze” bringing us to think about how seasons change - flower petals can fall because of their abundance but also because they we are moving into winter. either way, the analogy of flowers is hopeful to me. blossoms on trees - the return in time. not the same blossoms, but just as beautiful as the previous ones. perhaps he’s speaking to the fact that the blossoms are falling now as the chapter is ending - which leads into the feeling of lost, of being in a maze... but the reality is, the flowers will come again. the can come again. so long as they keep running - there’s a chance for this beautiful moment to happen once again. that’s youth. perhaps you have your ups and downs, your moments in the sun (your spring days) and your cold days... but keep running, keep your energy, dream, hope, keep going. and you can return.

jin then offers the other refrain “even when i fall and hurt myself / i endlessly run toward my dream.” THIS is youth. this is it. that almost stupid attitude of not recognizing when you’re down and out... not recognizing when perhaps you should stop. turning up the energy at your weakest point even when authority is telling you to let it go. this is the essence of youthful hope and energy. even if they’ve failed, even at their lowest point, they’re cementing that they won’t stop until they achieve their dreams. once again. dream. hope. keep going. just keep fucking going.

finally the other refrain that is repeated throughout the chorus: dream. hope. forward. forward. is the direct translation. but, many would say it’s dream. hope. keep going. this is youth. our dreams, childish and pure. our hope, what we pour into ourselves, what we surround ourselves with - the light that keeps us going. and then constantly moving forward continuing even when our odds look bad. this shit resonates. bangtan did it. they dreamed, 7 boys at a small company. they hoped, holding onto one another, working hard, baby steps forward. they kept going. no matter the ridicule, the setbacks, they pushed forward. these words - they mean the world to me as i’ve pushed through shit in my life. i’m only where i am today because i, by some miracle, internalized this youthful mantra. allowing myself to dream, those moments of hope, pushing forward no matter what. that’s youth. that’s young forever.

performance: well this is shaping up to be quite a long post. i want to discuss both the MV and how live performances typically proceed. i’ve also attached to this post my personal video of young forever at the HYYH: the epilogue tour in macau. sorry for my screaming in advance.

MV: the MV is really interesting for the HYYH universe, although the same could be said for save me, which is technically in the universe... BUT the fact that the MV steps away from the storylines and almost takes us into the minds of the characters bangtan is playing is an interesting choice. we start off the video with the boys in a chain-linked fence maze, wandering around, and flashbacks for each of there characters. the overall aesthetic of the video fits with the lyrics and these feelings of uncertainty... the feeling of being lost... wandering from phase to phase in life. early on we see a scene of yoongi burning photos from the HYYH era - truly this song is about death to the past a new beginnings, overcoming the past but moving forward with the pieces of you that are important. the highlighting of the text “꿈 희망 전진 전진” or dream, hope, keep going - making it the mantra of the song. keep moving, keep running. almost it seems like the characters are running away from their demons as well. the members running off into the sunset together? it’s all about endings. new beginnings. but taking them on with determination and an attitude of childlike awe, glee, dreams, and determination.

performance: we’ve all seen the iconic wembley performance. we’ve probably all cried over it more than once. maybe it’s your comfort video? maybe it’s secretly mine (ha!). i can tell you, experiencing this song live... there’s really nothing like it. it’s understated. there’s no dance. nothing like that.

in the performances - namjoon appears alone in a starlight stage with the lyrics scrawling on a screen behind him. the lights are all dark, deep blue tones everywhere, it feels dreamy. the entire crowd is brought into a dream like state. it’s fitting, its absolutely fitting and incredibly stunning. yoongi then appears to namjoon’s left and hoseok to his right to be spotlighted for their respective verses. the emotion is everywhere. the song is even more incredible with a live band. you cannot imagine it. the chorus arrives with a change in vibe, a beautiful sunset is projected and the vocal line appears from the floor. all of the members stand shoulder to shoulder and belt the chorus and refrain. and you would not believe how devastatingly beautiful it is to hear ARMY shouting along. forever we are young. kkum, huimang, jeonjin, jeonjin. shouting together. again and again. clapping with one another. waving ARMY bombs. it’s completely emotional. i cried. i cried on the strangers next to me, that didn’t speak my language. there is nothing like it.

i must also note, the concert i was at we were all distributed lightsticks and banners with 꿈 희망 전진 전진 written on them. this song has been important since it released. it’s the core of bangtan’s rise. it is so important to these boys. and to many of us fans as well.

now - a word about what happened at wembley. bangtan had no idea that ARMY would sing young forever TO them. at WEMBLEY. fans who likely do not speak korean. chanting their mantra to them “kkum, huimang, jeonjin, jeonjin” and singing “foreverrrrr we are younnnnng” and saying they will keep going. they will walk their journey towards their dreams. something about that, it’s incredibly toughing. you and i cannot imagine how that must have felt for bangtan. the moment must have been completely surreal. one of the world’s largest stages, playing one of the most meaningful songs of their careers - a song meant to memorialize their climb to fame, their accomplishments, their youth that they likely felt the LOST during this climb to where they are now. jimin himself said that night “this song. wow. this song helped me a lot when things were really hard.” young forever means so very much to bangtan. it always has. and their fans chose that very song. we chose that song (rather we were there or not). it’s our mantra too. whatever we go through, we are on this journey, and we are not alone. we are not alone. we can muster the strength to carry on with that same youthful zeal for life. watching that video... it’s moving. it’s completely incredible. to be a part of this journey... just wow.

tl;dr: in conclusion... young forever is one of the BTS songs that has the most touching meanings, and it came at a very delicate time in their career. a time when they were finally getting the recognition they deserved and sought for a long time. a time when they were pivoting from “young” to “young adult.” a time when they likely struggled with a loss of their youth. all of this... it’s powerful because it’s not alien for those of us normal people. we all feel this. i’ve felt it as i’ve gone through tough shit and came out the other side changed, only to have to find my way through the maze and back to myself. youth and being young, it’s a state of mind. i think bangtan sincerely know and believe this. that’s what makes the song and the message it carries so incredibly powerful. so meaningful to us all. thanks for reading yet again.

#bts #bangtan #jin #j-hope #hoseok #namjoon #rm #army #jungkook #taehyung #jimin #yoongi #suga #Lyrics #hyyh #Young forever #analysis

19 notes · View notes

nitewrighter · 4 years ago

Text

Humble Pie

None of the prompts in my inbox are currently speaking to me, so I decided to fill in a gap in my fic continuity and write something non-shippy. So here’s McCree’s recruitment into Blackwatch!

-----

It was the most crowded the Panorama Diner had been in god-knew-how-long. Overwatch agents and local law enforcement mingled in a mix of blue and beige, some clustered around table booths hasty laptop and holo-comm stations, some pacing about the floor, talking on their own comms and headpieces with officers back at Watchpoint Grand Mesa or even as far as Zurich. The most crowded Panorama had been, and no one was eating.

Well... almost no one.

“You sure you don’t want any?” said Gabe, pressing the side of his fork into the slice of apple pie, sectioning off the flaky crust and gooey filling.

Jesse McCree frowned sullenly at his own plate, his own slice of pie already in a puddle of melting vanilla ice cream. He moved to pick up his fork and the chain of his handcuffs clinked with the movement. He glared up at Reyes from beneath the brim of his hat, but Reyes kept calmly eating.

“It’s good pie,” Gabe said with a slight shrug. The corners of McCree’s mouth pulled inward in a repulsed little scowl.

“Ain’t you got anything better to do?” McCree growled. There was a pitchiness in his voice that spoke to the last miserable ekes of puberty in all their acne-speckling glory still clinging to his scrappy form.

“Oh we’ve got all the time in the world,” said Gabe with another forkful of pie.

“Where’s Ashe?” said McCree.

“Her folks posted her bail, and I have a stack of forms from her family legal team roughly as thick as your head that forbid me from saying anything further on her involvement in this incident.”

“Oh,” McCree huffed a little and eased back in his seat, “Guess that means they’re coming for me next,” A smug smile eased onto his features, but Reyes didn’t seem to respond to that, just let McCree’s words sit in the air between them as his fork scraped across his plate, gathering bits of pastry and melted ice cream dappled with cinnamon.

McCree first basked in the silence as victory, but as he noted the lack of reaction in Reyes, doubt crept in slowly. Reyes gently set his fork down on the side of his plate and looked up at Jesse. The calm eye contact from Reyes was all it took for Jesse’s nerves to bubble up in his throat.

“I mean... “ a short nervous laugh rippled out of him, “Th-that’s what they said, right? They’d be representin’ me, too?”

Reyes said nothing, just gave him a steady look.

“Right?” that pitchiness sharpened in his voice, nearly making it crack.

“...it’s a tough truth of this world, kid,” Reyes said, leaning back in his seat slightly, “Don’t get involved with rich kids. They can buy their way out of trouble, but you...”

“No--” McCree interrupted him, “No--there’s--there’s been a mistake. Ashe said--she said---”

“Maybe there was honor amongst thieves out here, under an open sky,” said Reyes with a weary shrug, “But I can’t say the same in the US legal system. And it’s a story jurors would love to hear: the pretty, oil tycoon princess just wants adventure, just wants attention, she gets mixed up with the dastardly local trash... falls in with a bad crowd... oh but she can change, she just needs another chance--it was Jesse McCree doing all the work, anyway, it was all his idea. Is that even his real name? Oh but don’t worry, 12 years in a maximum security cell oughta straighten him right up.”

All color had drained from McCree’s face. The look in those eyes would have been heartbreaking if Reyes wasn’t well aware he was a little shit.

“So that’s the stick,” said Reyes, picking up his fork, “Do you want to hear about the carrot, now?”

McCree tried to bring some hardness back to his expression, but his brow was still crinkling, realizing just how easy it was for Ashe’s family to throw him under the bus and how he had refused to see it for so long.

“...I ain’t a rat,” said McCree, staring down at the pie, “’sides, not like I can give you anything useful anyway.”

“I’m not looking for information,” said Reyes, “I’m looking for insight. A sharp eye. A steady hand.”

“Fresh blood,” McCree tilted his head up a little. Reyes gave a small single nod.

A small scoff escaped McCree. “You can forget it. I ain’t a narc and I ain’t cannon fodder.”

“Did I say I was looking for a narc or cannon fodder?” Reyes pointed a fork at him, “Overwatch has plenty of those in our ranks already, rebuilding after the crisis is going to take more than bright-eyed button-up dumbasses star-struck by propaganda,” Reyes set the fork on his plate again and pushed it aside, now picking up a binder that had been on the seat next to him and flipping it open to CCTV photos of McCree. One was of him fixing up a dilapidated hover bike, another was of him carrying groceries in both arms for an old woman, and there were several photos of non-lethal gun wounds, “We had to do months of research to pull off this sting operation, and you know what I saw? Guts. Resourcefulness. Resilience. The ability to defuse high-tension situations. The ability to convince other people towards your own goals. The marks of a man who lives by a code... or at least is starting to. You wanted to be the goddamn Robin Hood of Route 66, but you’re young, you’re cocky, and you’re sloppy, and now you’re here.”

“You know how many ‘you have so much potential’ weepy speeches I’ve had to sit through?” McCree muttered.

“I don’t know, but I can guarantee you that whether you say yes or no, this is the last one,” said Reyes.

McCree’s glance fell down to his handcuffs. “It’s like that, then?”

“It’s like that,” said Reyes.

McCree was silent for a long time.

“I can give you the usual spiel--three square meals a day, roof over your head, travel the world and meet new and interesting people, top notch combat training--but you’ve heard all that shit before, and that didn’t convince you then, so there’s no reason it’ll convince you now,” Reyes went on, “You had fuck-all to do around here, but it wasn’t like you were going to join Overwatch or the army just to get out of here--you didn’t want to get out by fitting into someone else’s mold.”

McCree made a near-scoffing “hm” noise that hinted at a smile.

“Did I read you right?” said Reyes.

“Fuck you,” the words came almost warmly out of McCree and his eyes were fixed on Reyes with a pensive curiosity that made Reyes wonder how interesting the conversation got out here in the middle of nowhere. McCree rubbed his chin, with one hand, the cuffs forcing his other hand to lift and hang lazily with the motion. “...y’know, I saw you in all those Crisis propaganda movies... thought you’d be more like Morrison.”

“Morrison can have all the clean-scrubbed soldiers he wants,” said Gabe with a shrug, leaning back in his seat, “Me? I want the survivors. I want the cockroach motherfuckers.”

McCree snorted at this.

“Dying for a cause you believe in,” Reyes followed up, “That’s easy. I saw loads of people do it... doing what needs to be done though... being willing to live with that shit afterward because there’s more shit to be done... It takes a certain kind of person to do that. And I’d rather have that person on my team than rotting away in a cell.”

“On your team,” McCree repeated, squinting skeptically.

“After the proper training of course. And there’s medical care. Dental. You get dental with the whole outlaw thing?”

McCree’s lips self-consciously closed over his teeth on instinct.

“And for what it’s worth, we’ll let you keep the hat,” said Reyes.

That smile tugged at the corner of McCree’s mouth. He resettled in his seat slightly, picked up his fork and sectioned off a bit of his own pie, now a virtual pile of pastry and apple mush beneath the melted remnants of its vanilla ice cream.

“Cockroach motherfuckers, huh?” said McCree, taking a bite of the pie.

“Working team name. Jack’s been pushing me toward ‘Blackwatch’ but what the hell does he know?”

“What does he know?” said McCree with a smile, taking another bite.

#overwatch #jesse mccree #gabriel reyes

32 notes · View notes

utterlyhopeful-fics · 5 years ago

Text

Love on the Line - Part 2

I hope y’all are ready for the heartache because this chapter absolutely destroyed me. Please read the warnings because this chapter does deal with quite a few heavy issues along with ripping your heart to shreds. Let me know if you’d be interested in another part? Thank you all for the read! Part 1 HERE

Masterlist

Henry Cavill x Reader

Word Count: 2360

Warnings: heartbreak, break-up, language, mention of self harm, pure unadulterated angst

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

Today was a day where she just wanted solace though the impending doom of forethought clouded her every sense. She wanted to blink and will the world around her to magically disappear enjoying her descent into darkness. Y/N sought to feel anything at all but alas she felt wholly empty. It was slowly but surely killing her, picking her apart piece by fucking piece. She hadn’t had the chance to speak with him, hear his once soothing voice on the other end of the phone. Just nonchalant texts messages brimmed with no meaningful purpose. But is that what she wanted the entire time? Possibly so.

That’s what made her friends poke into her business, snoop until they found an answer worthy of their liking. Y/N knew how to play their games and say whatever it took to make them stop their line of questioning. It was her equivalent of mourning the future she mapped out. Her phone chimed alerting Y/N of its annoying presence. ‘Catching a connecting flight out of LAX to meet with Danny and, finally heading home baby! ETA tomorrow late afternoon.’

Great, there was no stopping his arrival now that he was officially coming home.

She had so many grand plans in her dreams, promises of a life she now questioned if she ever wanted at all. The blade felt cool against her skin, she begged for the sweet release for the air latched in her lungs to be set free, but no such luck today. Old habits die hard. Blood dribbled onto the marble sink as relief flooded her system, endorphins pumping as her vision momentarily darkened. For a second, all was calm and she relished in the fleeting feeling. Y/N finally released the breath scratching at her lungs. She was anxious and just wanted to sleep away the day while morph into her sheets.

Curiously, she didn’t remember when she became exhausted. She didn’t remember when exhausted was no longer exhausted, and it just was. The tiredness seeped in her bones and she accepted this state of being with utter apathy. Y/N frowned down at the piece of jewelry that once sparked joy, reminiscing on the night Henry proposed. Now the ring on her finger was beginning to weigh too much for her to fathom. So, Y/N did what was best and sadly slide the diamond off her ring finger and back into its elegant box.

~The Next Day~

Y/N paced their chic living room floor awaiting his and Kal’s arrival. Mentally prepping herself over the strong points to hit in their conversation trying to build her courage and morale. This would be easier if I wasn’t in love with him. Just then, she heard the sound of the garage door open and an engine decease. It was now or never. Realistically, Y/N knew she couldn’t keep a straight face for very long but at the same moment so ached for his touch, for his gentle kiss, and for one more unscathed instance. She inhaled deeply and soothed her nerves to the best of her ability. The front door opened, the pitter patter of paws hit the ground first, greeting her with overwhelming enthusiasm. Y/N kneeled to Kal’s level letting the dog lick her cheek powerless to the loyal Akita before her.

“Darling, where you are?” His voice echoed through the foyer in search of Y/N as he found her with Kal. He rushed towards her, wrapping his arms in a warm embrace and brought her close. He buried himself in the column of her neck kissing a trail of the gentle kisses and inhaled. Everything about this woman lit his insides of fire and now she was tangible, a reality he was more than happy to clasp on to. Hands finding his tamed locks, Y/N intertwined her fingers pulling him in leaving no space between their bodies. Stay strong. Stay focused Y/N.

“Is it even possible to miss one’s smell?”

“You’re home.”

Y/N stepped out of his warmth missing the fleeting scowl etched on Henry’s face.

“Can I get you anything to drink; Scotch possibly? I’m dying for a drink.”

Henry couldn’t put his finger on it but something didn’t feel right. As she reached the wet bar, he took in her appearance. She had lost weight; her bones were noticeable now. She turned his direction with glasses in hand. Her cheekbones were too pronounced, she quite frankly looked …fragile?

“Here you go, babe. Welcome home.”

His hand clasped over hers holding her stare before retrieving the glass.

The liquor deliciously burned down her throat. He refused to bite his tongue any longer; “Y/N, is something the matter?”

She ogled the bronzed liquid in her glass before clearing her throat; “Yes.” Henry’s eyebrows raised in concern reaching out to her as Y/N took a step out of reach.

He barely heard her before a whimper left her; “Please don’t touch me, Hen.”

Bewilderment override his body leaving his brain in the dust.

“Love, what’s wro—” Before he could finish, his phone beeped notifying him of an incoming message. He reached in his back pocket wanting to silence the damned thing before reading who it was from.

‘Anya: Make it home safe? I’m lying in bed alone and can’t help but think of your taste. See you soon?’

Y/N watched in disbelief at his attention pulled elsewhere. So much so that she didn’t comprehend the glass shattering onto the tile floor and blood sliding down her wrist. She clenched her fist in blinded anger reminding herself of the pain as the shard dug deeper into her flesh.

“I’m standing right in front of you. I always have and yet you refuse to even acknowledge me. I can’t even maintain your attention god forbid you put your phone down for five minutes. How do you think that feels when the one person you’re in love with can’t even give you the time of day?”

He drank in her disheveled appearance, her blotted checks streaked with tear stains, her messy hair from constantly running her fingers through, and lastly, the hurt that lay just behind her blue irises. He’d never hated himself more than in this moment. Ever so gently he leaned closer into her frame craving her closeness but she remained a step further. She ducked away in disgust swatting his hand from reaching her face. Henry attempted to cover up the shock from overtaking his chiseled features. He’d never seen her so on fire in their entirety as a couple.

“I said don’t fucking touch me. You sicken me. Is that what you wanted to hear, huh? Do you think it’s fun being invisible to the one person I thought had my back?” She refused to hold back her emotions anymore allowing the storm to overflow.

“YN... please let me...”

“What? Let you explain? What possible bullshit are you about to spew in hopes of changing my mind?”

“I love you. Don’t ever underestimate my feelings for you.”

Sighing, she inhaled a much-needed breath of air before composing herself, at least to the best of her abilities; “Henry. Stop. Please, I’m begging you. My chest feels as if it’s been pried open and my heart ripped from my body. My blood boils through my veins yet is tinged with ice. You’re breaking me into a million little pieces. You must see what you’re doing to me.”

Melancholy dripped from her voice as he silently berated himself, shaking his head in defeat. His eyes glazed over slightly in an attempt to find his own composure, to quill the manic pounding residing in his chest. If he were being honest, it had been quite some time since he last looked at Y/N. Genuinely looked at her. No facetime, no phone calls. And she was right, she was ripping at the seams. How had he not noticed? The chilled atmosphere left the pair suffocating, grasping onto their last truth of reality as quietness laid between them.

“You pride yourself on your so-called honesty. So, now’s your time! ...are the rumors true?”

Henry’s eyes immediately averted to the cement ground below wishing to buy himself another second of borrowed time. But with no such luck, he let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realize had been lodged in his lungs.

“Yes. But I didn’t sleep with her.”

YN bit her lip to keep a wail from slipping out making her insides inflate with sadness. She knew it was all too good to be true. Her stomach churned at the mere mention of her name.

She sniffled trying to look anywhere but at the handsome god displayed in front of her but to no avail met his calm blue eyes awaiting hers.

“Okay.”

“Okay? That’s all you have to say?”

Y/N’s fight was fast depleting and she wasn’t sure how long her energy would remain before perching upon empty. If she was being honest, all she wanted to do was bury her head into his warm chest willing his past mistakes away and reuniting them with their life...the life they built together. But that was no longer an option she could look forward to any longer. He made damn sure of that before returning home from filming. And worse, TMZ had the pictures to rub salt in her fresh wounds.

Her silence was killing him increasing his anxiety foolproof.

“Please Y/N say something, anything! I deserve your wrath and anger. A shout would be better than nothing.”

But to his surprise, she remained frozen unable to show what was running through her mind.

“There’s nothing left to say. You made a choice and with that said choice allowed for the entirety of our relationship to simply vanish. I deserve wholesome and unconditional love, not some half-ass attempt. It must’ve been so lonely in Budapest for you that you just had to fuck somebody else. I totally get it.” Her sarcastic tone finally freeing her most inner thoughts.

“I didn’t have sex with her! Woman, listen to the words I’m saying.”

“Don’t you dare patronize me. Look me in the fucking eyes Henry William Dalgliesh Cavill and tell me what happened.”

“A silly mistake. We had just wrapped and headed out to a local pub down the way. It had this amazing terrace and all I could think is about how much you would’ve enjoyed the view, the architecture of the city. Drinks led to shots and before I knew it, someone pushed me into a bathroom stall. I remember hearing the lock click, Anya tugging at my belt, and not having the restraint to push her away. I closed my eyes and pictured you, I swear it. God woman, I missed you. It wasn’t until I came that I realized it wasn’t you.”

“Did you ever even maybe think about how I get being hundreds of miles away from you? That maybe I was just as lonely. But guess what? I didn’t go to a bar and stick my tongue down anyone’s throat. Jesus, Henry, I’m not even sure I even crossed your mind. Do tell me though; are you apologizing because you got caught or because you feel bad?”

His question left her stunned. This wasn’t how he saw this scenario playing out in his head. Y/N glanced down at the beautiful ring residing on her delicate finger. The one she had forced herself to put on that morning. The diamond ring she once so blindly admired now felt like a ton of bricks forcing her stomach to stir with resentment.

“Filming was chaotic and I just slipped. A fucking lapse in judgement. I’m an asshole Y/N but you must know how much I regret causing you any amount of pain.

“Temptation is an impossible beast to tame. But worry no more for you are a free man now.”

“That isn’t what I want.”

She smirked at him before letting out a loud huff; “Sometimes we don’t always get what we want. In this case, we’re both losers.”

Henry shook his head in disagreement unable to process her words before she spoke again; “Perhaps, somewhere, someday, at a less miserable time, we may see each other again.”

“Don’t say that my love. Please give me another chance. We can work through this; I know deep in my bones there is no one else for me in this life.”

“To what Henry? To make a fool out of me once more? To show the world your power of forgiveness?”

“Be rational Y/N. I asked you to fucking marry me for god’s sake. I want you as my wife, to be by my side!”

Her throat dried at his words of admittance. It was still her dream too. When she closed her eyes YN pictured him in a wonderfully fitted tux waiting for her but now he had trampled her trust.

“I, I want to be the last person who ever kisses you… Please, hear me out. I know that sounds weird, like some sort of death threat.” Henry continued to stumble in attempt to find the words his brain was spewing; “This is it for me, darling.”

His words sunk into her encapsulating her very presence. It was everything and more she had craved to hear. But now his pretty words were tinged with guilt and cheapness leaving a bitter taste on her tongue.

“You’re not in love with me, not really, you just love the way I made you feel. And you’ve definitely proved that others can make you feel the same just as easily. Stop playing the victim. You did a shit thing and it kinda makes you a shit person now. The sooner you accept that the easier it will be to comes to terms with your new reality. The one without me in it.”

Before Henry fully processed her words, he suddenly felt an object being placed into his right palm. Her slender fingers atop his before throwing him a pitiful frown. Slowly prying his hand open, the glimmer of the engagement ring laid desolate as blood bombarded his eardrums. After all, how often do we get a second chance?

-------

Tags: @maggiemoo1892 @thedeadhearted @giveusbackourbucky @elinalfrida @thereisa8ella @henry-cavlll @onlyhenrys @threeminutesoflife @princess-of-riviaa @omgkatinka @littlefreya

#my writing #henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill imagine #love on the line #angst #fanfiction #henry cavill angst #henry cavill x you #henry cavill fanfiction #update #henry x reader

239 notes · View notes

cevansfics · 5 years ago

Text

Satisfy Your Cravings (1/2)

Part 1 / Part 2

Paring: Chris Evans x Reader

Summary: Pregnancy has you craving all sorts of different things, sometimes you need someone to help you out.

Warnings: language, thing get a little heated nothing too crazy

Word count: 1.4k

A/N: this is part 1 of 2, please let time know what you think :)

±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±

Pregnancy comes with cravings you knew this was going to happen. You’d been craving all sorts of weird food and even food you didn’t like before you were pregnant. But recently you seemed to hit the stage when you are horny all the time, you were craving sex. Now in any other situation, it wouldn’t be a problem, Chris would be more than happy to take you to your bedroom and ravish you until your craving was satisfied. Unfortunately, at this moment in time, you were currently spending the weekend and his mom’s house. You’d made it clear the first time the two of you stayed there, back when you first started dating, that nothing in the bedroom would happen. God forbid anyone would hear you, you would never be able to look at them again. You haven’t told Chris how you were feeling. You knew he would try something, part of you wanted him too. You want nothing more than for him to take you to the bedroom and not leave for hours.

The weekend was coming to an end, you had planned to head home late Sunday afternoon. You loved nothing more than spending time with Chris and his family but this time you honestly couldn’t wait to leave. It was getting out of control. You didn’t know if it was because you were pregnant or because you knew you couldn’t currently have him the way you wanted him.

It was mid-morning, not everyone one was awake yet. You decided to step outside for some fresh air and ended up walking around the large back yard.

“Hey baby, there you are.” Turning to the voice as you saw Chris jogging over to you. “What are you doing out here all by yourself?”

“I was just getting a bit of fresh air.” You smiled. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it did also help with keeping your needs at bay for the time being.

“You know,” he grabbed your waist, pulling you snug against his body. “I can tell when you’re lying to me, baby. You have been quiet all weekend and not yourself. Are you sure you are alright?” He asked, placing his hand over your little bump that had started to grow.

“I’m fine. We’re fine,” gesturing to you and your little one, this just made Chris raise an eyebrow at you. That face, that damn stupid face, he could read you like a book.

“Alright. Okay, it may be something,” you say barely a whisper but he heard you. You felt his body tense up. You could tell he thought something serious was wrong as the worry began to appear on his face.

“No, no nothing like that. Nothing wrong with more or the baby. It’s just… promise you won’t make fun of me.” You see the worry disappear as you reassure him.

“I promise,sweetheart. What’s up?”

“I – I… I’m… you know… urrmm… I mean…” you stumble over your words and take a deep breath as you try to figure how to word what you want to say. Glancing up your eyes meet Chris’ and you think, fuck it and just blurt out.

“Okay, so I’m just so damn horny all the time at the moment.” You say it so fast and shove your face into Chris’s chest as you hide from embarrassment. It’s then you feel his body rumble as he starts to chuckle.

“You promised you wouldn’t make fun of me,” this time your words are muffled as your face is still buried on his chest. Chris gently pulls you away from him and tilts your gaze up to his again, while moving the little bits of hair that have fallen over your face, tucking them behind your ears.

“Okay, okay I’m sorry for laughing. But baby this is normal, this has happened before and probably will happen again before you have the baby.”

“No you don’t understand,” quickly you glance around to make sure nobody else is outside, you grip hold of his shirt with both hands drawing all his attention to you.

“I’m so freaking horny. To the point where all I want is for us to be locked in our bedroom, while we fuck in every way imaginable for the next week and a half, to the point where the only word in the English language I can remember is your name and that’s only because I am screaming it over and over again.” Finally saying it out loud you feel as though a weight has been lifted, the secret you had been keeping buried down was now out.

Cautiously you look up at Chris because he hasn’t said anything. He’s still looking at you as his hand comes up on both of your cheeks. Carefully pulling your face closer to his, he slowly runs his nose along with yours as he starts to smirk.

“You know baby girl, all you had to do was ask.” His voice was deep it made your core melt. He’s a cocky little shit, he knows damn well if you both weren’t at his mom’s house you would have asked him days ago. Gently he places his lips flush against yours, it takes everything in you not to grab him and have your way with him right there. Before you even get a second to think he’s already pulling away.

“I’ll tell you what, how about I promise the second we get home we tend to this little situation you��ve got going on.” Licking your lips all you can do is nod your head. After placing another quick kiss on your lips Chris lets go of you and grabs your hand pulling him back inside.

“Let’s head back in its freezing.” Your body just falling with him and he guides you inside, you know the next few hours are going to be the longest.

You keep yourself busy. You spend time playing games and colouring with Chris’ niece and nephews, you sit and chat with his sisters and mom and you even off to make lunch for everyone. Wanting to do anything that might take you mind of the dirty thoughts floating around in your head. It wasn’t easy as time didn’t seem to be moving and Chris didn’t help.

With every glance and smile, he sent your way it lit the fire inside of you. He’d be sure to give you little touches and brush up against you every chance he got. He was driving you insane. Worst of all, he knew. He knew exactly what he was doing to you. You head into the kitchen to get a drink when Chris follows you.

Gently you feel his warm body press against your back, even though you knew he was there it made you jump a little. You lean your head back onto his shoulder, as you take a staggered deep breath, doing everything in your power not to moan as you feel it. He’s rock hard. It’s the only thing about his current situation that makes you feel relaxed, knowing his little game is affecting him just as much as it’s affecting you. Leaning his head down at just the right angle you feel his lips brush against your ear. Your nerves are currently standing on edge.

“Not long now baby girl, it’s all going to be worth it once I get you home.” He whispers into your ear as he nibbles your earlobe. After placing soft gentle kisses behind your ear down your neck. You lean your head further to the side to give him better access. He grazes his teeth ever so slightly over the spot between your neck and your collar bone, this time you can’t hold it in and you moan. Feeling him chuckle and smile into your neck you knew he was doing it to get a response out of you. Wanting to beat him at his own game you roll your hips grinding your ass against his crotch. You instantly hear his breathing hitch as he grabs your hip tightly, haunting your movements. He leans his forehead against your neck trying to control himself. With one last peck in your hair, he pushes off you and turns around heading for the door to leave the kitchen.

Out the corner of your eye you see him readjust himself in his pants just before he exits. Once he’s gone you let out a big breath, one you didn’t know you were holding. You finish making your drink, quickly composing yourself. Heading back into the main room with everyone else knowing you’re both going to continue to play this dangerous game until you leave.

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fanfic #chris evans x you #reader insert #fanfiction #fanfic #my fics #my writing

261 notes · View notes