#he makes me feel homesick in the best way possible | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

quinzzelx · 9 months ago

Text

Shadows and Starlight

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Mor return from a long mission on the Continent. Nine Months have passed since your departure and you couldn't wait to reunite with your best friend, a best friend you'd had a crush on for centuries. Only that Azriel wasn't there when you returned home. He would only return on Starfall.

Part 02

Word count: 4.5K

Warnings: A little spice at the end there. But honestly just a little! Otherwise Fluff, Reader being part of the IC!! I have not proof-read it yet.

A/N: Well, hello there! I have never posted writing for this Fandom before, so I truly hope it is enjoyable and finds it's people. Overall, I haven't really been posting on this blog in ages and felt inspired. I would love to write a second part if this is received well. This isn't proofread yet, I will do that eventually, so I apologize for possible errors. Please let me know what you think and feel free to drop into my inbox.

☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆

The night was cool and crisp as you and Mor made your way through the streets of Velaris, the city lights casting a warm glow over the cobblestone streets. Returning to Velaris had been a relief, the mission Rhys had sent you on should have taken no longer than six weeks, lastly spanning nine months that felt like an eternity. What should have been a rather quick trip to the Continent turned out to be far more complicated than anticipated. You were supposed to look into the whereabouts of a magical artifact while Mor should keep up her work as emissary. What you did not take into account whatsoever was the uprising conflict between two of their biggest noble houses, which complicated things. Trust was not easy to come by. Diplomats and Mediators by day and treasure hunters by night. Of course, you also had plenty of time to bask in the sunlight, smothering heat seeping into the marrow of your bones. Even with Mor by your side, there had been moments of homesickness that gnawed at your heart, a longing for the familiar comforts of home that seemed to grow with each passing day.

But now, as you made your way through the streets of Velaris, you couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over you. The city was alive with the buzz of activity, its streets bustling with life and energy. Even the stars seemed to shine and twinkle brighter than usually, welcoming you back. It was good to be home. As you stepped into the grand foyer of the House of Wind, you felt a rush of nostalgia wash over you. Albite nine months were nothing for Fae, you had missed this. The scent of fresh bread filled the air, no doubt made by Elain. A soft smile tugged at the corner of your lips at the familiarity, your shoulders relaxing slightly.

Mor wasted no time in making herself comfortable, stomping off to the sitting room and throwing herself onto the chaise with a dramatic sigh. You couldn't help but chuckle at her antics. As she settled into the plush pillows, you perched yourself on the edge of the nearby armchair, your gaze drifting to the flickering flames in the hearth. The crackling fire cast dancing shadows across the room, its warmth a comforting embrace after the long journey home. "So, what is on your mind?" Mor's voice broke through the silence, her eyes fluttering open as she regarded you with a curious expression. You let out a soft sigh, your thoughts drifting back to the tribulations of your time overseas. "It was... intense," you replied, voice tinged with a hint of weariness. "So much happened.” You groaned then. “Cauldron boil me, I really don’t want to fill out that mission report…” Mor nodded in understanding, a sympathetic smile playing on her lips. "I can imagine, me neither" she said, her tone filled with empathy. "But Rhys will not push us. He probably missed us as much as we missed him. It’s been a while after all.”

You smiled gratefully at her words, a sense of relief washing over you. "Yeah, you're right," you agreed, your spirits lifting at the thought of being back in Velaris once more. Back home. You fell into a comfortable silence then, the crackling fire the only sound echoing in the room. But beneath the surface, you felt a restlessness stirring within yourself—a longing to see him, to feel the familiar comfort of his presence. Obviously you missed the entirety of your family wholly. Definitely not thinking about one person more than the others. At least that is what you told yourself.

"I'm going to check on Az," you said suddenly, your voice breaking the silence. "I haven't seen him in a while…" Mor raised an eyebrow inquisitively, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Really now? Here I thought we saw none of them in a while." she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Missing someone, are we?" You felt a blush creeping into your cheeks at Mor's teasing tone, but you brushed it off with a playful roll of your eyes. "Don't be ridiculous," you retorted, though the fluttering in your chest betrayed your true feelings. With a playful wink, Mor waved you off, her attention already drifting back to the warmth of the fire. "Go on then," she said, her voice soft but encouraging. "I'll be here when you get back." And with that, you rose from your seat and made your way to Azriel's room, your heart fluttering with anticipation at the thought of seeing him again after so long. With a sense of anticipation bubbling in your chest, you picked up your pace subconsciously, your steps quick and eager. You had grown so close over the years, so comfortable in each other's company, that knocking on doors had become a formality you rarely bothered with anymore- and even if you usually still found yourself knocking from time to time, you just were too excited.

But as you pushed open the door to Azriel's room, your heart sank at the sight of the empty space before you. The room was quiet and still, save for the faint scent of cedar that lingered in the air—a stark reminder of the Male you had missed so much. Disappointment tugged at your heart as you surveyed the deserted room, your lips curling into a soft frown. It was Starfall in just a few days, you really thought, hoped, he’d be here when you returned. Before you could dwell on your thoughts any longer, a familiar voice broke through the silence, startling you. "So, Y/N, are you finally going to confess your undying love for my brother?" he quipped, his tone laced with amusement. You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at the corners of your lips now as you threw yourself into Cassian's awaiting arms. You had missed him, missed all of them, but the absence of Azriel weighed heavily on your heart somehow. After you pull away from your embrace, Cassian offers you a kind smile, his eyes warm with understanding.

"Hey, just so you know, Az has been on a mission for the past few days," The tall Illyrian says gently, his tone filled with reassurance. "But he should be back before Starfall." You feel a surge of relief at the news, your heart fluttering with anticipation at the thought of seeing Azriel again. You waited nine months, you could wait a few more days. "Thank you, Cass," you says sincerely, gratitude shining in your eyes. Then the tall male shifts on his foot, raising an eyebrow in mock offense, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. "Hey now, Y/N, I hope you're not just excited to see Az," he says with a dramatic sigh, placing a hand over his heart in mock hurt. "I mean, I know I'm not as brooding and mysterious as our Shadowsinger, but a little appreciation for your favorite warrior wouldn't hurt." You roll your eyes again with a grin, shaking your head at Cassian's antics. "Oh, please, Cass. You know you're my second favorite warrior," you quip, your tone teasing as you give him a playful shove. You share a moment of laughter before Cassian's expression turns more serious, his gaze softening as he looks at you with genuine concern. "How was the mission? Everything okay?"

Nodding, your smile faltering slightly as you recall the challenges you faced overseas. "It was... intense, to say the least. But we made it back in one piece, thanks to Mor and her quick thinking."

Cassian nods in understanding, his expression reflecting his relief. "Well, I'm glad you're both safe. We'll have to celebrate your return properly, once you've had a chance to rest." Humming you find yourself relaxing into the familiar warmth of his company. You nod in agreement then. “Yeah, Rhys always has something up his sleeve for Starfall,” you say, voice tinged with anticipation. “I can only imagine what he has planned for this year.” Both of you fall into comfortable silence for a moment. Only when a yawn claws itself up your throat and past your lips does Cassian speak again. “Does Rhys know you’re back?” His gaze is gentle in the way he looks at you, it was easy to tell that the oaf missed you just as much.

Stretching your tired muscles slightly, you nod hastily. "Yeah, you should have seen his face when he came barging into the kitchen and saw us drink tea with Feyre." A soft chuckle leaves him then, and you share a knowing grin as you both recall similar situations.

Making your way down the hall, you find Mor fast asleep on the chaise lounge in the sitting room, her features relaxed in slumber. Cassian retrieves a soft blanket from the nearby cupboard and gently drapes it over Mor's sleeping form, his movements gentle and caring.

You settle into the chairs nearby, he joins you, and the two of you engage in light conversation, catching up on the latest developments with Nesta and the Valkyrie. You share stories and anecdotes, laughter punctuating the quiet of the night as you relish in each other's company. Eventually, exhaustion catches up with you, and you bid Cassian goodnight before retreating to your own chambers for some much-needed rest.

As you settle into bed, your mind can't help but wander towards Azriel. Despite the exhaustion weighing heavy on your limbs, thoughts of him linger at the forefront of your mind, like whispers in the darkness. You can't help but wonder how he's been faring on his mission, what trials and tribulations he's faced in your absence. A pang of guilt tugs at your heart as you realize that you hadn't even sent word of your return, leaving him in the dark about your whereabouts. Closing your eyes, you try to push aside the worry and uncertainty that gnaws at your thoughts, focusing instead on the memory of his warm smile and steady presence. You find solace in the thought of seeing him again, of being reunited with the friend who has always been a steady anchor in your life. With a soft sigh, you let the rhythmic sound of your breathing lull you into a state of calm, allowing yourself to drift into a restless sleep filled with dreams of starlit skies and whispered promises. And as sleep claims you, you hold onto the hope that tomorrow will bring with it the long-awaited reunion you've been yearning for.

☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆

The next days pass in a blur, the absence of Azriel weighing heavily on your heart despite the moments of joy spent with your family. You find solace in the familiar routines of daily life, in the laughter and chatter of your loved ones gathered together in the warmth of the House of Wind.

Mornings are filled with shared meals and lively conversation, the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the aroma of freshly baked pastries. On the day before Starfall you find yourself amidst the hustle and bustle of daily life in Velaris, as you join Feyre, Mor, and Nesta for a day of dress shopping. The air is filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers and the tantalizing aroma of freshly baked goods, adding to the festive atmosphere of the day.

As you weave through the throngs of people, your eyes alight on a quaint boutique you’re all too familiar with, nestled between two bustling shops. Its windows are adorned with elegant gowns in every shade of the rainbow, their silken fabrics shimmering in the sunlight.

With a shared glance and a knowing smile, you make your way inside, greeted by the tinkling of bells and the warm smile of the shopkeeper. The interior of the boutique is a veritable treasure trove of fashion, with racks of dresses in every style and design imaginable. As you browse through the racks, your eyes are drawn to a stunning gown in a shade of deep midnight blue, its bodice adorned with delicate lace and sparkling sequins. It catches the light in such a way that it seems to shimmer and dance with every movement, and you can't help but feel drawn to it.

Feyre picks up a flowing gown in a shade of pale lavender, holding it up against herself with a thoughtful expression. "What do you think?" she asks, turning to you and the others for their opinion. Mor nods approvingly, her eyes lighting up with excitement. "It's lovely, Feyre. You would look stunning in that." Nesta, ever the pragmatist, arches an eyebrow skeptically. "It's a bit too... ethereal for my taste," she remarks dryly. "But if it makes you happy, then go for it." You can't help but chuckle at Nesta's blunt honesty, knowing that she speaks from a place of genuine concern for her sister's happiness. "I think it's beautiful, Feyre," you offer, a warm smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "But ultimately, it's up to you." Feyre returns your smile gratefully, her eyes sparkling with gratitude. "Thank you, Y/N," she says softly, her voice filled with warmth. "I think I'll give it a try." As Feyre disappears into the dressing room to try on the gown, Mor turns to you with a glint in her eyes. "So, Y/N, have you found anything that catches your eye?" she asks, her tone teasing.

You shrug nonchalantly, though your heart races at the thought of the dress you had spotted earlier. "Maybe," you reply coyly, a playful smile playing at your lips. "There was one that caught my attention." Nesta raises an eyebrow curiously, her gaze sharpening with interest. "Oh? And what does it look like?" she inquires, her tone betraying her curiosity.

You hesitate for a moment, your cheeks flushing slightly as you recall the details of the dress. "It's... um, it's a deep midnight blue," you begin, your voice trailing off as you struggle to find the right words to describe it.

Mor's eyes light up with mischief as she interrupts, a knowing smirk on her lips. "Sounds like something a certain Shadowsinger would most definitely like," she quips, her voice filled with amusement. You feel your cheeks grow even warmer at Mor's teasing remark, knowing that there is some truth to her words. "Maybe," you mumble, unable to hide the smile that tugs at the corners of your lips.

Before the conversation can continue further, Feyre emerges from the dressing room, the lavender gown flowing around her in a cascade of ethereal beauty. You gasp in awe at the sight of her, your heart swelling with pride and admiration.

"Feyre, you look incredible," you exclaim, your voice filled with genuine awe. "That dress was made for you." Feyre blushes at the compliment, her smile radiant as she twirls in front of the mirror. "Thank you, Y/N" she says warmly, her eyes shining with happiness. "I think I've found my dress." As Feyre twirls in front of the mirror, her radiant smile lighting up the room, Mor and Nesta exchange knowing glances before turning their attention to you.

"Well, Y/N, it's your turn now," Mor says with a playful grin, her eyes sparkling again. "You can't just talk about that mysterious midnight blue dress and not show it to us."

Nesta nods in agreement, her expression curious. "Yes, I'm quite intrigued to see this dress that has caught your eye," she adds, a hint of amusement in her voice. With a nod of determination, you make your way to the dressing room, the anticipation building with each step.

As you slip into the dress, you can't help but marvel at how perfectly it fits, clinging to your curves in all the right places. The fabric is soft against your skin, the deep midnight blue hue shimmering in the light, casting an enchanting glow around you. The bodice of the dress is adorned with delicate lace, the intricate patterns weaving a spellbinding tapestry across your skin. The neckline plunges low, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of skin, while the back dips into a daring V, leaving just enough to the imagination. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the reactions of your companions, before stepping out of the dressing room to reveal yourself to them.

Feyre gasps in awe as she lays eyes on you, her expression filled with admiration. "Wow, Y/N, you look absolutely stunning," she exclaims, her voice filled with genuine wonder.

Mor and Nesta nod in agreement, their eyes wide with astonishment. "That dress was made for you," Mor adds. As you gaze at your reflection in the mirror, a surge of confidence courses through you. It's been so long since you've worn anything other than fighting leathers, and the sensation of silk against your skin is a welcome change. You feel sexy, beautiful, and alive in a way that you haven't in months, the weight of responsibility and duty momentarily lifted from your shoulders. For the first time in what feels like forever, you allow yourself to revel in the simple pleasure of feeling feminine and desirable.

But amidst the rush of excitement and adrenaline, there's a nagging voice in the back of your mind, whispering of doubts and insecurities. What will Azriel think when he sees you like this? Will he be pleased, impressed, or will he merely see you as the same old friend he's always known? You bite your bottom lip nervously at the thought, a flush rising to your cheeks as you imagine his reaction. But deep down, beneath the layers of uncertainty and self-doubt, there's a spark of hope flickering within you, a glimmer of possibility that maybe, just maybe, he'll see you in a new light. That maybe the feelings you had harbored for him for the past two centuries weren’t one-sided.

With a determined shake of your head, you banish the doubts from your mind, focusing instead on the here and now. Tonight, you'll revel in the joy of the moment, surrounded by friends who love and support you unconditionally. And tomorrow, well, tomorrow is another day. "I must say, I almost forgot you had it in you to clean up so nicely."

You roll your eyes playfully at Mor's teasing remark, unable to suppress a laugh at her antics. "Oh, please, Mor," you quip, your tone laced with mock indignation. "You act as if I've been wearing armor for the past century." Feyre chuckles, her eyes dancing with mirth. "Well, you certainly seem to be enjoying yourself in that dress," she remarks with a knowing smile.

Nesta, ever the pragmatist, raises an eyebrow skeptically. "Yes, but can you actually afford it?" she asks dryly, her tone tinged with amusement. You feign offense at Nesta's remark "Of course I can afford it, Nesta," you reply with a playful smirk. "I'll just put it on Rhysand's tab."

The group erupts into laughter at your comment. With a final twirl in front of the mirror, you turn to the shopkeeper with a grin. "I'll take it," you declare confidently, a sense of satisfaction washing over you as you make your purchase. "And put it on Rhysand's tab, of course."

The shopkeeper chuckles at your remark, nodding in agreement as she wraps the dress in delicate tissue paper. "Very well, Miss Y/N" she says with a smile. "I'll be sure to send the bill to the High Lord's estate."

With your new dress in hand and your spirits lifted, you bid farewell to the boutique and make your way back into the bustling streets of Velaris.

☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆

Azriel strolls through the lush gardens of Tarquin's estate, the relentless heat of the Summer Court bearing down on him with an intensity that he finds almost suffocating. Sweat beads on his brow, trickling down his temples as he walks, and he can't help but curse the relentless sun that beats down from above, as if intent on draining him of every last ounce of energy.

He sighs heavily as he reflects on his current predicament, his thoughts drifting to the far-off lands of his homeland where snow, cold, and winter reign supreme. The sweltering heat of the Summer Court is a stark contrast to the familiar chill of the Night Court, and Azriel can't help but wonder if it's possible that he's somehow managed to burn his wings in the sun. But such thoughts are quickly pushed aside as he reminds himself of the task at hand. Everything had gone well with his meeting with Tarquin, and now he simply longs to retire to his chambers and escape the oppressive heat for a few precious hours of rest.

As he continues on his way, Azriel can't help but think about the upcoming Starfall celebration. Tomorrow would mark the end of his short mission in the Summer Court, and he couldn't wait to return home to Velaris. The thought of spending Starfall without Y/N weighs heavily on his mind, and he can't help but feel a pang of longing in his chest at the prospect. Suddenly, a voice breaks through his thoughts, a familiar presence intruding upon his mind with the ease of a whisper on the wind. It's Rhys, reaching out to him.

"Enjoying the summer heat, brother?" Rhys's voice echoes in his mind, a hint of amusement lacing his words. "Remember, not all of us are fortunate enough to have wings to shield us from the sun's rays."

Azriel can't help but snort at Rhys's teasing, the sound reverberating silently within his own mind. "I'd take a blizzard over this heat any day," he replies, his tone dry with sarcasm. "At least in the Winter Court, I wouldn't feel like I'm about to melt into a puddle."

Rhys's laughter fills his mind. "Ah, but where's the fun in that?" he quips "Besides, think of it as a challenge. A test of endurance, if you will."

Azriel shakes his head incredulously at his brother's words, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite himself. "You would find amusement in my suffering, wouldn't you?" he retorts. But Rhys's next words carry a weight of sincerity that catches Azriel off guard. "In all seriousness, Az, you'll be home before you know it," He assures him, his voice filled with warmth and encouragement. "Starfall is just around the corner, and there are loved ones eagerly awaiting your return."

There's a cryptic hint in Rhys's words, a subtle suggestion that Azriel can't quite decipher. He furrows his brows in confusion, his mind racing as he tries to make sense of his brother's words. After all, he's only been gone for a week. Rhys's voice fades from Azriel's mind, leaving him with a sense of calm and reassurance. "Until tomorrow, brother," he murmurs silently.

Azriel retreats for the night, the weight of exhaustion heavy on his shoulders. As he settles into his chambers, a sense of relief washes over him at the thought of returning home tomorrow.

His mind wanders to how he'll spend his first day back in Velaris, imagining the familiar streets and faces that he's missed so dearly the past week. But amidst the anticipation, there's a nagging sense of longing that tugs at his heart. Clasping his scarred hands together, Azriel reaches into the pocket of his bag and pulls out a crumpled piece of parchment. It's a letter from Y/N, the only way they've been able to stay in contact while she's been away on her mission.

He doesn't know why he took the letter with him, but holding it in his hands brings a sense of serenity and comfort. Even though their last exchanged letters had been about a month ago, knowing that Y/N is safe and well brings him a measure of peace.

With a sigh, Azriel unfolds the parchment and reads over her words once more, the familiar handwriting bringing a smile to his lips. He makes a silent promise to himself to write to her as soon as he gets home. But now, as he prepares to return home for the celebration, he can't help but feel a pang of sadness at the thought of Y/N missing out. He wonders what she might be doing on Starfall, if she's found a way to make the most of the day despite being apart from their shared family.

Azriel knew how she hadn’t missed a single Starfall since… The heavy feeling of subdued rage settles in the pits of his stomach at the thought of what she endured during those dark years under the Mountain. He wishes he could have been there to protect her, to shield her from the horrors of their captivity.

His thoughts drift to a darker memory then, one that haunts him even now. He remembers her broken body, her spirit shattered and her light dimmed, when she and Rhys returned after Feyre broke the curse. The sight of her lying there, broken and bruised, fills him with a sense of sorrow and rage unlike anything he's ever known. He can still feel the weight of her pain, the echoes of her suffering lingering in the recesses of his mind. In that moment, all he wanted was to take her pain away, to hold her close and mend her broken spirit. Azriel thinks of the first Starfall after they returned from under the mountain, how Y/N had opened up about her grief and trauma for the first time. He can still see the sadness in her eyes, the weight of her pain etched into every line of her face. It was a stark contrast to the joyous celebration unfolding around them, a reminder of the darkness that still lingered. From that day forward, Y/N never missed a single Starfall celebration.

As Azriel drifts off to sleep, frustration gnaws at his insides like a relentless beast. Despite his best efforts to push Y/N from his mind, she lingers there like a haunting specter, her presence weaving through his thoughts and dreams with an undeniable persistence. Rubbing his hand over his face in a futile attempt to banish the memories, Azriel can't help but feel a sense of shame at the intensity of his longing for her. He prides himself on his control, on his ability to keep his emotions in check, but she has a way of unraveling him like no one else.

And then there are the dreams - vivid and all-consuming, they play out like scenes from a forbidden fantasy, leaving Azriel feeling both exhilarated and guilty in their wake. They were friends. Just friends. Best friends, actually. And even though this urge was nothing completely unfamiliar, these thoughts had overtaken him completely as soon as she left.

Again his mind wandered. Asking himself how her lips would feel clashing against his, how she would wrap her arms around his neck, having to crane her neck for a kiss due to their height difference. What she would taste like, what sounds he could coax out of her. How those exact plush lips would feel wrapped around his cock.- A growl leaves him through clenched teeth. His eyebrows pinched as he squeezes his eyes shut, palming himself through his briefs. Confusion etched on his beautiful face then, because he just could not understand. She was his best friend, so why could he not stop thinking about her like this? Thus, so very determined, he decided that this had to change, while simultaneously fisting his heavy cock in one of his hands. "Fuck"

☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆

I hope you enjoyed this little piece of my imagination. Feedback is always welcome and appreciated! Please let me know if you'd like a part 2 :)

#acotar #azriel spymaster #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #azriel smut #azriel fluff #fem reader #x reader #imagine #bat boys

866 notes · View notes

jiminrings · 10 months ago

Text

fail-safe (2)

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 8k

glimpse: yoongi got everything he ever wanted and you've heard nothing about it, so you're thankful.

alternatively, yoongi reminds you of home in more ways than one.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale ]

[ a Lot of angst, brother's best friend AND single dad au, eventual fluff, a lot of yearning but For What, they reunite but at what cost rlly, jealousy, self-loathing, unrequited love (initial), deja vu but in the worst possible form, eventual redemption in the next parts ]

notes: i am So sorry for this .

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! even reading ur thoughts in the tags give me life :) | series masterlist

FIVE YEARS LATER

The trip back home wasn’t as rough as Yoongi expected it to be.

Somehow, there’s a huge difference between sitting in economy seats versus first-class seats, even if they’re situated on the same aircraft. When he left, Yoongi was irritable (amongst other things) to keep bumping elbows with everyone else; now that he’s back, he almost misses the ruckus in the cabin that’s far too cramped for everyone who could afford it.

Yoongi used to hate people like himself — atleast the version that he is now. He hated bastards sitting upfront in seats that reclined all the way back and ate off plates instead of noisy, flimsy plastic containers. Back then, deep down to his very core, he wanted that lifestyle for himself. To become bigger and better than he could ever imagine for the life ahead of him was always the goal.

Now that he’s at the peak, maybe even being the peak himself, he feels weirdly homesick.

“You need to bundle up all the way, Haneul. They’re gonna scold me if you’re not covered from head to toe,” Yoongi playfully chides his son, the insecurity and nervousness underneath his tone flying right over his head. It’s not even that cold, but still, a huge part of Yoongi worries.

He worries everyday if he’s a good dad to his four-year old. He worries if he’s good enough to be a solo parent because after all, he’s the one who has main custody of Haneul anyway. He worries and worries, but there’s nothing quite like the trepidation he feels being back home with everyone who has ever known him prior to all this success, suddenly seeing him come home.

It should be the opposite way around, that’s what everyone says to him. Yoongi had been queasy the whole flight back home despite the flight being one of the smoothest trips he’s ever been on in his life. He’s nervous to be back where he had been born and raised and he doesn’t know what’s that supposed to mean, except for the fact that he has an inkling of what the weight in his chest pertains to.

He’s back because it’s your mother’s 60th birthday. He’s back because her and Namjoon had asked him to, and he obliged without even thinking about it. Yoongi had offered numerous times to throw a party for the woman who had practically raised him alongside his closest friend, and even if Namjoon had backed him up on the grand idea for such a large milestone, she said no. All she wanted was for everyone to be back home, and Yoongi couldn’t say no.

Neither could you.

Yoongi is not the most modest person alive, but he is at his humblest when he drives the long way home just to delay the inevitable. He’s happy to the point he could be sick. He can’t tell if it’s the joy or the anxiety in his chest that makes it tighten, almost unbearably so, that he makes Haneul reach up to his forehead to check if he has a fever.

Yoongi’s home.

Not Los Angeles home, and not New York home. Not his home with a closet that’s the size of his childhood house’s living room, and not his space with the big windows and concierge downstairs.

Yoongi’s home — where the streets are narrow and the stairs are creaky; where this time, it’s all of him and none of you.

Enduring is different than working.

You’ve realized that the two concepts are drastically different as soon as Yoongi left, leaving you to survive the remaining years of your degree before you had to face the reality that you had to work to the bone for the rest of your life if you wanted a shot at living an average, food-stocked-in-the-fridge kind of life.

You didn’t know anyone who was connected to someone of importance one way or another, your family had zero ties, and you graduated from a university that raised more eyebrows in confusion than it tilted heads in awe. Your degree does havehigh promises as far as everyone in your town was concerned — it does and it should be, if only you were born and raised in different circumstances.

There’s not one acclaimed and high-profit company that would ever accept the likes of you. You worked hard and even if there were no exchange student agreements and Latin honors to show for it, you really did. You gave your best to graduate with a degree you never really liked and was only forced upon you, all for the promise of a future. It didn’t matter if it was extremely good or bad — everyone else just said you had to have one.

Your misfortune is what it is. It’s empty and haunting and the two weeks you had spent in the city right after graduating is truly something you never want to relive.

In hindsight, gambling the rest of your pocket money on a bus fare in your last day of job-hunting in the city at the time was a stupid decision. It was impulsive and irresponsible and everything your family scolded you for, what Yoongi hated you for, but it ended up being the single best gamble you’ve ever made, even above entry-level lottery tickets.

The same circumstances that held you back from where you’re supposed to head ended up propelling you to somewhere far, far different. Your degree became completely irrelevant, and the fact that you had nobody of significance in the city– no person to pass malice and gossip onto— made you a manager.

It had been a gamble to go work for an unknown entertainment company, much more a sinking one. It was an insult to have busted your ass back in your hometown, studying and working at the same time, only to work professionally in the city for a field that you didn’t even study about.

Your fate is what it is. You’ve endured and worked hard enough to the point that you had finally lucked out. Being the manager of someone who had later turned out to become the biggest actor in the industry, even in Hollywood, became your biggest break up to date.

Your way back home feels like an embrace you’ve denied yourself for far too long. You’ve mainly stayed in Seoul apart from the several hundred times you had to come with Jungkook for filming outside of the country, yet you could only count on one hand the amount of times you came home without anyone telling you to.

Coming home had become foreign to you as much as leaving it had become familiar.

“I’m near, Joon,” you hum to your phone, taking a quick glance at the cake you’ve strapped to your front seat. “It’s only us, right?”

“Yeah. Just us.”

Maybe it’s your fault for changing what us meant throughout the past five years, but Namjoon’s definition never changed. Maybe it’s your fault for not clarifying what he meant when you’re still kilometers away, when you can still leave, but nonetheless, you were cornered.

Us meant what it used to be when you were a kid in your childhood home — when Yoongi was still in the picture and you didn’t hate him for it.

In the grand scheme of things, you realize that Yoongi was right — nothing valuable was left for him in your hometown anymore. He was as right as you were wrong every time he went on a monologue of how he thinks there’s no problem in him admitting that he’s full of envy. He had been right for being bitter that there’s people who have and get much more than him, more than what they deserve, by not even putting a fourth of the effort that he does.

In the same way that he was right, you were wrong for thinking each time that Yoongi would soon outgrow his ambitions and instead, see things for what they are. You were wrong for thinking Yoongi would stoop down to your page, much less ever think of it.

Yoongi was right for saying that his stomach’s made of steel, and you were wrong for trying to convince him otherwise. He’s always had the appetite for more, the digestion of whatever life throws at him coming easy. Yoongi can choke down the reality of leaving Namjoon, your brother, who’s been buddies with him even before they could talk. He could forgo the only brother figure he’s ever had in his life if it means making something of himself.

He doesn’t get constipated from the reality of no longer having the homemade meals your mother would make that the younger, more innocent, and less ambitious version of him would literally jumps fences for. In fact, Yoongi’s palate craved something more foreign and sophisticated; not familiar, hearty meals served in dinnerware dulled from years of routine.

His stomach doesn’t turn thinking about how the skyline he said he’d never get tired of, wouldn’t appear in his new side of the world. The little, unassuming, and far too comfortable version of him who used to chase sunrises with his bike as a child and chase sunsets with his car as a teenager, doesn’t feel like he’d be poisoned if he were to see the sunlight in a high-rise instead of a run-down pavement.

Yoongi’s right when he said he had a tolerance because he doesn’t even get heartburn when you cry for him to no longer leave. You’re not in the position to beg him to stay (and you probably never will be) because as you’ve come to realize, he would only stay for the big things.

The only thing that would anchor Min Yoongi into place and dissuade him from chasing more is by being the most. One would have to be extremely significant, even bigger than Namjoon’s brotherhood, your mother’s impact, and what your hometown has to offer. You can’t even hold a candle to the aforementioned.

In Yoongi’s grand plan that’s as big as the galaxy, you’re merely a speck of dust that had the luck of hovering around him. You realized it back then when you blew over and fought with him right before his flight; right when Yoongi was clutching his one-way ticket, right when one foot was already out of the door.

“But the future that you want is not easy, Yoongi!” you gritted through your teeth, the grip you had on his suitcase too visceral that it bends under the pressure. Yoongi snatches his luggage from you in a blink, nostrils flaring in annoyance.

“Of course you’d be the first to say that,” he seethed, eyes wild and unforgiving. He drills his finger into his temple, inching towards you with an anger he had never shown before. “You don’t work as hard as I do, Y/N! You always settle. You always go for mediocre. You never put your head into anything because you’re too immature for any of this shit!”

“I’m not immature, you asshole!”

“Yes you are, you dipshit!” Yoongi scoffed, throwing his head back. “You cave and you bend and you let the whole world fuck you over, then you come running to me whining. You don’t have a passion in life, Y/N! You’re begging me to stay in the same predicament that you’re in now, what’s not immature about that?”

“When you leave now and decide to come back one day, Yoongi,” you spat with resentment, the tears that pour down your cheeks no longer out of sadness but instead, out of promise. “Nothing will ever be the same.”

“Good,” Yoongi clipped, turning his back on you for the last time. “Good for me.”

In the grand scheme of things, you realize that when Yoongi left five years ago, he also took the large chunk of your soul that had been shaped over and over again the entire time that he stood by you. He’d gotten his hands on the security and contentment you used to take pride in, weaponizing them against you.

You’re unsure if you have to thank him for that, the uncertainty being on par with the insecurity you had felt when he left you with his truth.

When you visit your mother for her birthday and see Yoongi emerge from your childhood bedroom, hand-in-hand with a toddler that looks like an exact carbon copy of him, you’re unsure of what to do either.

You’re not hysterical in the same way you stood before him when you even considered ripping up his plane ticket, but on the other hand, Yoongi’s inconsolable in the way he flounders before you.

“Y/N,” he says breathless, the lump in his throat even bigger than the tiny fist that grips his hand. “I… I-I didn’t-…” Yoongi tries again, his mouth dry at your appearance. “You came home.”

“I’m only visiting,” you answer, the curt smile on your face that Yoongi recognizes to be the one you’d give to strangers making his blood run cold. “I don’t plan on staying.”

You’re numb if that’s the word for it.

Your chest buzzes emptily the same way your fingers clench around nothing. You look at everywhere and everyone but Yoongi and his son. It’s nauseating to even think that everyone’s eating dinner as if everything’s okay; what’s even more sickening is that somehow, you’re willing to settle for it.

Yoongi is your mom’s cross-stitch project of a teddy bear that she hung up in your room one day when you were in school that you never took off by the time you came home. He’s a dent at the corner of your gate that could’ve only been made by Namjoon when he was practicing his soccer skills. He’s a Snellen chart that nobody really uses, stuck to the side of the refrigerator that you walk past.

Yoongi’s here, there, and everywhere, but you don’t question it. He’s simply there in your orbit and even if he exists, you don’t follow up on him.

You stay quiet at the talks of the sleeping situation because it turns out that Yoongi’s family had long sold their house. You never knew that throughout the several times you came down to visit.

Frankly, you’re relieved to barely know anything about Yoongi these days.

“You and Haneul can take my room,” you half-heartedly offer, not because it’s Yoongi who tugs at your heartstrings and demands your pity, but his child instead. The two, three (?) year-old baby (read: you’re too hesitant to ask what his age is because if it’s anything higher, then that meant Yoongi had moved on earlier than you did) you didn’t even know existed because you’ve completely cut off Yoongi from your life and refused to listen to Namjoon every time he talked about him, will be sleeping in your room; it just happens that he’s with his dad.

Yoongi’s awed at your preposition but he’s even more worried. He can’t tell a single thought that’s going on behind your eyes nor a single hint behind your tone. You’re formal; neutral. You’re detached even when you utter Haneul’s name and gesture them to your bedroom as if he hasn’t spent years and years of his life in your home.

“Where will you sleep?” he furrows his brows, his hand that had been rubbing circles on Haneul’s back faltering.

He’s asking because he doesn’t know anything about you at this point. He can’t tell if it’s the indigestion he has from resisting to talk your ear off at the dining table (like he’s always did when you were young) because you barely even spoke to him, or if it’s the overwhelming feeling of being back home with everything feeling familiar but you — either way, Yoongi thinks he’s gonna be sick.

“I’ll sleep at my mom’s,” you purse your lips, leaving him at that.

Between the yearning, demanding looks you get from Yoongi, the nosy and concerned glances from Namjoon, and even the guilt that you get from keeping all of your emotions from your mom when you used to confide in her religiously when you were younger — you’re drained. The urge to wash off all your anxiety can’t be done in your childhood home’s small bathroom. You can’t with the faulty water heater (you have to keep one finger pressed on the button at all times to keep it running) because you can’t even cry in peace under the either scorching or freezing water.

You can’t evade everything by grabbing a drink from the fridge that runs loudly as if it’s excavating oil from underneath your floors. You can’t curl up on the couch that’s become worn with age because there’s dents of you and Yoongi, the only two people who had sat on it the most every late night for years on end. You can’t romanticize any of the things in your home that have brought you joy all your life at this point in time.

To sleep under the same roof with your mother and brother again after so long feels foreign. It’s a language you can perceive but can’t translate and the frustration that comes with it seeps into your bones. There must be some common ground between the three of you; it should be anything and everything. With Namjoon being a world-renowned football player and you being somewhat accomplished and decorated in your field, you’ve managed to retire your mom early.

The three of you are doing fine. Not one interaction in the past five years has ever felt this tense and unfamiliar, but if you could pick just the odd one out, the very reason why you feel like falling to the floor and crawling your way out of your own home because you feel like you don’t belong to it — it’s Yoongi.

You feel awkward in your own four walls, whereas Yoongi finds your nightlight that you keep tucked in your closet without breaking a sweat.

Namjoon tugs you right when you’re about to call it a day in your mom’s room, his hushed whispers taking you back to when he pleaded for you not to rat them out whenever he and Yoongi crashed at the couch drunk.

“Give them this,” he shoves the can of bug spray into your hands, your immediate reaction making him wrestle with you just to push you closer to your own bedroom.

“No, Joon. You give it.”

“Y/N, no. You give it,” he whines, purposely having given Yoongi extra sheets and blankets earlier without the bug spray so you’d have something to take to him.

“I don’t wanna see Yoongi,” you whisper, trying to pathetically regain your footing even if you know your attempts go futile against an athlete for a brother.

“You think I don’t know that?” he snarks, giving you one last shove with a stern finger. “We’re gonna talk about whatever the hell happened between you and him, but right now, you’re gonna offer him bug spray like the gracious hosts that we are!”

You crash too far to your door that it could be mistaken as a knock, making you hiss because you know you can’t retract it. You actually knock this time, being met with nothing but a quiet Yoongi behind your own door.

Even when he opens it fully, even when it’s your own room — you enter hesitantly.

Yoongi’s already made a home out of your room. He knew where your nightlight was, knew which good extension cord (that didn’t spark every time it shifted) to plug into the wall, and even knew where you kept the magazine that you had to wedge between your windows whenever they didn’t fully close.

“Namjoon told me to give you this,” you put your hand out, looking at everything but Yoongi. You could look at Haneul who’s sprawled in the middle of the bed, but it isn’t any different than looking at his dad himself.

Yoongi, on the other hand, can’t see anything but you. He feels like an intruder who just happened to know the confines of your life almost better than his own, holding bug spray and the remainder of whatever recognition you have left for him.

“Will we ever be alright?” he whispers, not for the sake of keeping Haneul asleep, but for the sake of his sanity. If he makes his voice any louder, he’ll spill all his grievances and question if he had ever meant anything to you.

“We’ve always been alright,” you smile tightly, wrapping your hands around your back.

“You know what I’m talking about,” he pleads, swallowing the lump in his throat. “When did you ever give me bug spray? When did you have to knock on my door, o-or when did you ever have to treat me like I’m some guest and not a huge part of your life?” Yoongi stumbles over his words, correcting himself with a huff. “Most of your life.”

The sarcasm that coats the last of his words makes you twitch, the clench in your jaw being unmistakeable. Yoongi almost forgot what you looked like whenever you argued with him — talked to him, even. “Why are you only bitching about this to me and not to Namjoon? He’s the one who told me to give you the bug spray.”

“This is not about the bug spray!”

“What is it about then? Is this, is this some sort of long-winded euphemism that involves bug spray? What is it Yoongi, are you gonna hound me for an essay about it?” you spit, exhaling heavily. Haneul twitches in his sleep from the corner of your eye. “You grew up and so did I.”

Yoongi flinches like you’ve shot him.

“Don’t do this to me, kid. Don’t do this to us.”

You flinch because anything is better than to have him dig up his old nickname for you as if he’s close; as if he’s still the Yoongi that you chased, as if you’re still the Y/N he looked out for.

“Don’t call me that.”

( ♡ )

Yoongi’s in the kitchen with your mom.

He looks domestic this way, hair tousled and pajamas loose. Even if you have unbridled internet access (courtesy of the high-speed package you split with Namjoon for your mom even if the most she does online is repost motivational quotes, reels of Namjoon and his team, and clips of Jungkook where you’re seen), you can’t muster the courage to search Yoongi’s name and what he’s made of himself.

You’re too scared to search up articles about his success as a producer because if you do, you’re terrified by the thought of accidentally clicking a link that leads you to a page of him and his ex-wife.

You’re too weak to search up the songs he’s had a hand in (that is if you hadn’t heard them before) because you fear that if you even listen for a single second, you might hear how perfect his life has been ever since he left behind everything that he’s ever known.

Even now, you’re too uneasy at the sight of him. He’s in your home and he looks like the version of himself that had never left. The Yoongi in front of you, sitting on your seat at the dining table and peeling tangerines with your mom, resembles the Yoongi that would top off your glass with water whenever you ate with him.

It’s as if you’ve always been in touch for the past five years; it’s as if Yoongi has never aged and you never drifted apart.

“You’re awake,” he remarks, greeting you first before your mom could even register your presence.

“You’re still here,” you reply, the exhale that leaves you making you deflate in reflection. Breakfast isn’t ready yet, but Yoongi’s already slid over a plate to you.

“There. Just how you like them.”

There’s tangerines with barely any pith on them, and iced tea that had more ice cubes in them than there are in the freezer.

Yoongi smiles at you like you’re the old you again; the one who is more forgiving, and the one who is more hopeful.

( ♡ )

If it wasn’t for your brother guilt-tripping you into joining the impromptu road trip, you never would have come.

You didn’t want to come with them in the first place because the very thought of hanging out with Namjoon and Yoongi like old times, this time with the addition of the latter’s son, was too close; too familial. The three already knew each other and had kept in touch and you’re the odd one out. You’re the only planet out of the system and once you’ve come to think of it, that bit of their galaxy never failed. Whether you were in it or not didn’t matter — atleast that’s what you thought.

Yoongi got everything he ever wanted and you’ve heard nothing about it.

You blocked his number and on every social media account he had to his name. Even with Namjoon as a prominent variable, you’re amazed to how you’ve heard little to nothing about Yoongi ever since he left your hometown. You still talked to your brother, of course, but there was an obvious difference to how your conversations went because none of them ever went to Yoongi.

You didn’t tell him to not talk about Yoongi at all. You didn’t instruct him to never utter a single word about his closest friend whom you also grew up with. You never told Namjoon anything concerning Yoongi and what unfolded between the two of you before you left, and yet, it’s almost as if he had already been in your mind and knew exactly what to do.

You’ve come to realize that the prospect of growing up never used to be in your cards. The whole concept of it sat at the very back of your mind, the only times you used to pay attention to it being whenever Yoongi picked at your brain.

You thought your world would have ended when you were 19. You didn’t think you would grow up and see past high school. You didn’t think you would finish college, much less pick a degree to pursue in the first place. You didn’t think of having a future — you didn’t think you’d be living it now in this way.

“Joon,” you mutter, voice barely being heard at the expanse of the balcony you’re in. It’s his balcony in his vacation house he barely stays in, overlooking the waves by the beach he isn’t even that fond of to begin with.

Yoongi and Haneul are already asleep, the father-son duo knocking out way ahead than everyone else. They stayed with the two of you in the balcony hours ago, the bug spray in both the adult and kid edition being proof of it.

Tonight, alone, felt different. It’s as if the younger version of you was gazing out to what was supposed to be your future, except neither the past nor present variant of you could have ever had it for yourself.

“Hm?” he hums, sipping the last of his drink while he’s sat at the far end. You know about each other’s presence, and while years ago, the two of you would’ve been giddy staying in a house as grand as this whilst drinking behind your mom’s back, you and Namjoon grew up. You didn’t fight or anything — you simply grew up and grew apart.

“I never said it before, but thank you,” you exhale, clenching Haneul’s towel as you try to warm your hands. You may have spent the better part of the day not even acknowledging his dad, but you did fawn over him like you would with any other child. “Thank you for not telling me a thing about Yoongi.”

“You’re welcome,” Namjoon finally speaks as soon as he grasps what you were talking about, the smile on his face only lasting for a second. “If it were up to me though, I would have told you everything.”

“Good thing it’s not up to you, hm?” you laugh uneasily, running your hand through your hair. You didn’t know how much you had to be grateful for until Yoongi came back and reminded you of how little you knew about him.

Namjoon breathlessly laughs, looking up at the sky to try and condense everything that has happened through his words before you leave again. “I would have told you that he confessed what happened that time you ran away from home a couple years back, and I beat his ass. We didn’t talk for like, I don’t know, three months? Even when I was still training in the US that time.”

Your lack of a reply is what makes him take notice, the stunned look you have on your face making him snort.

“What?” he questions, eyebrows furrowed as he throws a stray bottle cap at you. “Why are you so shocked? I love him like a brother, but you’re my actual sister,” he confides his loyalty to you, yet you don’t even have a second to express your awe before he opens his mouth again. “I would have told you that I became the best man at his wedding. Even mom was there.”

“You can stop telling me these things now.”

Namjoon exhales, already feeling deep in his chest that you’re gearing up to leave. He wants to get the last word in, not to prove himself, but to try and vindicate you and the quiet suffering you endured without telling anyone.

“I would have told you that Yoongi kept trying to come back to you.”

( ♡ )

Haneul wakes up before Yoongi does.

You’re confused for a second because the moment you hear the lightest footsteps that you ever could pad along the kitchen, you become completely disoriented. There’s a child that looks like Yoongi, wandering off to where you are.

For the briefest second, your heart drops because the whole situation resembles a vignette. In another lifetime, it could’ve been your child, your Haneul, waking up before his dad, trudging to the kitchen where you are is if you’re his mom.

He’s an observant kid, far too trusting unlike his dad who used to scold you to hell and back for even entertaining strangers that asked you for directions. He’s friendly to you; to someone Yoongi had introduced as appa’s close friend. There isn’t even a single hint in how he introduced you to Haneul that the two of you stopped being close. Yoongi didn’t leave the faintest indicator to him that you most probably hated his guts and would probably choose a lifetime where he hadn’t even been in your life at all.

Haneul is innocent to yours and Yoongi’s history and it’s going to stay that way. You don’t meant to change whatever he introduced you as because by the time your mom’s birthday week is over, or by the time Yoongi takes the hint and leaves your hometown again, you would be a fleeting persona in Haneul’s life.

You’re not his mom. You’re not anyone of significance to either him and his dad.

“Good morning,” he greets shyly, his diction telling of how just attentive Yoongi is as a dad. You mostly listened to whatever Namjoon told you last night anyway, tuning out the parts where he rounded to how Yoongi had been miserable not having any contact with you (you don’t believe that at all), and instead zeroing in on the large details that you’ve missed. “Auntie.”

You smile tightly, patting the empty seat beside to you to which he climbs effortlessly.

Haneul doesn’t know you, but you do know him. You know that his dad is a doting, slightly paranoid one whose current dilemma is whether or not enrolling him in kindergarten early or waiting for one more year. You know that Yoongi doesn’t want him to know about the existence of iPads for probably ever, so he spends almost every waking moment talking to him to the point that Haneul’s eloquent at speaking for his age. You also know that Namjoon’s his godfather, and that he had looked after him for a whole day by himself when Yoongi went to settle his divorce.

Haneul doesn’t know you, but you know his parents. You know Yoongi is his dad, and more importantly, that Hyewon is his mom — the same Hyewon who had been with him in your room before, and the same woman Yoongi shared his success with when he made it big.

“Hi,” you greet him softly, handing him his bottle for him to drink from. It’s a warm, domestic vignette for a split second. You’ve watched Yoongi far too many times at the corner of your eye to know where he gets the distilled water. “Why are you up already?”

“Uncle Joonie promised yesterday we can watch the sunrise together,” he says in between sips, letting you comb his hair into order unconsciously. You didn’t even think of it before your hand sweeps the strands scattered on his forehead, the hum you have at the back of your throat pausing when you realized what you’ve done.

“He’s still sleeping right now. He had uh, a long night,” you mutter, at a loss for a child-friendly alternative word for hangover. You keep your hands to yourself because you fear falling into the domesticity that isn’t yours to relax into; if you think about it for a second longer, you’d think that Haneul is yours and Yoongi is the final piece to your puzzle.

“Oh. But I, I wanna watch,” Haneul frowns, brows softly furrowed at your revelation. He’s not close to throwing a tantrum, but the upset expression on his face keeps tugging at your heart to cave.

“You can take your dad with you,” you offer, willing to knock on Yoongi’s door if it meant his son smiling again.

Haneul shakes his head at that, looking up at the ceiling as he recalls the events of last night before being tucked in. “Nuh-uh. Appa had a long night too. He just kept crying.”

A part of you wishes that Haneul didn’t speak so clearly.

“What?” you clarify, heart skipping a beat the more you replay his words in your head.

“Crying?” Haneul repeats, tilting his head as he tries to figure you out. He says it again for a third time as if you needed any clarification of the word and not because of your disbelief that his dad was capable of it. “Like this,” he adds, pretending to bawl with his hands wiping at his eyes.

The scene before you is your brief moment of reprieve, making you chuckle breathlessly as you try to regain your senses. Whether or not Haneul was sure of what he was saying, if Yoongi had cried, it’s most probably not because of anything that has to do with you.

“Oh. So that’s what it means. Thank you, Haneul,” you laugh lowly, patting him on the head until you retract your hand again in realization.

Haneul thinks nothing of your trepidation; he thinks nothing of the yearning behind your eyes, and thinks nothing of the tremble in your voice.

“Can we watch the sunrise together?” he asks, eyes looking up at you as if doing so would be the equivalent of hanging the stars up for him in the sky.

(Read: it probably is, and in another lifetime, or in the far-shot that it happens in this one, you’d do it if he asks you to do so.)

You want to ask Haneul why it’s you who he wants to accompany him, but you don’t. You can wake up either Yoongi and Namjoon to go with him instead, but you won’t.

In another lifetime, this would have been your son, your Haneul asking to watch the sunrise with you. There’s a Yoongi-shaped hole and a Haneul-shaped vacancy in your chest, but you don’t prod about it further.

You don’t question what’s happening, and maybe, just maybe, there’s a tiny part of you that wants to fully accept it instead of hesitating to do so.

“Okay.”

Haneul puts his hand in yours, but you don’t pull away. You just hold him tighter.

( ♡ )

A large part of you forgot that for as long as Yoongi’s here, he’ll treat every interaction you have with Namjoon as an open invitation for him. He had always been this way; for as long as you could remember, he’ll include himself even if he isn’t needed nor wanted.

You can’t count the amount of times your mom had berated Namjoon for something and oddly enough, Yoongi also happened to be there. Whether it was to rat out on his own best friend or being at the receiving end of said scolding, Yoongi jumped at every opportunity to come along as a package deal.

When you asked Namjoon to drink with you at the balcony two days ago, Yoongi butted in and asked what brand of alcohol he should buy you at the convenience store. When you were on the way home and asked your brother what he wanted from the rest stop, Yoongi said he wanted the biggest can of coffee you could find.

And when you asked Namjoon what time you should come to the stadium to watch him practice, Yoongi said he’ll pack you an extra cap while Haneul bonded with your mom.

Sometime long ago, you and Yoongi saw each other eye to eye. You can’t determine when and how exactly, but there was a point in your life where everything you had to say to each other was what the other was thinking all along. Nowadays, you can’t even look at Yoongi in the eye while all he wanted was for you to return his gaze.

If there’s just one thing though, one single variable that remained unchanged between the two of you, it would be Namjoon.

The way Yoongi engages you in conversation this time around is not to trap you and to ramp himself up to apologize again, but purely, it’s to talk about your brother. Namjoon’s a lot of things, and one thing you pray would remain unchanged is the love you have for each other.

“Who would have thought, right?” Yoongi nudges, asking you sincerely. “Who would have thought that the Namjoon who had knockoff cleats years ago would become this world-famous athlete?” he chuckles, shaking his head as he once again tries to digest the fact that this very stadium in your hometown had been built and refashioned in his honor.

You laugh genuinely, the sound being the first he’s ever heard in such a long time.

“Abibas.”

Yoongi has his lips parted, shocked that you were even answering him.

“Abibas. That was the brand of his knockoff cleats,” you chuckle, bowing your head as you try to contain your laughter. “He could’ve bought the original with his allowance and everything, but he split it so he could also buy me knockoffs.”

Yoongi laughs at the memory you jog up in his mind, remembering distinctly how Namjoon kept asking for his opinion repeatedly on which colorway of the knockoff pair he should gift you.

Even if things are still tense between you, even if Namjoon is the only salvation that Yoongi could bring up in a conversation to which you don’t run from, nothing from the past five years could ever take this moment away from you.

The three of you have grown up. Some faster than they’d like, and some because they had no choice but to — nonetheless, in this moment, it’s the three of you back at home like it used to be.

“Namjoon was always meant for greatness. Even from the start,” you murmur, your attention waiting on Yoongi’s response even if your eyes were on Namjoon in the field.

“You are too,” he interjects quickly, voice defensive at the lack of your name to your own sentence.

“No I’m not,” you snort, crossing your arms. You’re not angry when you say it; in fact, you’re calm as if you’ve always seen it coming. “You told me I’d amount to nothing.”

You’re calm, seemingly at peace with what you just said and what Yoongi had ingrained in your head before, but he’s the furthest thing from it. His mouth hangs open, chest tightening impossibly as he shakes his head eagerly.

“I never said that!”

You’re about to counter him when you hear a familiar holler reach you at the lower section of the bleachers, eyes perking to see a familiar figure who isn’t blood-related to you.

“Y/N!” Jimin runs up to you faster than to whenever he passes the ball to Namjoon, engulfing you in a massive hug that forces you up to your feet before you know it.

“Oh my god, Jimin! I didn’t know you were gonna be here!” you awe at the sight of him, unwilling to break away from the embrace until he does so. It’s been ages since you’ve seen him, the second-best player in the team (you’re biased because of course Namjoon had been the best player to you since you were kids) being the closest member to you out of everyone.

Jimin doesn’t care for Yoongi. He knows of the guy and he doesn’t want to know any more than he already does. He doesn’t even acknowledge the guy’s presence; all he does is squeeze you tighter and twirl you briefly in his arms.

“Fuck, me neither. Heaven must’ve healed my ankle quicker so I could come here and see you,” he flirts playfully, earning a well-deserved eye roll from you.

“And you know, play for Korea.”

“Eh. That too, I guess,” he shrugs, sitting at the seat beside you. He looks straight at you and only you — Jimin only pauses to snort to himself when he notices that Yoongi’s squirming in his seat, beyond annoyed and frustrated.

( ♡ )

On the fifth day of Yoongi staying over at your house, there’s a power outage.

The sound of everything shutting off together in sync makes you jolt, the collective groan you hear outside from the neighborhood comforting you in solidarity.

You can only make out a grunt from Namjoon and a gasp from your mom until you hear the trembling voice of Haneul, the sound of a cry that crawls up his throat putting everyone on their feet.

“Oh baby, it’s okay, it’s okay! It’s just a little dark, that’s all,” Yoongi pipes up instantly, scooping him up in his arms without having to fumble for where he is because he could practically locate his son in his sleep.

You didn’t want for it to be a power outage, but oddly enough, you feel sorry that it happened while you’re here. “It’s okay, Haneul,” you whisper as consolation, the dark of the night shielding you from how Yoongi’s eyes widen at your cooing for his son. “Mom, where did you put that generator I got you?”

“About that,” she sheepishly shrugs, turning on her phone to illuminate her shyness. “I donated it last year to the public school nearby.”

“It’s gonna get so hot,” Namjoon groans, the sound of him clumsily feeling around for the lights alerting Haneul briefly. He comforts him instantly, finally turning on the torch in his phone instead of relying on his instincts. “Don’t cry, Haneul, alright? Uncle Joonie’s gonna get the candles and the flashlights.”

“I’ll go try to find a guy,” you get up as soon as Namjoon hands you a flashlight, your contribution to help instantly being shut down.

“You can’t just try to find a guy, Y/N. That’s dangerous,” Yoongi scoffs, putting a hand on your forearm to pull you.

“I meant on my phone, Yoongi,” you grit. “I was gonna go outside to try and look for a signal.”

“That’s still dangerous,” he narrows his eyes at you as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Give me a break,” you mutter, removing his hold from you. You’d save your pride and actually go outside if not for your mom interjecting that she knows an electrician from her contacts.

Namjoon comes back after his quest for battery-powered fans and flashlights, unaware of how Yoongi’s protective streak for you practically never disappeared; in fact, it came back twofold. “Whole neighborhood’s out. Must be a broken transformer or something.”

Your mom consoles Haneul in her arms.

Namjoon waits by the gate for the electrician.

You and Yoongi clean the fridge up before anything spoils.

In between getting food out and embracing Haneul every now and then who insisted on obediently sitting atop the counter so he’s closer to his dad, Yoongi holds your hand.

“That’s my hand that you’re holding,” you murmur, assuming that he had mistaken yours for Haneul’s as he’s always chuckled how yours always seemed to be small against his.

Yoongi only hums.

“I know.”

( ♡ )

You’re falling back into your old routine.

Maybe it’s how your mom has to shake you awake because otherwise, you’d sleep through the afternoon and would therefore be unable to sleep through the night. On the other hand, it could be Namjoon who either hounds you to hang out with him or tell you off for clinging to him too much.

Maybe, it’s just Yoongi. It’s him who’s tricking your brain into thinking that has nothing changed with the way he keeps peeling fruits for you and telling you to be safe even if you’re only buying ice cream from the convenience store.

It’s only been a week and a half of almost normalcy, save for the fact that there are certain things and connections you can neither reverse nor rekindle.

You’re convinced, almost fully convinced that history is repeating itself except for the bitter, ugly parts of it that you never want to pop in your head again.

Like the past, Namjoon blocks you for whatever reason in his head but this time he does it to you while you’re on the way to your room, on the quest to retrieve your charger for your phone that you barely even used for work purposes.

“It’s my room. Why can’t I go in my room?” you furrow your brows at him, your amusement turning into annoyance the more that Namjoon pushed you with actual strength instead of playfulness.

“Are you hungry? Let’s go out for dinner,” he changes the subject quickly, turning you towards the stairs.

You shouldn’t have questioned him further — you should’ve left it at that.

“I guess? I’ll just get my purse,” you concede, dodging his attempts to haul you downstairs.

“I’ll pay,” Namjoon insists and although it’s not out of the blue for him, his franticness is what keeps you on edge.

“I still need my-…” you counter, being interrupted when he holds you firmly as you attempt to walk towards your door. Namjoon grips you with a silent plead, one that you can’t even decipher. “What the fuck is going on with you?”

You finally break off his grip at once, walking into your room with a renowned determination.

It’s not only your routine that falls back into place, but it’s your whole worldview that does.

Love is terribly human. It’s a loose thread on your shirt that gets snagged on your doorknob. It’s a coat in your closet waiting to be worn for the supposed perfect time, and when you do, you realize that it no longer fits you.

Love is terribly human, and it is terribly Yoongi, Hyewon, and Haneul.

Love is terribly human and fragile, and it’s Yoongi, Hyewon, and their son sleeping on your bed.

#target audience im on my knees IM SO SO SORRY HOW R U FEELING!!!!#yoongi imagine #yoongi oneshot #yoongi oneshots #yoongi series #yoongi angst #yoongi angst imagine #yoongi fluff #yoongi x reader #yoongi x y/n #yoongi au #min yoongi imagine #min yoongi scenario #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x you #bts yoongi imagine #bts yoongi x reader

750 notes · View notes

melzula · 11 months ago

Text

Smoke and Shadow

part one

pairings: Zuko x Princess!reader

notes: it’s finally here! hope you guys enjoy this and sorry it took so long! and ofc reminder that reading the comics is suggested for this piece

summary: The Princess decides to pay Zuko a visit only to find the Fire Nation in disarray.

~ part of the fire lilies series ~

Returning home from the Fire Nation always feels bittersweet; you miss your people, but you know that once you’re back in the South the ache of homesickness will be replaced by your longing to be at Zuko’s side. You once thought the end of the war would mean easier days for your relationship, but being the leaders of two different nations seemed to keep you apart more often than it kept you together. Leaving him never got any easier, but you knew in your heart that this was for the best. You had duties to fulfill and people to take care of, so you’d just have to be patient. Things will settle eventually and the distance will become easier, you just have to see it through.

“Do you really have to go? You just got here!” Kiyi complains with a frown as she watches you pack your things and prepare for your return home.

“I’m sorry, Kiyi, but my people need me.“

“Can’t someone else do it?” She retorts, prompting you to let out a small laugh of amusement. She certainly had her older brother’s attitude at times.

“I’m afraid not. I have a tribe to rebuild and students to teach,” you explain to her. “Things don’t run very smoothly when the Chief is away for too long.”

“Will you at least come back and visit me?” The little girl begs, and you can’t really find a way to say no to her when she looks at you with her best pleading eyes. “I want to see more water bending tricks!”

“I promise to come back as soon as I have the time,” you assure her before giving her a tight hug. You’ve grown rather attached to Zuko’s little sister since meeting her, so it’s not easy having to say goodbye.

A gentle knock at your door alerts both you and Kiyi of someone’s presence, but once you see Zuko’s face peeking through the doorway you smile and part from the girl so that she can run out to play in the palace halls. “My love, the ship is ready to leave when you are.”

“I suppose I’m ready,” you sigh with a melancholic smile, melting into Zuko’s touch when he pulls you into his embrace. “It’s going to be hard being away from you.”

“I know,” he comforts while resting his warm hand upon your cool cheek, “but it’s nothing we can’t handle. We’ll be together again soon.”

“I’m already counting down the days,” you profess earnestly, eliciting a soft chuckle from him in return. Rubbing his nose affectionately against your own, Zuko angles his face to reach your lips and press a tender kiss against your own. It’s the last one you’ll be sharing for some time, and he makes sure to savor it for as long as possible. Your kiss is impossibly sweet, your smell of fire lilies intoxicating, and it pains him to have to pull away from you.

“I love you, y/n. I hope you know that.”

You smile before pulling him in for another kiss, enjoying your perfect goodbye.

~~~

A month has passed since you left the Fire Nation, and the South has developed swimmingly. With the help of your sister tribe, the outer villages have slowly begun to transform into cities equipped with new buildings, homes, and even town halls. Progress is steady and your tribe is growing, and it will only be a matter of time before the Southern Water Tribe is restored to its rightful glory.

As your advisor, Hakoda has agreed to oversee the Southern Reconstruction Project so that you may focus on teaching the next generation of water benders with Master Pakku. Your time as Chief is spent either at your school or in your office to approve new construction plans and debrief with Hakoda about the progress of the rebuilding project. You’re as busy as ever, but you couldn’t be any happier.

“Sifu y/n, why do we have to learn about healing?” One of your students complains as you set out the practice mannequins for the children. “I don’t want to heal, I want to fight!”

“Healing is just as important as bending,” you explain thoughtfully. “As a wise woman once told me, ‘You cannot bend something that is broken, but you can heal something that is hurt.’ Some situations require a gentle hand, and it’s important your bending has balance. Healing can save lives, and your gift can be used to help your people.”

“Sifu y/n,” another student says with her hand raised eagerly in the air, “is it true you healed Fire Lord Zuko from a lightning strike?”

“It is,” you reply with a fond smile, laughing at the amazed gasps your students share at the story. “I wouldn’t have been able to save his life if I hadn’t known how to heal, and that’s why it’s important for you all to learn. Now any last questions before we begin?”

A little hand raises into the air and you nod, signaling them to continue. “Do you miss Zuko?”

“Always,” you sigh wistfully, the familiar ache of longing pulling at your heart strings. You wondered what he was doing now and if he was thinking of you in this moment.

After teaching your healing class, you retire to your office for the evening to look over the new construction plans Hakoda has prepared for you. However, your mind seems to be elsewhere for the night as you find yourself repeatedly looking upon the frame on your desk. The night of your coronation you’d had a local artist paint a portrait of Zuko and yourself. You shared the biggest smiles, the two of you adorned in formal water tribe attire for the festivities ahead. It had been a perfect night, and the painting served as a reminder of the wonderful time you’d had together.

Sighing, you look over your schedule for the upcoming week. Nothing too major seems to be taking place, so maybe it wouldn’t hurt if you took a short trip to the Fire Nation to see how Zuko and Kiyi were doing. Hakoda could handle the reconstruction project on his own for a few days, and Pakku could look after your students in your absence.

Grabbing a scroll and a brush, you quickly begin scribbling out a lengthy list of items for Hakoda and Pakku to oversee while you’re gone. It seems your mind is made up, and as soon as your affairs are in order you’ll be using the secret tunnel to travel to the Fire Nation to finally see Zuko again.

~~~

Zuko was exhausted.

Carrying the guilt he felt for his sister’s kidnapping as well as the awkward tension that came with working alongside his ex-girlfriend wasn’t exactly helping him keep his peace. More children were going missing with every night that passed, and it seemed he wasn’t any closer to catching his sister and her group of Kemurikage. A part of him wished it really was spirits tormenting his people instead of his sister, but he figured she’d have to turn up eventually.

“We’ll find them, Zuko,” Mai comforts, carefully resting her hand upon his tense shoulder as he stares down at the array of scrolls scattered across his desk. Various passages about the Kemurikage and information about the men part of the New Ozai Society line the endless papers, and yet none of it has gotten them any closer to figuring out where the missing children or Azula are.

“I hope you’re right,” he murmurs before shifting his gaze to the bush of fire lilies out in the courtyard. It dawns on him then that he hasn’t had the time to write to you lately, and he feels you deserve to know about Kiyi‘s disappearance and Azula’s return. He’s sure you’d know just what to do, just what to say to make him feel better, and he needs the comfort now more than anything. “I should write y/n. She cares for Kiyi just as much as I do, she should know.”

Mai’s mood immediately sours at the mention of the Southern Princess, but she’s able to mask it well enough for Zuko’s sake. Despite being willing to work with her ex-boyfriend to find her missing brother, their past relationship was still a sore subject for her. It’s not exactly easy getting over the fact that the boy you thought was in love with you was really just using you to get over someone else.

Their talk at the Boiling Rock hadn’t given her any real closure, and her encounter with the Princess at the flower shop didn’t leave the greatest impression on the girl. Mai still couldn’t see what was so special about her, and she didn’t understand what kind of future Zuko saw with her. She supposed it didn’t matter what she thought anymore, and it didn’t matter what Zuko did with his life. She was with Kei Lo now, and the Fire Lord was no longer her concern.

“Is writing a letter to your girlfriend really your top priority right now?” She can’t help but to retort sarcastically, prompting Zuko to scowl.

“Y/n could be a great help to us,” he argues defensively. “She views things more clearly than I do at times and keeps me from making rash decisions.“

“So is she your girlfriend or your babysitter?”

“Mai-!”

“I know, I know,” she sighs with a passive wave of her hand. “I’m sorry.”

Frowning, Zuko lets out a quiet breath before turning to meet her gaze. He’s unsure of how to approach such a sensitive subject, but he knows he must if any progress is to be made. “I know you’re still mad at me, and I know no apology will fix the hurt I caused you, but you have to put it behind you if we’re going to work together. Y/n is my girlfriend, and Kei Lo is your boyfriend, so why are things still so awkward between us?”

“It’s not that simple, Zuko,” Mai snaps, a bitter scowl masking her features. “It’s not just that you broke my heart, it’s that I was stupid enough to let you! I should have known I’d never be enough for you, and you talking about her is like throwing salt in the wound. It’s like a constant reminder that I was never good enough for you, that what we had was all just a lie. I never want to feel that way again, but I feel it every time I’m around you. I’m like the pathetic ex-girlfriend you can’t get away from.”

“Mai…”

“I can’t believe I still care about you,” she grumbles sullenly.

“I care for you too,” he insists before gently taking one of her hands in his own. “Maybe not in the way you want me to, but I do. I always have, even when we were children and I pushed you into the fountain to put out that apple on your head. You’re a good friend, and I owe you more than I can ever repay you for what you did at Boiling Rock. Can’t we still be friends?”

Mai is silent, her gaze set firmly upon her hand in his own. The sensation is warm and familiar, comforting, but she knows the hurt that is to come if she agrees to his request. Maybe one day she can learn to love Kei Lo and fill the emptiness, be the one doing the using instead of the one being used, but she can’t accomplish this feat with Zuko in the picture.

The room is quiet and tense, but still she does not remove her hand.

And neither of them notice the figure in the doorway watching the scene unfold.

~~~

You’re surprised to find Zuko’s end of the tunnel blocked off by Fire Nation guards. He hadn’t been expecting you of course, but you didn’t think you’d find the passage closed off like this. What had happened while you were away to promote such a drastic measure?

“Excuse me,” you call gently so as to not startle the guards that face away from you, “I’m here to see Fire Lord Zuko. May I cross?”

“I’m sorry, but no one is allowed in or out of the Capital City,” one guard states gruffly, but his companion waves him off dismissively.

“She’s the Southern Chief and the Fire Lord’s girlfriend,” he explains before gesturing you to continue forward. “I’m sure he wouldn’t be happy to hear we’d blocked his beloved from seeing him.”

“O-Oh, my apologies,” the first guard stutters sheepishly before clearing himself out of your path.

“What’s going on? Why is the Capital City in lockdown?”

“Children of the Fire Nation have been going missing and the people are becoming restless,” he explains. "The Fire Lord wants everyone to stay put until a culprit has been caught and the children are returned safe.”

“How awful,” you murmur quietly before an uneasy feeling begins to hit you. “Have you heard anything of Kiyi, Ursa’s daughter? Is she safe?”

The two guards exchange solemn glances, and that’s all you need to know before immediately rushing towards the palace. If Kiyi is in danger, you want to do everything you can to help Zuko find her and the other missing children before it’s too late. Who knows what danger they could be in?

Your trek to the palace isn’t easy, what with the protests and unrest occurring on the streets as a result of Zuko’s harsh restrictions, but you manage to weave your way through the chaos and make it to your destination. You’re a bit overwhelmed by the commotion, blind to the conflict that’s been occurring in your absence and unaware of what exactly is going on, but you do your best to focus on finding Zuko first.

Surprisingly, the palace hallways are relatively empty, and you slow your sprint to a walk once you reach the throne room corridors. The pristine gold doors are left open, and the sound of Zuko’s voice carries through the air. Already you can feel the worry melting away just by hearing him speak, and though you want nothing more than to run in and throw yourself into his arms you stop to listen. You want to make sure you’re not interrupting anything important before you announce yourself.

“I care for you…” you hear him say, prompting your brows to furrow slightly in uncertainty. You can’t exactly make out everything he’s saying or what the context of his conversation is, but you’re able to note the soft gentleness in his tone, and a part of you is starting to feel strange listening in. Who is he speaking to in such a manner?

Peeking your head around the corner, you can’t help but feel your heart begin to sink to your stomach at the sight before you.

Zuko stands in the center of the throne room, gently clasping one of Mai’s hands in his own as he speaks to her in a comforting manner. You’re not sure what exactly they’re saying to each other or why she’s there, but watching the scene unfold before you fills you with dread and insecurity. Surely Zuko wouldn’t be unfaithful to you… would he?

You’ve worked hard to build your trust in him again after all you’d both been through, but you can’t help but question what he’s been up to in your absence. Why was he with his ex-girlfriend, and why he was holding her hand in what looked to be like an intimate moment? Was he thinking of leaving you again? Had he changed his mind about your relationship? What had you just walked in on?

“Zuko?” You call meekly, as if you shouldn’t be there interrupting their moment and as if you’re not his actual girlfriend. The two startle at the intrusion, but when Zuko realizes that you’re actually there before him he immediately releases his hold on her and runs towards you.

“Y/n!” He exclaims, engulfing you in the tightest hug imaginable. You’re unsure how to react at first, still reeling from what you’d just seen, but eventually you return his hug. Your weary gaze sets upon Mai who keeps her eyes down to the ground and refuses to look you in the face.

“Am I interrupting something?” You warily ask when he finally pulls away. He falters for a moment, almost offended by your insinuation.

“No! No, of course not,” he rushes to explain. “We were just… talking.”

“It kind of looked like it was more than just talking to me,” you say defensively. You don’t want to be jealous or accusatory, but you can’t help it. How could you not question them being alone together and holding hands?

“Princess, I swear there is nothing going on,” Zuko pleads earnestly, taking both of your hands in his own. “Mai is only here because the children of the Fire Nation are going missing and she’s helping me find them.”

“They took my little brother,” she adds quietly, solemn gaze still focused on the ground.

“They took Kiyi,” Zuko utters sorrowfully. His eyes are full of shame and worry, and you find it difficult to be upset with him when he looks so hurt and vulnerable.

“I’m so sorry,” you murmur softly before pulling him in for a tight hug.

“I have the city on lockdown until I’m able to find the people responsible, and I’m doing everything I can to get them back. I’m sorry you had to find out like this, I didn’t mean to exclude you. I swear I was just going to write you and ask for your help.”

“You never have to ask,” you say with a comforting smile. “I came to surprise you because I missed you, and I’m glad I did.“

“So am I,” Zuko professes earnestly before cupping your face and pulling you in for a kiss.

Neither of you notice Mai leaving the room.

~~~

Zuko catches you up on everything- the Kemurikage, the “Safe Nation Society,” the kidnapping of Tom-Tom and Kiyi, Azula’s return, and Ukano’s possible connection to Zuko’s sister. It was a lot to process, but you were quick to get up to speed so that you’d be able to do all you could to help.

“I don’t think you should have kicked Aang out of the throne room,” you chide Zuko after hearing him recount his disagreement with the Avatar. Fire Nation guards escort you to the Capital City prison as you converse, and Zuko hopes that by the time you reach your destination Mai’s father will be caught and ready for questioning.

“I tried to do things his way, but if he isn’t going to see things my way then I can’t have him around,” he tries to explain.

“Zuko, I saw firsthand how restless your people have become as a result of your harsh lockdown rules. Aang might be right,” you try to reason with him. “I don’t think causing fear and uncertainty is going to help us find the missing children.”

“I had to do something,” he argues weakly, “I have to get my sister back and stop Azula before it’s too late.”

“You will,” you assure him firmly, giving his arm a comforting squeeze.

As the two of you talk, Mai trails along quietly behind you both. A whirlwind of emotions are festering in her mind; she wants her brother returned to her, but she feels guilty exposing her father to Zuko and his guards and costing him his freedom. It feels like she’s working with the enemy, and perhaps in a way that’s true.

She can’t help the scowl that plays upon her features as she watches you and Zuko walk arm in arm to the prison. While she’s fretting over her family, it almost seems as if you two don’t have a care in the world about anything but each other. That isn’t true, of course, but her resentment clouds her better judgement, and all she can feel is disdain for the couple in front of her.

You were Chief of the Southern Water Tribe, a master bender, kind, beautiful. She could understand why any guy would want you, but why did Zuko? And why did you have to want him back? You had practically everything, you grew up a Princess, so why couldn’t you have just let her have this one thing? Why did you have to take him back and take him away from her after she’d finally gotten the one thing she’d always wanted?

“I’m sorry about your brother,” a voice says, pulling Mai away from her thoughts. So wrapped up in her cynicism, she hadn’t even realized they’d made it to the prison. A couple feet away, Zuko speaks to one of his men about the riot that had broken out on behalf of the Safe Nation Society. And in front of her you stand, your features kind and your words remorseful despite the tension you share.

“Thanks,” she says flatly, unsure of what else to say. The last time she’d spoken to you had been in the flower shop, and it hadn’t exactly been a pleasant conversation. She knows that you’re trying, and she knows this is all just as uncomfortable for you as it is for her, but she still isn’t so easily swayed. She doesn’t think you deserve her sympathy or understanding, and she doesn’t plan to go out of her way to be nice to you.

“I don’t have any siblings so I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but I want to help however I can if you’ll let me.”

“You can help by staying out of the way,” she replies bluntly, her gaze hardening much to your surprise. “Zuko promised he’d help me find Tom-Tom, and I don’t need you distracting him while you’re here.”

“I want to help him find Kiyi,” you argue defensively, “I’m not going to get in the way of something as important as finding the missing children. Why can’t you believe that?”

“Because you have a really good track record of getting in the way of things that are important to me.”

Stunned by her admission, you can’t help but find yourself falling short of words. You knew Mai didn’t exactly think highly of you or approve of your relationship, but did she really still believe that you’d stolen Zuko away from her? You’re not to blame for what Zuko did to her or what she went through. You’ve endured just as much hurt as she has if not worse, and it isn’t fair for her to paint you as the problem.

“I didn’t even know about you and Zuko until we were already broken up! I’ve never personally tried to hurt you, and I don’t expect you to like me, but you need to get over yourself. Zuko isn’t what’s important here, you and I are not what’s important, it’s the kids. It’s Tom-Tom and Kiyi and all the children that are probably so frightened and alone. Can we at least agree on that?!”

It’s silent for a moment, you and Mai simply starting each other down for what feels like ages until she finally relents. Her tense shoulders slowly fall in defeat and she sighs, somewhat embarrassed at her little outburst. She’d been letting her emotions get the better of her lately, failing to conceal them like she was usually so good at doing, and it was painfully embarrassing for her to come to this realization.

“You’re right,” she murmurs, “let’s just focus on finding the children. The sooner this is all over the sooner we never have to see each other again anyway.”

“Fine by me,” you huff indignantly. Though Mai has more to say, she isn’t given the time to once she spots her boyfriend being escorted towards the prison in handcuffs.

“Kei Lo!” She exclaims before turning to the Fire Lord. “Zuko, this is obviously a mistake! Get him out of those cuffs!”

“I’m not so sure,” Zuko says hesitantly, looking to you for guidance to see if he’s making the right choice. You merely give him a hesitant shrug, not really wanting to get involved in their quarrel. You don’t know the full story, so it’s better to just stay out of it.

“Are you serious? You need her permission to let my boyfriend go?” She exclaims exasperatedly. “Release him!”

“What were you doing with the Safe Nation Society, Kei Lo?” Zuko prods firmly, ignoring Mai’s complaints.

“They ran into me! Literally!” The boy argues to try and prove his innocence.

“You’ve betrayed your allies bedore, who’s to say you aren’t acting as a double agent now!”

“Zuko! Stop being ridiculous!” Mai scolds angrily before looking to you. “Tell him he’s being ridiculous.”

“I’d rather not get involved…” you trail off awkwardly, only irritating her further.

Eventually Zuko allows for Kei Lo’s release, but you can tell by the look on his face that he isn’t too happy about it. His firm gaze seems to be burning holes into the back of Kei Lo’s head as he watches Mai embrace the boy, and a part of you wonders if he’s feeling some sort of jealousy towards him. Surely he wouldn’t be, he has no reason or right to be jealous, at least you think so anyway.

“Zuko?” You utter softly, placing a careful hand on his back to get his attention. “If I ask you something… will you be honest with me? Even if it’s something I don’t want to hear?”

“Of course, my love,” he says earnestly before giving you his full undivided attention. “What is it?”

“Do you… do you still-“

“Zuko!”

You startle away from Zuko at the sudden intrusion, eyes widening as you see Aang sprinting towards your boyfriend with Suki and Ty Lee in tow. You’re honestly surprised to see him considering he should have been heading back to the South with Katara and Sokka by now, and based upon his reaction it seems he’s just as surprised to see you.

“Aang!”

“Y/n! What are you doing here?” He exclaims in bewilderment.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Zuko interrupts. “I thought you left.”

“Well you thought wrong, buddy!” Aang corrects him impatiently. “We’ve been looking all over for you! Suki, Ty Lee, and I found something you need to see! Come on!”

“Fire Lord,” one of Zuko’s men interrupts, “the sun will set before we know it. We need to make a plan our people will rise up again.”

Zuko shares a quiet glance with the men before looking to Aang. You know what his answer is going to be, and you know that the Avatar isn’t going to like it.

“I’m sorry, Aang, but General Mak is right. I need to handle this my own way.”

“Even if your way is stupid?!” He rebuffs indignantly.

“What Aang means to say,” you correct, trying to put a nicer spin on his words, “is that maybe the approach you’ve been taking isn’t working. Maybe keeping your people on lockdown like they’re criminals in their own homes will only make things worse. You need to change your approach.”

“I’m sorry, Princess, but I know what’s best for my people.”

“I’ve seen your people, and they’re not happy. They’re scared, and I know you want to find Kiyi and stop Azula but you need to start thinking rationally first.”

“Can you please just trust that I know what I’m doing? Help me come up with a new plan to keep the Fire Nation citizens in order and find Azula and Ukano so that we can find Kiyi.”

His pleading eyes beg for your understanding and support, but you’re hesitant. You know that Zuko means well, but you don’t agree with his methods at all. Being a leader yourself, you know that fear and unrest is not the way to solve problems. You must treat your people with trust and respect like they deserve, otherwise they won’t be able to do the same for you.

Luckily, Aang buts in before you’re able to shoot Zuko’s request down. An air scooter is abruptly thrown beneath your boyfriend, lifting him up and carrying him away to spirits know where- if the situation weren’t so serious you’d laugh at how discombobulated Zuko looks being swept up off his feet and whisked away by a ball of air.

“Aang, slow down!” You call out before sprinting after the pair. Suki and Ty Lee are right beside you chasing them down. “Why are our reunions always so chaotic?”

“I don’t think this group knows how to live without chaos,” Suki quips with a breathless laugh. “It’s good to see you, y/n. Ty Lee and I will catch you up on everything on the way there.”

“I’d love nothing more,” you applaud gratefully.

You can only hope that whatever it is they’ve found will make things much easier from here on out.

Because you’re not sure how much more of this you can take.

| atla tags: @sirkekselord @niktwazny303

| zuko tags: @thebluelcdy @royahllty @the-firebender-girl @ilovespideyyy @yiyibetch @eridanuswave @lammello @a-monsters-love @knaite-solo @taeeemin

| fire lilies tags: @emberislandplayers @kikaninchen-2 @music-geek19 @thia-aep @thyunnamed @haylaansmi @nataliahaslosthershit @idkdude776 @aangsupremacy @thirstyforsometea @ihaveaproblem98 @brown-eyed-thang @xapham @misnmatchedsox @chewymoustachio @that-bucket-hat-gal @chilifrylizard2 @kyomihann @kaylove12 @kiwihoee @freggietale @moon-spirit-yue @bubblegum-bee-otch

#fire lilies #atla #smoke and shadow #zuko #zuko x reader #zuko imagine #zuko x princess!reader #prince zuko x reader #prince zuko imagine #atla x reader #zuko x mai #mai

836 notes · View notes

mysunshinetemptress · 10 months ago

Text

Coal

Leah Williamson x singer!reader

Warnings: TW suicide, past abuse, child abuse, alcohol abuse, funeral. If I missed anything let me know. Also thank you to @pers1st for first of all listening to my idea and telling me to write it when I had my doubts about it and secondly for reading over it and helping me, I hope it doesn’t disappoint

You knew the minute he didn’t answer the phone and the unnerving feeling of dread filled your chest that this was it, that you were the last man standing from a life you thought you had both out run, out lived but this, what your brother had just done showed that no matter where you went, how fast you ran you couldn’t leave the sick and twisted past you both had lived through it was a heavy bag you would be forced to carry for the rest of your life.

You and your brother Luca had been born twins in a quite little, middle of nowhere town in New England to a mother who would end up leaving you both in the middle of the night with a heavily abusive father, who would never be charged for the unthinkable things he had inflicted on both you and your brother as he was to high in the police force in your stupid little town, best friends with the Chief had some perks it seemed.

You and your brother had grown up constantly relying on one another to get through the hard terrifying nights, where all you both could wish for was for someone to whisk you both away from it all but this is the real world and the only people who could save you from the nightmare was yourselves.

You had a talent that you had only discovered when you where 13 after a teacher had approached you hearing you singing in the hall, before asking if you wanted to join the choir, you began thinking an extra hour away from home wouldn’t be so bad agreeing only on the lines that Luca could come and sit in the pews as you practiced not wanting to leave him alone to face your fathers abuse alone.

As you both got older you found ways to escape through singing and music, Luca taught himself the piano and you learned guitar before teaching the instruments to each other before you both began recording videos of yourselves and posting them to YouTube while also beginning to write your own songs.

It would take till just after your 19th birthday for both you and Luca to make it out of that stupid little town in New England, both of you deciding to get as far away as possible flying to London England just as your first ever song written by you and produced by Luca blew up “Homesick.” Loving the way stories could so easily be told through country music you decide that it would be the genre you both would focus on, you writing and performing and Luca writing and producing stating he was much to bad of a singer to ever try.

Living in London was a cultural shock for you both coming from a quite town to a big bustling city sure was a change but you couldn’t help but enjoy the fact that not everyone here knew everyone and that you both got to start fresh.

Your label had rented a small two bed apartment for you both in Islington, just north of Central London where you both set up a small studio from the equipment supplied to you both and began working on an EP.

The EP was called Horizons both you and Luca had looked out on a same horizon every morning your entire childhood and hoped it would bring about change, only when you left to London did your Horizons change and so did your life finding it fitting you brought it to your label along with six songs on the EP one of which had already been released as a single.

Horizon

Track 1: Homesick

Track 2: Northern Attitude

Track 3: False Confidence

Track 4: Heavy Eyes

Track 5: Heading South

Track 6: Something in the Orange

Your label loved it approving a date that saw you and Luca able to preform at Country to Country in the O2, with your small set and unknown names your both were one of the first to perform, but feeling the rush of the crowd just after leaving the stage singing songs you both had written about parts of your childhood and leaving it behind felt magical and the crowd seemed to love it.

But that night wasn’t just the night you had both agreed that this is what you wanted to do, it was also the night you swore you found a four leaf clover. Leah had been standing in the crowd with Lydia Williams both big country music fans when she felt her breath hitch in her throat at the sight of you. You stood on stage in a simple pair of black jeans, white top with some red writing she couldn’t make out and a guitar smiling at the boy at the piano before nodding to the band and when you began singing Leah swore she had felt her heart stop from how quick it was beating.

You and Luca had made your way down to the crowd Luca nudging you saying he was going to get a drink as you nodded making your way to stand at the back keeping an eye on him as a blonde girl strutted over to you ever so confidently “Hi.” You turned taking your eyes off of Luca as you turned meeting deep blue eyes “Hi.” You smiled back “I’m Leah.” You grasped her hand shaking it your cheeks beginning to hurt from smiling at the blonde-Leah “hi I’m Y/n.” You didn’t notice that Leah seemed to forget to let go of your hand as you both began talking the English girl complementing your set as you complemented her outfit.

Luca turned back from the bar after downing yet another shot and beer looking to see where you had gone chuckling at the sight of you talking happily to a girl still holding her hand, sighing he grabbed three more beers and began walking over to you before clearing his throat and putting on a stern face “Y/n.” You unhappily tore your eyes away from Leah turning to see Luca “Luca this is Leah, Leah this is my twin brother Luca.” Leah’s shoulders seemed to relax at the confirmation he was in fact your brother and not your boyfriend “Beer.” You smiled thanking him before letting go of Leah’s hand and taking it before turning to look at him in surprise as he handed one to Leah “what can’t let your future girlfriend be left out of it can I.” You shoved him slightly as Leah choked on the beer coughing slightly as you apologised rubbing her back. Leah stood up shaking her head “well I better ask you out first then.” You laughed nodding agreeing to give her your phone number before saying goodnight and walking back behind the stage.

In the coming months yourself and Luca travelled promoting your EP both in the Uk and Europe as well as in the States refusing to step foot in New England just incase your father decided to show up, during this small tour you and Leah began talking nonstop either texting or FaceTiming and although Luca wanted to throw a pen at your head and tell you that there was an album that had to be written he couldn’t help but smile at the way your eyes lit up and your entire mood changed when the English girls name appeared on your phone.

Once the small tour was over and you had settled back into London, Leah had worked up enough nerve to officially ask you on a date. You had bid Luca goodnight telling him to not wait up as you ventured into Central London with the blue eyed girl excitement building for your date.

London was everything you ever wanted, you and Leah had been dating for a few months now and not wanting to keep secrets you had sat her down and told her everything, everything about how your mother had decided she couldn’t take it anymore and left both you and Luca stood crying on the porch step as you watched her run down the driveway aged four in the middle of the night, how your fathers abuse only got worse from that point, how as you got older you both felt so hopeless as no one would do anything as he was a police officer and best friend to the Chief of police, how he thought he could change you from being gay when he saw you walking holding another girls hand. Leah had sat eyes pooled with tears grasping your hand so tightly as you told her eyes racking your body and zoning in on every little scare she could see before pulling you into a hug “I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry Angel you don’t…you didn’t deserve any of that.” You didn’t cry but simply went limp against her as you felt the weight be lifted off your shoulders now that she knew, Luca had come in a short while later and Leah had moved you off her gently before grabbing him and pulling him into a hug, you watched eyes soft as your heart swelled they way she held him just as tight apologising for his trauma too, trauma she had never inflicted but felt so sick that no one in your town would help you both to scared of the consequences.

You had called Leah your four leafed clover, she was the luckiest thing you had ever found and while your relationship grew and your introduction to both her family and teammates saw that Luca turned to alcohol more than he ever had before.

You were both working on your first album when you had noticed how bad Lucas dependency on alcohol had gotten, writing songs often turned into nights you had to put him to bed he was to drunk to continue, or he wouldn’t show for meetings with the label, or dinner with you and Leah, or Leah’s family to busy sitting in a bar in London. You had called the label after a particularly bad day at one of Leah’s games at the Emirates, where your brother spent the entire match inside at the bar since he couldn’t drink alcohol in view of the pitch, drunk and moody you bid the Williamson’s goodbye apologising for your brother and sending Leah a quick text before dragging him home. The next morning you decided enough was enough and sat him down surprised when he broke down in your arms apologising over and over again that it was the only way he could find peace from it all even for just a few hours, that music simply wasn’t enough at the moment and in a way you understood, Leah gave you the same peace alcohol gave Luca but you knew it wasn’t a healthy option so you gave him an ultimatum, rehab and therapy or no more music, no more writing no more tours nothing. Agreeing to your ultimatum you rang your label telling them that the Album was on hold till Luca was healthy again before dropping him off.

You spent the month Luca was in rehab leaning on Leah and her family’s support, you had told them about yours and Lucas past the same day you dropped him off, and for the first time you knew what it was like to be loved by a mother and father. You cried into Leah’s chest that night until you fell asleep,nothing she said or did could make you stop and she quickly realised you needed this you needed to cry so she let you holding you tight and just reminding you of where you were, with her, with her family both you and Luca were safe. Amanda came up after you had fallen asleep to check on you her own heart breaking at the sight of you, you a girl who had the worst childhood imaginable handed to her and still found away to find love and make her daughter feel so loved, you a girl who was trying desperately to hold everything together for her brother because “he needs me, I’m fine I’ve got Leah but he, Luca needs me to be strong so strong is what I am.” Amanda placed her hand on your head “she’ll be ok Bubs, they both will, we got them.”

Luca had been allowed a visit half way through his rehab, the Williamson’s had all asked if they could come but his sponsor Danny had said it may be to overwhelming and asked for it to just be you, that didn’t stop them from waiting in the car park as you went in to visit him. He was different, brighter, happier and you almost cried at the sight for the first time ever he looked to be enjoying life not just trying to get by. You had ran straight for him sighing as you picked you up into a bear hug squeezing tight “Orlov.” You sighed relaxing into his arms at the use of your nickname.

Orlov a diamond, a cursed diamond and any time you tried to ask him why he had chosen it for you all those years ago he gave you one of two reason “Orlov, a cursed diamond that still shines through it all.” Or “Orlov, because pressure makes diamonds, and I just like the name of that one.” You laughed at the second slightly poetic but still funny just like him.

You had told him how supportive the Williamson’s had been for the both of you, how they were currently sat in the parking lot waiting for an update on him when he grabbed your hand “I’m glad you found people like them, to look after you.” You squeezed his hand “us, look after us they love you just as much.” Lucas didn’t want to believe you but you knew he did deep down, he knew it wasn’t just you that loved him anymore. You proceeded to tell him about you current life as a wag as well about the many songs you had been writing, some of them about your past, but for the first time ever you had also written about love and being in love with Leah. Lucas had told you he had also returned to writing and had a few stacked up ready to go when he was finished and for the first time he seemed happy about what he had written normally you had to tell him it was good, recording worthy and you couldn’t help the hope that bubbled.

15 days later Lucas got out of rehab with his therapy sessions block booked for the next while and for the first time in two months you guys began writing songs together trying to complete the album. Lucas was a changed man, he went to dinner without alcohol something you also did to support him, he attended Leah’s matches with you and actually watched and cheered instead of hiding in the bar and for the first time he seemed to be living.

Leah and her family had supported you both tirelessly and you couldn’t have asked for more, they were the family you had always wished would come and save you both as kids. Leah was around for nearly all of the album creation, Lucas teaching her piano and when he finally deemed her good enough you both agreed she could record it for the album.

Life was good, you both were happy in London writing and hanging out with friends and your found family so why had you woken up in the middle of the night with a feeling of doom looming over you as you untangled from Leah. You had gone into Lucases room to check on him something you had done since you could walk, wanting to make sure his chest would still rise and fall when your father had given you both a particularly hard beating. Only this time his bed was empty, walking into the hall you noticed all the lights were off so where could he be. You decided not to panic and not to wake Leah either instead getting your phone to call him.

As you recounted every move you both had made over the past three months it was obvious, Lucas had been getting all his ducks in a row, checking in on everyone and making sure the album was complete before leaving, but now it was done and set to be released next month he felt it was time.

You felt numb as you sat at the bottom of the stairs, you didn’t know how you knew he was gone, but you had all of a sudden just had the feeling of a missing piece, maybe it was your twin telepathy you both had so wished to have growing up, this was a sick joke if it kicked in now, now when he was gone.

You sat at the bottom of the stairs until you felt Leah’s hand touch your shoulder “Orlov.” Your heart clenched at the nickname, Lucas had given Leah special permission to use it, certain that she wasn’t going anywhere that you had her forever the engagement ring hidden in his dresser, not that you knew, certain that she knew about what you had been through, that she understood the meaning behind your nickname.

You didn’t have time to react as a knock came from your front door, looking at Leah smiling sadly you got up from the stairs and opened the door to two police men “Miss Y/n Y/ln.” You nodded, you didn’t feel Leah come up behind you as you listen to the police officers tell you about your brother, that you needed to identify him before they moved forward. You nodded along to it all before you asked “was he…do you think he was in any pain.” The officer looked at you softly “Hypothermia kicked in before he drowned, he simply closed his eyes and was gone, no pain, no struggle.” You nodded “no pressure.” You mumbled before turning to get dressed.

Leah couldn’t believe it, he was gone, Lucas was gone a boy she loved like a brother and she couldn’t understand why, he was happy, you both were happy with them, writing the album why, why had he done it. She had gone with you to the morgue and had said she would call her mum but every time she tried her fingers froze on the call button and words got caught in her throat. It was you who had done it driving you both to the Williamson’s house Leah unable to look at her family as you asked them all to come to the living room Leah sat beside you head buried into your neck as she grasped you tightly scared that if she let you go you would be gone too.

Amanda had let out a sob as you finished, Jacob got up and left the room and David just stared at you in shock as you held Leah impossibly closer watching this family, your family, Lucases family fall apart at the news, helpless you did what you had done since childhood and decided now was the time for you to stay strong, you could cry later and so you helped with dinner, helped tell the rest of the family, cousins, aunts and uncles and Leah’s grandparents who had adopted you both. The Arsenal girls had been informed all of whom made their way to your house along with the Williamson’s with flowers and food enough to stock the fridge for the next two months offering support and tears for you and your brother

In the coming weeks the Williamson’s helped you plan the funeral, you didn’t know how one went let alone one in England and you often found yourself and David talking to the undertakers for hours organising it. Until finally the day came, everyone had stayed in your house the night before and Amanda had started a big fry before you all headed to the church but you couldn’t eat, you were saying good bye to your brother, your other half, you were about to walk this stupid life alone and for the first time you cursed at him, you both had made it this far why, why did he decide he couldn’t take it anymore.

Leah had held your hand the entire way both of you following the coffin, with Amanda as Jacob, and David along with Leah’s cousins and Danny his sponsor carried him into the church. You got up and said a few words, talking briefly about your childhood before thanking the Williamson’s for everything they had done for you both, thanking Leah for being both you and Lucases rock when you felt like the world was to much. Heading to the crematorium you decided to swap out with one of Leah’s cousins wanting to carry your brother one last time, the sight made Leah sob as Amanda tried to hold her whispering into her ear, but nothing came of it you were saying goodbye to everything you ever knew and all she could do was hold your hand.

After it was all said and done and the after in the pub had finished you found yourself standing in the centre of his bedroom Leah lying asleep in yours. You looked at everything he had, all the pictures his rehab tokens, his guitar and piano, how were you supposed to do this without him, sing without him there beside you, live without him there beside you. You fell back onto his bed reaching your hand under his pillow when it made a crunch noise before finding a letter with your name on it “ORLOV”. You sighed knowing what it was you pulled it open.

Orlov,

I’m gone, I have left you on this earth alone and for that I am truly sorry, I’m sorry that I couldn’t fight any longer but I hope you understand how tired I am. Tired of living this lonely unforgiving life and I hope that someday you will understand, you have have been, my rock, my best friend and my twin sister through the hardest life no child should have to live, But you have come through it stronger, you have come through the it all a diamond in the rough. You see you are a diamond, formed under the pressure of our childhood but me, I am coal a dark rock not meant to last long on this earth.

I hope you know I have decided that now is the right time to say goodbye as I know you are going to be ok, you have the Williamson’s, the Arsenal and most importantly Leah. She is it for you, she is the only person you will ever need, she is your alcohol (bad comparison I know, she’s a lot healthier.) you are ready, ready to take on this life and conquer the world, but remember it’s ok to slip as long as you don’t fall.

One question you always asked me growing up was what did I think heaven looked like and I always told you I don’t know, but I do heaven is watching you fall in love with that girl sleeping in your room, watching you find a family who loves you the way you deserve that is heaven I love you always and forever.

I’ll be watching from stars Orlov .

Lucas TB

For the first time in weeks you cried, no you sobbed gut wrenching sobs and Leah found herself sprinting from your bed room catching you as you fell from the bed holding you tight whispering reassuring words into your ear crying along with you as you cried and cried, cried for your younger self, you cried for your current self but mostly your cried for him, for Lucas until you cried your self to sleep. Leah carried you back to bed before coming back into Lucases room and picking up his letter turning it over and finding a second one attached to it, opening it she found lyrics to a song and reading over it she felt her heart clench at the meanings behind them all.

The next morning Leah showed you the lyrics and before she even had time to ask if you wanted a coffee you were on the phone with your label canceling the album instead stating you had a different one.

Leah watched you tirelessly in the studio scared that if she left you alone in there you might never come back out, regretting her decision when you had dragged her in to record a piano piece.

A month later you handed your label a brand new album written mostly about you and Lucas with track six being for Leah, the label loved it and pushed for it to be released sooner than expected.

ORLOV

Track 1 Stick Season

Track 2 Bitter Winds

Track 3 Condemned

Track 4 Revival

Track 5 I Remember Everything (Lucas Y/LN, feat Y/n Y/LN)

Track 6 Sun to Me

Track 7 Dawns (Lucas Y/LN, feat Y/n Y/LN)

Track 8 Tourniquet (feat Leah Williamson.)

Track 9 Orange Juice

Track 10 Coal

With Leah's unwavering support, you found the strength to honor Lucases memory during the small tour you quickly been sent on leaving the grand piano seat empty until Leah came on to play her part in Tourniquet. You decided to end the small tour in London, your first headline show sold out at the roundhouse already playing five previous dates here due to the demand. Knowing this would be the last time of playing a small venue and with that a chapter closing and you having to enter one without Lucas you sighed retuning the guitar as you spoke to the crowd “My twin brother Lucas wrote this last song I’m about to play.” You cleared your throat looking out into the crowd before turning to the empty piano seat “We had a very hard childhood, but I knew as long as I had him, I’d be ok. Lucas left me on this earth alone just a couple months ago, but he knew something I didn’t, he knew I wasn’t really going to be alone, that I had a family that loved me, a girl who loved me even more and that really he wasn’t leaving he was just tired of his adventures on earth and wanted to see what the stars were like.” You sighed turning back to the crowd “this next song is called coal, and it talks about the pressures of life and I just want you all to know that when you feel like life is to full of pressure that when you can’t seem to find the light at the end of the tunnel that maybe look down you might find your four leaved clover, I got mine she’s in the crowd tonight, but there is always someone nobody here is alone.” You smiled catching Leah’s eyes “this is Coal.”

319 notes · View notes

dsireland86 · 22 days ago

Text

The Second Day Of Christmas:

I'll Be Home For Christmas

Tag list:

@philomenie @supersquirrel1996 @foliosgirl @angelmarie89 @fadingintothegrey @thisbicc @lma1986 @dominuslunae @shayzillaaaa @mrsnoahsebastian @flowery-mess @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @stardustsirenmelody @romanreigns-supreme @anything-more-than-human @into-the-grey @rumoured-whispers @myownthoughts12 @sister-sebastian @nyxthedestroyerofworlds-deactiv @missduffsblog @bngurngheart @somebodyllelse @xxkittenkissesxx @fadingangelwisp @dizzylmwahh @Youlookforultraviolet

Jolly was used to the cold. The winters back home in Sweden were much harder there than anything here in the States.

He’d talked often of his childhood and the winters there; of all the things he missed about it, especially around Christmas time. From the traditions, to the food, to the gatherings and events that took place, all of it was as if it had been born into his blood at birth. Jolly may have been living as an American, but he was a true Scandinavian at heart.

He was missing home terribly. I could tell from the distant look he was starting to get, and I hated seeing him the way he was; discouraged and homesick. It wasn't like him. Normally, my guy was the strong one, resilient and brave, even when the moments felt like they were too much to handle. But right now, right now, Jolly was the one needing saving. This time, Jolly needed someone to fight for him. He needed someone to make the impossible possible, and I was determined to do just that.

After work and before Jolly got home, I called his mother and spoke to her about the things that were going on and how I was starting to worry about Jolly. Thankful, through our many messages back and forth to each other, I didn’t have to go into much detail. She agreed with me that Jolly should go home for Christmas and see his family and that maybe it would help settle whatever was going on with him.

After offering her help in every way possible, including money, I gave Jolly’s mom my best wishes and said I’d be in touch and breathed a sigh of relief once I ended the call. It felt good to feel a little less overwhelmed. That’s when I heard the front door open and close, and the sounds of Jolly’s feet climbing the stairs. The anticipation of seeing him had my heart racing with excitement.

“There she is,” Jolly said, walking into our room. Slipping his shoes off and tying up his hair, he made his way over the bed and sat down next to me. Instantly, I was in his lap, wrapping my legs around his waist and kissing him like a hungry person who had been on a hunger strike for days. I was suddenly, so caught up in a massive wave of emotion for this man beneath me, I lost focus of everything around us.

Jolly’s long hands twisted around my neck lifting it and turning it every which way to plant kiss after kiss on my skin. Our lips found each other again and slowly danced while our hands intertwined, locking themselves together.

“Come shower with me, Älskling,” he asked, slipping his hands under my shirt to caress his favorite parts of me. I responded with a slight whimper and a quiet “yes” before he lifted me up, carrying me away to the bathroom.

Our bedroom was all aglow from the multicolored lights of the small Christmas tree I’d placed in the corner of the room earlier in the week. It created the perfect warm and cozy feeling, bringing me all kinds of comfy Christmas thoughts.

After our “quick shower", Jolly climbed into bed next to me, wearing his favorite flannel pair of sleepy pants. His damp hair spilled around the pillow beneath his head while the tattoos on his chest were on full display for my eyes only. He smelled heavenly, a mix of Irish Spring soap and his shampoo, both of which indulged my senses, making me want him all over again. But, instead, I curled up beside him beneath his open arms and snuggled into his side as he curled one arm around me, tucking me securely against his body. .He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and I could sense the heaviness inside him. He wanted to talk and get some things off his chest, but didn't know where to start.

"I talked to your mom today."

Jolly's muscles tighten.

I sat up and turned to face Jolly. The tension was shadowing his handsome face again, and it bothered me to see him so torn. I leaned in and kissed his lips slowly, savoring the feeling of them against mine.

"... You did?"

"Mmm-hmm. It was really nice to hear from her."

"Yeah, I bet it was. I haven't talked to her in a few weeks."

“A few weeks?”

“Well, besides messaging, no, not physically. I’ve been avoiding it.”

“She understands why you say you can’t come home to visit, Jolly, but she also agrees with me that some of it is because you overdo yourself when there are deadlines and timeframes to meet.”

Jolly laid his back against the mattress and ran his hands down his face, keeping them there. I climbed on top of him and straddled his body, pinning him to the bed beneath me.

“Hey, look at me,” I said, pulling his hands away so that I could see his face.

The soft glow of the Christmas lights painted his silhouette perfectly against the wall.

"My love, you're homesick.”

Jolly groaned, lifting his body in an attempt to get up, but I didn’t let up that easily.

“I know you are, Jolly, you do, too. Please stop pretending you aren't denying yourself the right to feel the way you do. You’re allowed to feel and be homesick.”

Jolly refused to look at me. His pride had taken over the wheel and was driving his emotional tank at the moment.

I began to softly caress his chest, over the roses, the feathers and the face of the masquerade girl along with her diamond. I felt the tension slowly start to leave him, his body sinking down into the mattress as his muscles relaxed.

“I hate this time of year. Christmas is too hard anymore,” Jolly admitted, finally opening up

“What do you mean? You used to love Christmas.”

“I still do, it’s just that,” Jolly sighed, gripping my thighs tightly while drawing circles in my skin with the pads of his thumbs. The feeling was making my sex tingle and the urge to have him inside me again was getting stronger.

Finally, a breakthrough.

“I’m getting older, babe, and so are my parents.

With the crazy success of the band in the last year and a half, two years, I feel like I haven’t had the proper time to process any of it, let alone process how quickly my life is changing.

It’s like no matter how hard I try, I’m constantly having to break my promises to them, and to you; promises that I made with good intentions of keeping.

I feel like a failure, a horrible son, shitty boyfriend and sometimes the shame keeps me from talking to you and my mom.”

I wasn’t oblivious to the hard bulge beneath me, sitting directly against my heated sex. And suddenly I didn’t think Jolly was either. Sex was a stress relief for him and if that’s what he needed more of to calm down and get his mind together, then I would gladly give it to him.

I began to talk Jolly through my perspective of the situation, while seducing him subtly at first. I was gentle and soft, kissing him in places only I was allowed to. The sighs and soft moans that slipped through his lips made my core soaking wet, readying me for whatever would happen next.

It wasn’t long before I had him begging to be inside me. So, as a good girlfriend should, I obliged him, pushing my panties to the side and sinking down on him slowly, making him writhe beneath me the moment he bottomed out. Jolly whispered how much he loved me, how wonderful I was and that he was the lucky one. His dark eyes were filled with the kind of love I'd only read about in romance novels, filling me to the brim with nothing but desire for him.

With his arms wrapped around me, Jolly drew me into a kiss that took my breath away. His tongue pushed into my mouth, slowly, and his hands slid up my spine, removing my shirt and leaving me naked for his eyes to see.

My fingers trailed up his chest until I was cupping his jaw between them, feeling like the kiss was about to consume me.

We finally broke apart, trying to catch our breath.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Jolly growled against my ear. I pushed away just enough to look at him.

“Not if you destroy me first,” I breathed, brushing the hair out of his face before tracing his lips with my fingertips.

Jolly looked down at me and I caught the single tear that rolled down his cheek before placing my hand there and smiling at him.

Within seconds, Jolly had me on my back, legs on his shoulders, as he made love to me unmercifully slow. At first his eyes stayed focused on watching himself go in and out, licking his lips numerous times. But then his eyes found mine and that was my undoing.

My quiet whimpers turned into loud moans. His fingers on my clit brought that fire feeling to my lower abdomen and before I could even form a functioning sentence, I was crying out his name as my orgasm crashed into me, consuming all my sanity, while I gripped the bed sheets beneath me.

Jolly followed, pulling out and spilling his warm seed over my belly. His light groans, as he drained himself, brought me a satisfaction I didn’t know I needed, but was so glad I had.

"You'll be home for Christmas, Jolly."

"Yeah, I know. One day, but for now, it'll just be something I dream about.

"I don't understand where we’re going that has us up so early, babe," Jolly groaned, laying his head on my shoulder.

It was after three in the morning, cold and rainy; the worst time ever to be out. But our flight to Sweden was departing in two hours and we still needed to get past the security checkpoints.

The beautiful Christmas lights that hung all over town are nothing but blurred pictures of color as Noah drove past them. He gave me a loving look through the rear view mirror that warmed my heart.

"I thought you said you didn't want to travel for the holidays," Jolly muttered under his hat that was covering his face.

"I didn't, but I changed my mind."

“You know, you do that a lot.”

“Yeah, I know. But you’re going to love this one. I promise.”

“I highly doubt that,” he grumbled, squeezing my hand to let me know he was only complaining and didn’t mean anything by his words.

"Babe, we're in the wrong line,” he says quietly over my shoulder.

The airport was pure chaos. With Christmas only a few days away, what else was there to expect?

After dropping off our checked bags, Jolly and I huddled together, gripping our carry-ons as we managed our way through the crowd towards the international security checkpoint. After a few moments of standing in line, Jolly finally stated the obvious.

I pretend not to hear him at first.

Pulling out my phone I pull up our boarding passes, checking the departure gate number.

"Babe?"

"What?"

"We're in the wrong line for the security checkpoint," he says again, tapping my shoulder. “This one's for international flights.”

"Is it? Oh! Do you have your passport and id ready?

"Why would I need those?"

"Just get them out."

"But we're in the wrong..."

Jolly growls loudly, frustrated beyond words.

My poor guy. He was more confused than a chameleon in a bag of skittles, but I reassured myself he’d be fine. Just a bit more and I’d be able to tell him everything.

Once we were past all the chaos, I stopped, pulling Jolly to me.

My heart was racing from the excitement I was feeling. My hands were shaking, too, as I handed over my passport and id to the guard. Once my picture was taken, I was given my items back and authorized soon after to go through the checkpoint.

I fought the urge to look back at Jolly as I placed all my stuff in the x-ray bins, and went through the scanning machine, given the greenlight and stepped through to the other side.

A few minutes later, Jolly was at my side, glaring at me in silence. I could tell he was stressed, irritated, tired and above all, confused.

Jolly frowned, his brows drawing together.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For stressing you out and making you upset.”

Jolly huffed a laugh, sliding his hands around my neck and cupping my face. He had his hair up, pinned back by a gray ball cap. Pecking my lips, he grinned.

“What are you talking about? I’m not either of those things.”

“Are you sure? I feel like you’re mad at me.”

I stood on my tiptoes and pulled him down to me, kissing him right in the middle of all the chaos and noise. At that moment he was the only thing that mattered to me.

“Am I stressed? Yes. A little. Am I mad at you? No. Not one bit.”

My shoulders relaxed.

“You sure?”

“I’m positive,” he assured me.

"Alright, Älskling,” he said, dropping into a chair. “Let’s have it. What’s this all about?” "Come," I said, reaching my hands out to him and nodding towards the big bay windows.

Jolly dropped his bag at his feet, removing his hat and fixing his hair. We had finally reached our departure gate and he had yet to figure out where we were going. I honestly couldn’t believe he hadn’t figured it out yet.

He was staring intently at me, expecting me to give up and confess everything, and thankfully I could now.

The sun was coming up, casting a beautiful pink glow over the skyline.

Jolly chuckles lightly, giving me a reason to smile. Placing my hands on his chest, I slid them up and around his neck.

"You really have no idea where we’re going?”

"No! I'm losing my mind, trying to figure out what the hell you're up to."

"I'm taking you home, Joakim," I whisper to him. “You’ll be home for Christmas.”

At first, his face went blank, completely unreadable. Then his brows snapped together as if confused once again. But the last look he gave me was the one I’d been waiting for. His eyes glistened as he fought back the tears threatening to escape.

The dam that had been holding back those tears busted. Jolly's eyes filled with tears that seeped down his cheeks all at one time as he wrapped his arms around me and pressed his forehead to my shoulder. His body was shaking against mine, in my hands as I slid my arms around him and placed my hands gently on his back, soothing him lovingly.

"What?" he finally said?

"Sweden, my love. I'm taking you home for Christmas."

"I love you," Jolly says gently. "I love you, I love you, I love you,” he says over and over, kissing my neck.

He hugged me tight, burying his face in my shoulder as the sound of his sweet, quiet weeping of happiness melted my heart.

Jolly pulled back and looked at me. I wasn’t used to seeing his eyes wet with tears, but I was so thankful that he felt safe enough to show me that side of him.

Why," he asked, honestly baffled.

"Because I love you, Jolly and I want you to be happy. If I can give you that happiness, then I will. You're my person, my man, my love, and when you're not you, I’m not me."

"Baby, I can't... I don't,"

I silenced him with a, throwing my hands around his face to deepen it. His hands found my bottom and he pushed me in closer to him.

“Merry Christmas, my love.”

Moments before the take off, Jolly was on his phone to his mom.

“Hey! Guess what?” I’ll be home for Christmas! Yes! I’m coming home. I’m on the plane right now, and Y/N is coming with me. Yes, mom, of course I wouldn’t be coming without her. No, I don’t have an engagement ring, yet. Mom! God! Stop!”

Jolly was laughing as he excitedly chatted with his mom. Seeing him laughing and genuinely happy, with no stress laying on his chest, was the best feeling in the world. I had done it. I had succeeded in giving my man the best Christmas ever.

I rested my head against the seat, quickly becoming consumed by the feeling of sleep. Between the world of coherency and sleep, I continued to listen to Jolly’s conversation, picking up on words like “grandmother’s wedding ring” and “sized while she’s here”. I want to ask questions, but I was just too tired to. “Merry Christmas, Älskling,” was the last thing I heard before falling asleep and the feeling of a soft kiss gracing my forehead.

#jolly karlsson fanfiction #joakim jolly karlsson #badomenscult #bad omens #bad omens cult #bad omens band #bad omens fanfiction #jolly karlsson

45 notes · View notes

mrsaltieri-real · 2 years ago

Note

Love your Tumblr!

Could you please post reader hooking up with Mickey during that sorority party?

Thank you x

A Distraction (Mickey Altieri X Fem!AFAB!Reader)

The story of the first time you and Mickey Altieri hooked up, leading you to becoming friends with benefits.

Hi thank you so much!

I’m assuming you mean the sorority party from The Sound Room.

This is my first time writing smut so I’m really sorry if this is shit! I tried my best <3

Warning/s: language, smutty smut smut, p in v, clit play, degradation, orgasm denial, unprotected sex (use a condom), hair pulling, spanking, overstimulation, Mickey being a dick during sex but in a hot way, ect

18+ ONLY🔞

Read The Sound Room here

You sat on the couch, your fingers lightly tracing the ridges of the red solo cup in your hand as you listened to a drunken Randy babbling on about what movie to put into the VCR. The deja vu of the eerily similar conversation in Woodsbro a year ago made you feel a little uneasy and in all honesty, a bit sick. You sighed, taking a small sip of your drink, intending in that moment to get as drunk as possible.

Sidney and Randy were slowly moving on from what had happened last year. Sid was somewhat thriving, still a little on edge but happier which was largely due to her new boyfriend, Derek. He was sweet to her, no obvious homicidal tendencies and he made her happy which is all you could want for her after everything she went through with Billy Loomis.

Randy was doing even better. He went into college happier than anything that he was no longer a virgin thanks to you and the “favour” you’d given him the night before you’d left for Windsor. He loved college, his geekiness and love for films was a lot more tolerated and even admired here than it ever was in Woodsbro.

Then there was you. You didn’t know if you just weren’t as strong as them, but you were finding it a lot more difficult to move on. You felt homesick being so far from your family, but also felt physically sick at the idea of ever stepping foot in the town ever again.

Randy was still babbling on about what to watch when you decided you needed some air. You stood up, catching Sid’s eye as you walked toward the back door to find some place quiet. You felt her gentle hand touch your shoulder, making you jump a little as you turned to face her.

“Are you alright?“ she asked, her big brown eyes sympathetic. You felt pathetic whenever she asked this. You didn’t know why it was taking you so long to move on from Woodsbro. It had been Sidney that was by far the most impacted, so why were you acting like such a little fucking victim?

“Yeah,” you said as brightly as you could muster. “yeah, Sid I’m good. I’m just gonna get some air. The drinks are going straight to my head.” You forced a small laugh but it wasn’t exactly a lie. You were definitely already tipsy.

As soon as the cool night breeze hit you, you instantly felt better. You sucked in some air, relishing in the feeling of the cool summer air swirling down your throat and filling up your lungs and closed your eyes. It was quieter out here, almost everyone was inside enjoying the party. Almost.

“Oh, hey!”

Your eyes shot open and you jumped a little before your eyes focused on Mickey Altieri sat on one of the patio chairs by himself, his video camera clutched in his hand.

“Oh, hi Mickey.” You smiled a little, moving over to where he sat.

You knew Mickey, but not well. He was roommates with Sid’s boyfriend, in the same film class as Randy and shared a Statistics class with you so you were in the same circle of friends, but hardly ever really spoke to each other. But now, you found his presence oddly calming and felt yourself gravitating toward him to escape the hubbub of the loud sorority party.

“What’re you doin out here by yourself?” You asked, sitting down beside him but maintaining a safe distance. “Not your scene?”

“Oh, I love a party, but if I hear another sorority girl complain to me about how her boyfriend is ‘just the worst’ I’m gonna blow my fucking head off.”

A smile broke across your face and you let out a little laugh. Mickey grinned back at you, his face somewhat lighting up when he heard you laugh. “What about you?“ he asked, carefully placing his camera beside him on a cushion.

“Meh.” You sighed, leaning back against the soft material of the couch, taking another swig of your drink. It had started off as vodka cranberry but eventually had slowly just turned into vodka on every trip to the kitchen. You were a little drunk at this point, but still able to hold a conversation. “Last time I went to a party people died so I avoid going to them as much as possible.”

Mickey raised his eyebrows a little when he heard how blatantly you spoke about what had happened in California last year. Sidney hardly ever talked about it and if he was being honest, he avoided speaking to Randy about it as much as possible for obvious reasons. The kid thought of himself as a horror movie expert. The freaky film student asking him about a massacre with what was due in the coming months? Not the best idea.

“Ah.” He murmured, studying your face with his eyes before saying carefully, “you wanna talk about it?”

You glanced at Mickey and smiled a little. “Not that specifically. But everyone just seems to have moved on and I…”

“Find it harder?” Mickey finished.

“Mm.” You hummed. “Guess I’m not as strong as Sid and Randy.”

“Nah I don’t believe that.” Mickey announced, taking a sip of his own drink. “I think you probably haven’t had as many distractions as they have.”

“Distractions?” You repeated, eyeing him a little.

“Yeah. Sidney’s got Derek and I’m sure he keeps her very distracted,” Mickey’s tone was painfully suggestive and it made another smile break across your face. “…and Randy’s got his little films to keep him company. What have you got?”

You thought about that for a second. What HAD you got? It was then you realized Mickey was right. You didn’t really have anything to take your mind off of it, so every moment was just whirling through your head all day and all night. Maybe that’s exactly what you needed. A distraction.

You looked at Mickey again and this time really… saw him. His hair was a dark and little disheveled in a sexy kind of way, his brown eyes were deep and wild and looked like pools of honey framed by impossibly long and thick black lashes and as he smiled at you, his lightly flushed cheeks had small dimples set in them. He was tall, muscular and he clearly took care of himself and he smelled amazing. Like honeysuckle and fresh laundry.

In that moment, slightly tipsy and hating the feeling of loneliness and past trauma, you thought why the fuck not.

“Fuck!” You gasped a little as Mickey’s lips crashed against yours. It was messy, teeth clanking together and tongues swirling urgently but you didn’t care. This was exactly what you needed, a mindless carefree fuck in a sorority bathroom.

His large hands were rough as he palmed your breast through your thin dress as he kissed you, groaning a little when he felt your teeth lightly sink into his bottom lip and your hands tug his soft hair. His tongue tasted on alcohol and mint and it only added to how hot all of this was. You’d never randomly hooked up with anyone at a party and you couldn’t imagine anyone better to be doing it with.

You subconsciously patted yourself on the back for wearing a short summer dress to this party as you felt one of his hands move to circle your waist and the other slide between your legs.

“Jesus,” he whispered as he felt the damp patch staining your panties, “been a while, huh?”

You ignored him, too wrapped up in your own head as Mickey’s finger started gently circling your clothed clit and you let out a small whine, pushing yourself down on his hand. His eyes remained set on your face the whole time, your gorgeous expression only making him harder.

He didn’t waste any time removing your panties, rising back up to meet your lips again. You felt his fingers finally make direct contact with your throbbing clit and you gasped against his mouth as he applied the perfect pressure and started skillfully moving his fingers in small circles. You broke the kiss, head falling back against the door of the bathroom as your chest heaved. It clearly had been a while because you could feel the familiar build in your stomach start growing after only about a minute and a half as you moved your hips in sync with his hand when he suddenly pulled it away, making your eyes shoot open and send him a confused, slightly pissed off look.

“Why did you-“

“No. Don’t even think about cumming yet.” He said, his voice assertive and dripping with arousal. “Look at you..” his tone, despite himself was mocking. “I’ve hardly even touched you yet and you’re already about to cum on my fingers? So fucking needy.” He pulled back more, eyeing you up and down a little. “Take your fucking clothes o-“

Before he could even finish talking you were already sliding the straps of your dress down your shoulders and heard him let out a small groan as saw you weren’t wearing a bra. In any other situation, you’d feel uncomfortable with a guy you hardly knew looking at you the way Mickey was, but whether it was the alcohol, the stress or whatever else, you really didn’t give a shit.

“You going to keep staring or are you going to fuck me?” You asked him, trying to keep your voice light.

His eyes lifted to yours and he raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you want me to eat your pussy first?”

You blushed a little at how casually he said it before shaking your head and stepping forward, pulling him closer to you by the loops of his jeans, sliding your hands a little over his clothed bulge and beginning to unbuckle his belt. “You already felt how wet I am. I need to do this now.” You insisted, not bothering to disguise the desperation in your voice.

It turned Mickey on to see you so desperate for him. As soon as his belt was undone and his jeans and boxers off, your eyes flickered down to see his thick cock resting on his lower stomach and you felt your breath hitch a little. It was by far the prettiest cock you’d ever seen. You wanted to suck it, feel it throbbing in your warm mouth, but that could wait for another time. You needed to feel him fill you up more than you needed air to breathe.

“You gonna keep staring or are you gonna-“

You cut Mickey off from his teasing tone repeating what you’d said a couple of seconds ago with a kiss that made him stumble back a little, hands gripping your waist, his fingers digging into your soft skin so hard it was bound to leave bruises. You felt his hands move to your ass as he lifted you, guiding your legs around his waist. You could feel your pussy rubbing along his shaft as he did so, cussing as you let out a soft whimper as the heat of his throbbing cock rubbed against your clit.

“Hold on.” He mumbled, still gently rolling his hips to rub his tip against your engorged clit. “Condom?”

“N-no.” You voice faltered a little at the pressure of his gentle teasing strokes. “I’m on the pill.”

An angelic smile spread across his face at that news. “Good.” He wanted to feel you. All of you. Feel how wet you were for him, feel your juices on his cock.

It all went very quickly after that.

Holding you against the door, he pulled his hips back a little before arching them upwards, slowly filling you up and watching your face as he did so. You let out a low hiss at the satisfying stretch and your head fell back against the door behind you.

“Fuck.” He groaned, hands still gripping your ass as he pushed himself further into you, relishing in the feeling of your pussy squeezing his cock so tight it was almost painful as he did so. “I wasn’t expecting you to be this fucking tight.”

Not giving you much time to adjust, he started thrusting upward into your pussy, bending his head down to start skillfully swirling his tongue around your stiff nipples, nipping at them gently.

“Mickey- fuck-“ your hands gripped his toned biceps and he smirked a little with your nipple still gently clasped between his teeth before he moved away, adjusting your weight so you were fully pressed up against the door by his body and his hand was still gripping your ass as he pounded up into you. You clit was gently rubbing against the area of skin above his cock, the slight stubble pricking it in a way that was slowly driving you crazy.

He suddenly pulled you away from the door and you felt his cock leave you as he unclamped your legs from around his waist. You wanted to shout at him, grip your legs so tightly around him he couldn’t stop. The sudden emptiness didn’t last long as he moved you in front of the huge mirror above the low sink and bent you over the cold porcelain.

“What are you-“

“Wanna fuck you in front of the mirror so you can see how good you look when you take it.” Mickey was already lining himself up at your entrance and wasn’t so gentle about it this time. You felt one hand rest on your hip, the other pulling your head up by your hair so you were forced to look at yourself in the mirror as he suddenly slammed into you, making your body jolt and you let out a load, unfiltered moan as he did.

“Jesus you’re such a needy slut, aren’t you?” Mickey scoffed at you as you moaned and gasped at this brutal thrusts. “Knew you wanted this from the moment I met you.”

You could only respond in a broken whimper. You wanted to push back on his dick, make him go even deeper but your back was arched from the way he pulled your hair back and is strong hands were absolutely no match for you.

“Open your fucking eyes.”

You obeyed, looking into the mirror not at yourself, but at Mickey. Seeing him fucking into you like this made the entire current situation ten times better. His eyes were flickering on your face in the mirror to looking down at his dick sliding in and out of your pussy, hitting that most sensitive spot with every thrust, and the sounds you were making only prompted him to go even harder.

“Mickey I’m gonna-“

“No.” His voice was dominating and you automatically knew better not to argue with him about wanting to cum despite yourself. You were a writhing mess, pussy convulsing around his pulsing cock. You could feel the beads of sweat dripping from his face onto your lower back as he quickly stopped, the head of his cock only just inside of you. “I couldn’t give a shit. You’re not cumming until I tell you that you can.” You whined a little, fighting the urge again to push back onto him, needing to feel him fill you up again. “Tell me you understand.”

You managed a weak nod and let out a yelp when you felt the sting of his hand on your ass. “Use your words.”

“I- I understand, Mickey. Please just fuck me.” You begged. He loved nothing more than to see you so needy, begging for him to sink himself back into you.

You didn’t need to tell him twice.

He released your hair, his hand sliding down your back to grip your waist and he thrusted again, the movement causing you to let out an satisfied groan as your head fell forward. His foot nudged yours, making you spread your legs even wider for him and one of his hands moved around your body and toward your clit as he fucked you, just teasing it.

This development mixed in with him already slamming into your pussy and pressing against your g-spot made you make sounds Mickey hadn’t ever heard before. Everything was getting far too sensitive and your body began to convulse, you a writhing mess under his hands.

“Fuck Mickey please- please don’t stop!” You managed to choke out. He let out a panting laugh, rubbing your clit even faster.

“Think I’m going to? Fuck no. Want to feel that pretty pussy fucking milk me.” He grunted, his words only making you grow closer and closer to the ending you craved more than anything.

“Please let me, please let me.” You began chanting them three words like a prayer and you felt his thrusts begin to stutter a little. You felt tears from the overstimulation begin to form in your eyes as you were all but sobbing and begging him to let you cum.

“Okay, cum for me baby. Let me feel that pretty pussy flutter.” He panted.

The words were hardly out of his mouth before you felt the tight coil explode as you let out a series of broken moans, your legs shaking and your body writhing as you came. He finished not much longer after you did and you relished in the feeling of his seed spreading inside your walls.

Everything was very still for a moment. You were both breathing deeply as Mickey slowly pulled himself out of you and you winced a little.

“Shit, you okay?” He breathed as he helped you stand back upright and saw your tear stained face,his hands shaking a little.

“Y-yeah I’m fine.” You breathed, quickly wiping your face with the back of your quivering hand.

“Here..” he quickly grabbed some toilet paper from the holder and handed it to you, looking somewhat sheepish.

“Thank you.” You said, giving him a small smile. “So, we just did that, huh?”

Mickey’s face broke out into a oddly relieved smile. “Yeah we did. That was fucking great.”

He handed you your clothes and as the two of you got dressed, you thought to yourself how weird it was that you didn’t feel.. weird about this. It was by far the best you’d ever had, absolutely no one had ever come close to that before.

“You wanna go get a drink?” Mickey suddenly asked, breaking your train of thought. You smiled up at him and nodded eagerly.

“I think I need one. My throats fucking killing me.” You laughed as you both walked toward the bathroom door.

“Not surprised. You fucking moaning like you wanted the whole party to hear you.” He teased you, playfully nudging your shoulder.

“Screw you, Mickey.” You scoffed, giving him a half hearted shove back. You still felt a little weak and you groaned a little when you caught yourself in the mirror. “Oh, fuck. Look at my face.” You sighed, trying to remove the smudged lipstick and mascara with your fingers.

“What? I think you look hot.” Mickey shrugged, a smile still painted on his face.

“Yeah, of course you do. Perv.” You muttered. “Next time I’m not wearing makeup.”

“There’s going to be a next time?” Mickey asked, unable to stop the already smug smile on his face from growing bigger. “Made you feel that good, huh?”

You rolled your eyes at him, turning on the faucet to try and remove as much of the smudged makeup as possible.

“You’re a cocky prick, but yeah. I’d like a next time.”

#this is my first time #writing smut #please be kind #i don’t know if I like this #but whatever #scream #scream 2 #mickey altieri #mickey altieri x reader #mickey altieri x you #mickey altieri smut

345 notes · View notes

sphireath-wisp · 2 years ago

Text

#Three Clicks and I'm Home

Sypnosis: It's been so long after leaving for another country to play against big shots, and boy does he misses every single inch of you. Oh, how he fantasized - wishing that he was home.

Note: The quotes are from Pinterest so you can find them and a lot more there!! I did not come up with these, at most edit them a bit.

Warnings: Not proofread (again), post blue lock when they're popular world wide and stuff, OOC Nagi?

Featuring: Seishiro Nagi, Yoichi Isagi, Bachira Meguru x reader

Seishiro Nagi

"Asleep or awake, I dream and miss you all the same,"

It wasn't as if Nagi despised that feeling lurking at the back of his brain. Some rational part of his mind brushed it off, insisting that it was nothing other than a bit of homesickness. Another piece of him, deep down in his heart, knew that this feeling would devour him from the inside out.

That lingering feeling of emptiness whenever he stepped back into the hotel room. He's clearly aware that you're not with him, but - old habits die hard - he still calls out your name, announcing his arrival home to an empty room.

Nagi hurls his bags into a corner, throwing himself onto the bed, and melting into the mattress. His palms tap across the vacant bed, still not used to sleeping alone. Maybe he should have dragged you along to that soccer match with him, maybe he should have tried a little harder to insist instead of always telling himself that everything is a hassle.

His hands wander to his chest, the palpitations of his aching heart didn't make him feel anymore alive. Clutching his shirt, Nagi pulls out his phone and texts you.

Nagi: I miss you, babe :(

(Name): Sameee, I wish I could have come along with you to your soccer match

Nagi: That project you have is such a hassle

(Name): It's graded, sweetheart. I have to do it

Nagi: Boo, L project. You could be cheering for me and seeing me play live right now if it wasn't for that :((

(Name): I'll always be cheering for you, no matter where I am, you'll win for sure <3

Nagi's vision fades in and out of blurriness, blinded by the stream of tears from the corner of his eyes. They escape as droplets, landing straight on the bed, soft sniffles escaping him. Just how long has it last been since he cried?

He misses you, so damn much. Those long hugs that let him bury his face into your neck and inhale your cologne, those soft snores that he loves to listen to which reassure him that he isn't alone, there's so much he wants to do with you.

This isn't like that burning feeling in his chest after he loses, this isn't the same as that hunger he has to win every match he encounters. No, they aren't the same at all. This is sorrow.

"I could hug you for hours."

"Where is he?" You feel your phone buzz and vibrate constantly in your hands, squeezing past the crowd of fans and paparazzi ecstatically waiting for stars of Japanese soccer to finally arrive at the airport.

"Nagi?" You pause, holding your phone and tucking it back into your pocket. You watch as he turns his attention to you, his shoulders dropping from the release of tension, his eyes softening, white locks still messy.

You hesitate briefly, scanning his tired facial expression, eyes red and nose stuffy. You brush off the thoughts in your head, deciding to pretend you don't notice anything.

"Nagi!" You run up to him, tackling him into a hug. You feel his hands wrap around your waist, his hold around you unusually tight as if it's been years since he's gotten a hug. No matter how much you squirm, you find his embrace to be inescapable in the best way possible.

Nagi finally releases you, but his hands remain at your waist, an evidently rare smile plastered onto his face, "I'm so glad to be back."

"Glad you're back too," You peck his cheek, gazing at how the tip of his ears begins to flush - just like when the both of you just started dating.

Nagi points to his lips, tapping on them a few times. You nod and share a deep, long, heated kiss with him - satisfying that desolate part of your heart, finding your other half.

"I don't want to ever go again unless you're going with me." His grip on your waist hardens.

"Alright alright, I promise to go with you if you ever go overseas to another match." You grin.

"Good. I don't want to be away from you for so long, ever again."

Yoichi Isagi

"Sometimes, I just want to go home..."

Isagi sighs to himself in his room, hands numb from constantly adorning merch with his signature until 12 am. His fingers, legs, back, shoulders - everything just feels sore to the point where he just wants to hibernate in some cold corner of his room.

Yeah, it does feel great to actually have an opportunity to play against such big-time soccer players. It was something he could never dream of doing before blue lock, it almost doesn't feel real. There are so many people rooting for him and the immense pressure had multiplied.

But, it sucks that you aren't with him.

Isagi uses the little strength he has left to limp over to the bathroom, startled by the image staring back at him in the mirror. When did he look so... dead?

His hair is sprawled, he hasn't changed out of his jersey, and his eyebags have noticeably gotten darker. "Probably all that intense training," he mutters, fingers combing through his hair in an attempt to make him look more... pulled together.

What would you say when you see him in this kind of state? "They would probably scold me to take a bath," Isagi mumbles under his breath, chuckling to himself, unable to hold back his smile whenever he thinks about you.

It would really be nice - to have his head rest on your thighs and take a nice long nap, to feel your fingers massage his scalp and soothe him to sleep, to be spoiled in kisses. He already feels his eyes threatening to flutter shut as his balance becomes wobbly.

He would love to hear your voice right now and sleep to the sound of it - but it's already so late, maybe leaving you a text to wake up to would be better?

(Name): You're finally online? Come on, call me!!

Isagi: Why are you still awake??? Didn't you say you would be busy this whole week?

(Name): It's hard to sleep alone. Plus, it doesn't matter to me if we talk the whole night away! I just really miss you.

As if you could read his mind from completely different countries, you arranged his thoughts into words. Man, you really do understand him.

"...and you feel like home to me."

The crowd was in an uproar as Isagi scores a goal, winning the match after an extremely close round. Isagi falls to his knees, the exhaustion and relief hitting him like a meteor. He gasps for air, using his forearm to wipe off the sweat on his face.

"Isagi!" You shout out his name, waving your hands to him. You were almost sure that your voice would be drowned out by the cheers in the stadium, but it would be good to give it a try, right? You got front-row seats just to surprise him for this after all.

As you repeat his name for a second or third time, you see his head jerk up - just like he would if he had heard your voice amidst all of the noise. Isagi snaps his head around, scanning every face in the crowd until he manages to spot you.

"Sweetheart!" You grin at him when he dashes towards you, eyes brightening like he had just seen stars.

"We did it! We really won," That dreary feeling of fatigue fades away in an instant the moment he saw you. His palm cups your cheek, pulling you in for a deep and long kiss suddenly.

Your eyes widen, and that hot feeling in your cheeks suggests that you're probably bright red right now. Isagi pulls away too soon, the embarrassment of having such a tender moment in public probably getting to him.

"You really are amazing, sweetheart!" You beamed, a wave of pride for your lover washing over you, "I knew you could do it."

Isagi laughs, peering over his shoulder to spot cameras flashing at the both of you. "Seems like I unintentionally made you famous overnight,"

You lightly jab him, "It's fine, I wouldn't want any rumors stirring up of you dating someone else now, right?"

Isagi jabs you back, stealing another quick kiss before running back to his teammates. You couldn't hear what they were saying, but judging by Isagi's reddened face, they were probably using this as a way to tease him.

Meguru Bachira

"You showed me what love is like."

"We haven't seen any sightings of (Name) recently, will (Name) be watching the show Mr. Bachira?" The reporter practically shoves the mic in front of him, awaiting a response.

"Nope, they're busy and won't be able to make it for the upcoming match."

"That's a shame," the reporter latches onto anything he can use for gossip, "Though, you don't seem very bothered by their absence,"

Bachira's smile drops into a frown, visibly upset with what the reporter was suggesting. "Huh? When did I say wasn't bothered? (Name) is busy and I shouldn't force them as much as I want them to see me play."

"(Name) is my biggest supporter and fan! If they can only cheer for me from afar, then I'm okay with that." Bachira excuses himself and rushes off to his other teammates, grumbling under his breath and stomping away.

He does miss you a lot, but he can't force you of course. To Bachira, if you're supporting him, if you're cheering his name, wearing his jersey, and believing in his passion and dreams, that's enough of a reason to continue playing soccer.

He does wish he could show you off to the entire stadium, and boast about how lucky of a guy he is to be yours in front of the world, but he could always do that next time.

Suddenly, he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket.

(Name): Aww, you defended me?

Bachira: Woah, they already posted that video of the reporter interviewing me??? That's quick

(Name): Yeah, my phone blew up like crazy though 💀💀

(Name): But seriously, thank you. That meant a lot. I was worried I wasn't being a good significant other by missing your matches.

Bachira: It's fine!! You're busy, I get it. I'll win this one for you <;33

"I want to be the biggest reason for you to be happy."

Genuinely, he wouldn't mind if you screamed, "That's my lover!" at the top of your lungs once he wins a game. He would feel pride in knowing that he can put a smile on your face. You make him smile so easily - naturally, he'd want to do the same.

He doesn't care who judges the both of you. It's like you and him are living in your own world, laughing and giddily grinning at each other like children.

That's why he couldn't help but gaze at you screaming out praises and congratulations to him in the crowd the second after he scored.

"Megu! Megu!" Your grip on the border separating the crowd and the field tightened, "You were amazing up there!"

Bachira immediately tackled you for a hug, almost kicking the border down in the process, "We won! I can't believe it." Bachira still felt his hands shaking, his body remaining in shock.

Your fingers intertwined with his to stop his hands from shivering, pecking the back of his hand to calm his nerves before pressing your lips against his cheek.

"I can't even begin to explain how happy I am right now," You spurt out on a whim.

His hands travel down to your waist, slowly shifting their way to your hips - but were unable to reach their destination because Isagi dragged Bachira away by the jersey before anything else could happen.

You reached your hand out to Bachira - who was zapping Isagi for dragging him away so suddenly. You relaxed, dropping your hand and pulling out your phone. Taking a picture of the two wrestling and tickling each other, you save it for memory's sake.

And perhaps blackmail!

401 notes · View notes

going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 10 months ago

Note

CAN I ASK FOR A 141 HEADCANON WITH READER WHO IS A FILIPINO? It's okay if you don't want to:>

First of all, biggest apologies for the time it took me to answer this, I was in a little rut when it came to inspo + wanted to do some proper research on Filipino culture/aspects, to see how to best write it.

That being said, I think I came up with a few interesting HC for the boys (also this is assuming the Filipino reader moved to England - regardless of working for the 141 or not!):

Filipino Reader headcanons

tags: you/your, gn!reader, drinking and hangovers.

England is cold, it’s rainy, it’s ugly. That’s the main thing in your head 90% of the time. The touristy ‘oooh’s and ‘ahhh’s had worn off after the first 3 weeks, after you had run all over London and the surrounding areas… It had been wonderful when the weather was mild and actually kind of sunny.

Now it’s Winter. And, sure, you’re no stranger to rain coming from an island country with plenty of rain and plenty of humidity, but the rain in London feels GROSS. It might be the cold or dreariness of the streets, but you feel gross every time you get home and have to unzip your jacket and shake the water off your flimsy foldable umbrella.

Whenever you want to complain about how much you miss the heat and how miserable you feel during the nippy mornings in London, you go to Soap. He immediately agrees with you and speaks of the English weather with the same disdain you do, as if he wasn’t born in Scotland where the cold and rain is arguably tens of thousands of times worse. Somehow you can picture taking him back home and watching him fit right in amidst your noisy uncles and cousins. Not to mention it would be hilarious to watch them try to make sense of his Scottish accent...

Gaz is the best when it comes to helping with your homesickness. He asks the best questions and lets you tell all sorts of stories... He researches Filipino restaurants in the city and checks all sorts of reviews to make sure he’s taking you to the one restaurant that’s immigrant-owned and cooks as close to your family’s recipes as possible (it’s not quite the same as your grandma’s lumpia or kare-kare, nothing will be unless you go back home and beg her for the recipe, and even still you somehow you won’t succeed in making it Quite The Same™️ either).

Ghost is a lot of things and one of them is a man with a severe craving for sugar and carbs. He’d never admit it but he has a major sweet tooth… So, the moment he heard you mention halo-halo to Gaz and talking about how it has condensed milk in it? The man was RUNNING to research it. And that sent him down a rabbit hole of food from your culture and, sure, it’s not nearly hot enough to make any of the stuff you were talking about missing… But he can make other stuff, and by the time you notice, there's always ube in your pantry, and a packet of tablea? And as you make your way to the kitchen one morning there’s just… a patch of fresh little pandesal waiting for you and they’re still warm to the touch like they’ve been pulled out of the oven in the last 15 minutes and… champorado (with a few tablespoons taken out of it)??? How-

Price would deny he has a problem with alcohol… He’s just… intrigued by it and likes trying all different kinds. Nikolai has gotten him some good vodka for free, Kate’s gotten him bourbon (and for Simon too) as well as some hillbilly backwoods moonshine… So when he heard you talk about a type of Filipino liquor that you always saw your family members drinking but you never quite stomach due to how potent it was, the man immediately got in touch with some contacts of his and… long story short, he brought a few bottles of lambanog to a team dinner. He assured you him and the lads were ‘strong’ and uttered some spiel about how Brits are basically born with alcohol in their blood… Only for him to get himself and every single one of the lads drunk off it. The next morning, while nursing the strongest hangover-induced headache of his adult life, you regaled him with the fact that the bottles of lambanog he got were double distilled and the abv was almost double that of a standard handle of vodka.

#ikea writes 💚#reqs #cod fanfic #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price #filipino reader #cod x reader

70 notes · View notes

milkyyawns · 1 year ago

Text

one piece headcanons that mean nothing to most people but everything to me

put in no particular order because organizing my brainwaves would take too much energy today

Usopp is the second best cook of the crew, but has 0 gauge for how spicy his food is. he will smile and say its sweet while your mouth is on fire Sanji is very good at braiding hair

Sanji is secretly jealous that Usopp became a hunk over timeskip. He was really huffy over the change for a second before he found out he could lift Usopp with one hand. Sanuso thought on this; Sanji did not mind the view.

Everyone in the crew is funny but Jinbei is declared the funniest due to his ability to always deliver it in the best way possible.

There is a communal baby sling for Chopper, but Robin also made a really pretty one that she doesn't allow anyone else to use. It's not because Chopper WANTS to be in the baby sling(he likes it, tho), its out of convenience sake. Brook is a swinger

Zoro is chronically unable to grow facial hair, in secret he has asked Chopper and Law if there is any remedy. He doesn't have any body hair either. After timeskip Usopp came back with hair all over him, Zoro thought he did SOMETHING to cause this to happen. You can imagine the mortal shame he felt when he asked and Usopp said he shaved every day, and started to like facial hair on him after he got buffer. One time he tried to make a fake beard for himself, it looked terrible so he tried to wipe it off and it wouldn't budge. He went up to Nami and ended up paying 10k berries to keep her silence. Robin makes a habit of picking the other crew mates brains, especially once she opened her shell and whenever a new member joined. When Law appeared it took him avoiding her like the plague to not open up, and after 5 days he had to give in.

Like Luffy, Robin has the ability to figure out what someone needs to hear. Jinbei didn't know this until one day out of nowhere she walks up to him and invites him to relax with her, and she confessed later on in the day he seemed to be having a Rough Time and she wanted to remind him that he can take it easy when his brain is bothering him, and beyond that he can vocalize the thoughts and get them out of his brain. They have weekly self care nights together because of this and slowly the entire crew ends up joining. Luffy is very very creepy, but only to Sanji specifically. Luffy has decided its a game to try to get into the kitchen so he hides on the ceiling and crawls very slowly. Sanji catches him every time but the first few times it scared the shit out of him (he will never admit that, however.)

Robin is as much of a pervert as Franky, but it's a dialogue you have to unlock with her because she refuses to make people uncomfortable. Once you do, every once in a while a pair of lips appear next to your ear and say the freakiest joke imaginable. Nami will break out laughing in the middle of conversations because of it

Robin says the freakiest shit imaginable. theres no context to this shes just offputting.

every once in a while when Nami is feeling homesick, she intrusts Sanji with a orange based recipe from her mother. Sanji collects all of them and makes them when she thinks shes having a bad day. when she requests it to be made its special and they use HER fresh oranges, which she usually only hands over in small amounts. Nami can only make sweets and fruit based dishes. She usually stole her way into a good meal instead of cooking for herself.

Usopp has gone up to every single member of the crew and made multiple portraits for lost loved ones. It's like an initiations ceremony when he walks up with his sketchbook and sits down a new crew mate and starts asking questions. Everybody was very warmed by this but Brook specifically wrote an entire song because of how moved by this action he was.

Nobody will tell Luffy what vore is. They are scared he will start doing it. Usopp is to blame for him knowing that vore is a thing and nobody will let him live it down. (not sexual, obviously)

instead of what most fics do with Sanji being internally homophobic, my personal opinion is that hes actually terrified of hurting the other person. Its not that he doesnt want to be gay, its that he doesnt know how to show love as a man to another man. (For sanuso fans; Sanji confides in Usopp on this matter, and Usopp says in the most matter of fact way. "I dont know how to date anybody. Isnt the point of dating to figure out how each other love? What does gender have to do with it?" and it absolutely broke his brain, and healed something within himself. i lightly touch this in my sanusoami fic !)

Usopp makes gadgets on any occasion. If he hears you complain about the smallest thing once he will somehow make an item to fix that tiny little issue.

Sanji used to shave his legs until one day he overhears Nami say leghair is sexy, he to this day does not know that the context was her talking about Vivi and her's last night together. turns out the weird irritating feeling he had was him hating bare skin against his pants when fighting, and he never went back "Big Man" is Choppers formal nickname. Zoro calls him little man sometimes too but no one else does. Zoro can't read. (i know im not the only one who thinks this) Robin spies on the crew unless shes asleep when they're on the sunny. only Franky has caught on that she does it. she claims that its for security (which he doesn't deny is part of it) but he's convinced it's to slowly torture everybody in the most passive way possible. exhibit a: if she finds out something embarrassing she will almost talk about it for a week straight

i had an entire mental health thing i wanted to get into but i broke the limit halfway through. will do another post with it soon

#one piece #sanji #usopp #robin #franky #jinbei #brook #chopper #nami #luffy #law #monkey d. luffy #nico robin #headcanon #vivi #vivi nefertari

204 notes · View notes

lostloveletters · 9 months ago

Text

Jesus or Gasoline (John Brady x OC)

Summary: Woody isn't sure what she believes in, except for the way John Brady makes her feel.

Note: Here it is, the result of my making a ‘guy who says grace before giving head’ joke about Brady. I wanna give a million thanks to all the Woody/Brady babes out there because y'all's support and enthusiasm for them means the world to me! As usual I listened to a lot of Bruce Springsteen while writing this. Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: Inevitable historical inaccuracies. This goes into Woody’s not so great childhood/young adulthood and her generally negative internalized thoughts surrounding religion. Sexually explicit content involving oral sex (f. receiving) and coming in pants.

The field behind the hangar was a questionable date spot at best, but Woody figured it was better than nothing. Secluded enough with some lighting as to not be stumbling around in the dark, but without fear of being easily identified if they got caught before they could make a break for it if needed.

Word of the late night rendezvous had come from Holly, barely able to contain her excitement at being the messenger. “Your beau wanted me to tell you to meet him tonight,” she whispered, giggling as she added, “said you’d know where.”

Woody had given Holly all of the details the night John Brady kissed her, her best friend in ecstatic disbelief that so much had happened while she and Bucky were listening to a baseball game across the way. Holly took girl code as a sacred oath, not mentioning Woody and Brady’s relationship to a soul in the week or so that had passed. John wasn’t exactly pleased when Woody let him know that she told Holly, but he supposed if Woody trusted Holly that much, he could, too.

“There you are, sweetheart,” John said, with a genuine fondness that she almost couldn’t believe was directed toward her. “Have you been waiting long?”

She shook her head, greeting him with a kiss. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all day.”

“I brought you something,” he said, pulling a Hershey bar from his pocket.

“Don’t waste that on me, are you kidding?”

“Holly told me you give the village kids whatever candy you get, and I know ground crew doesn’t get as much in your rations as we do.”

Good ol’ Holly. “They appreciate it more than me.”

He looked at her pointedly, though eyes glistened in amusement as he half-scolded, “Don’t reject a gift, sweetheart. It’s bad manners.”

Woody fought back a smile, felt her cheeks heating up . “Thank you, Johnny. You’re real sweet.” Gave him a kiss on the cheek and squeezed his forearm. “Can we at least split it?”

“I won’t say no to that.”

The grass was damp from the late afternoon rain. She was glad she thought to grab an old blanket, worn out and smelled faintly of fuel, but it’d do.

He split the bar in two, handing the bigger half to her. She took a bite, surprised to find herself feeling a wistful melancholy for the states at the taste of it. Wasn’t sure she ever felt homesick before, but there was a first time for everything. Like John laying out on the blanket, resting his head in her lap.

“Comfortable?” she asked with a laugh.

“Great view from here.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“You know, I’ve been dying to ask you this ever since I met you,” he began, giving her pause at the seemingly endless possible questions he could hit her with. “Do you really like being called ‘Woody’?”

She nodded, stroking his hair, taking in how relaxed he looked. “Yeah, I really do. It’s been nice to leave ‘Kate’ behind and start fresh.”

“So your first name is just Kate?”

“Shows you how much thought my parents put into it.”

“See, I wanna know more about you.”

“What do you mean?”

“We talk a good deal, but I don’t know much about your life before all of this.”

“I don’t have anything nostalgic or good to tell you, especially not about me. I’m ashamed of who I was before. I’m trying to be better, John. I really am. I don’t—I don’t hang around people who have nothing going for them.”

People like how she used to be. The backstreets burst at the seams with them. Children of neglect, of the Depression, of something wild otherwise running through their veins. They made their homes where they could. Guys who rode around on streaks of lightning, spewing pure gasoline from snarled lips on each of those hilly avenues until they were wrangled in the back of cherry-topped police cars. Girls who should’ve known better drank empty promises out of broken glasses, handed to them by the constantly circling shark-men. Kate learned quickly not to get attached to anyone. They looked out for each other, but they weren’t friends. There was a difference.

“I got an older brother named Tom. Last I heard he was in jail for holding up a liquor store,” she said. “I haven’t seen him since I was eleven, though. That’s when I really started looking after myself.”

“Eleven is pretty young to be on your own,” he said, taking her hand from his hair and holding it in his own, intertwining their fingers.

“What were you doing when you were eleven?”

He shrugged. “Rode bikes around with my friends. Started learning saxophone. I was an altar boy, too.”

“So your family went to mass a lot when you were growing up?”

“Every Sunday that we could. I remember my mom waking us up to go even when we had to walk through a foot of snow to get there because the roads hadn't been cleared yet,” he said, his voice growing softer as he spoke. “Doesn’t seem all that bad, now. Maybe it—it helped some.”

Woody had seen John make the sign of the cross dozens of times. Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Remembered the first time she watched him among the other Catholic guys in the 100th, crowded around the chaplain for his makeshift blessing on the tarmac before their missions. Devotion ran exceptionally high then, men suddenly armed with a rainbow of beaded rosaries and holy cards adorned with saints whose weary eyes gazed upward, where those men were soon to be. Their heads bowed in silent contemplation as the priest concluded in Latin, John’s mouth moving along with sed libera nos a malo. But deliver us from evil.

A handsome face like his deserved half a dozen kids with names like Mary and Francis who filed neatly into a pew with their shiny patent shoes and a big family meal to look forward to after mass. Kids who gave the likes of her odd looks when she shuffled into church for whatever lunch the nuns were dishing out that afternoon. Always dressed in her Sunday worst—ill-fitting blouses and holey shoes until she ditched their charity and decided she was better off raising hell in denim jeans. God loved everyone, and his love was unconditional, but no one wanted to say he loved some people more than others, and Kate was pretty low on his list.

After all, Kate Woodward was born without a middle name on a Wednesday morning that even god himself forgot about. Didn’t know what the weather had been like the first time she breathed in the air of her home city, but she was sure it felt like a kick in the chest. Probably why babies cried when they made their grand escape from the womb.

Hardly raised in the first place, Kate had little faith in god or man, just in the machines she could bend to her will until they gave her freedom to go wherever she pleased. But her freedom had gnashing teeth and a forked tongue that were never satisfied, no matter how many vices she fed it, and she was nothing short of gluttonous in this endeavor.

Tried and true, the one she had the hardest time shaking—sticky fingers. If Kate saw something she liked, she took it. From drug store shelves to purses to wallets, nothing was off limits. As time went on, her spoils only got bigger and better, linking up with people who taught her how to steal cars like riding a bike. She had yet to find a replacement for that particular thrill, but her self-control had markedly improved in a little over two years.

Then there were men with hacksaw smiles that threatened to cut her open if she got as close as they wanted her to. Thunderous voices that cracked with rage when she’d shove the smoldering cherry tip of her cigarette into a hand that got too close for comfort. None of them were any good, not like the man with his head in her lap, who brought her chocolate rations and listened intently to her, even as her voice shook with trepidation at bearing so much of her heart.

Woody hummed, her fingers trembling as she traced the features on his face—his expressive brows, the nose that gave him a profile she could hardly tear her eyes from, lips she dreamed about since the night he first kissed her and every time since. Besides the power of a well-maintained engine, she believed in the way she felt about John.

“I was lonely and angry,” she murmured after relaying her patchwork of regrets and fears to him. “I made a lot of mistakes because of that. It’s not an excuse. But I wanna be honest with you so you can still change your mind about me if you want to. I understand if you do.”

“There’s nothing to change my mind about, sweetheart. I want to be with you,” he said, conviction strong in his voice as he sat up.

“I’m not a virgin,” she stressed.

He shook his head. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I would’ve been surprised if you were.”

“Well, I didn’t love any of them—four guys in total, mind you—and it’s not like I got anything out of it, either.” She sighed. “I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.”

Crushes were for girls who lived in nice houses and wrote hearts above their i’s. Desire ran hot, expressed in glances made with hooded lids beneath buzzing neon lights that left a thousand things unsaid. But after that handful of physically underwhelming experiences which ended up being far more trouble than they were worth, she came to the conclusion that she was better suited to get her own rocks off.

“Got what out of it?” he asked.

She chewed on her lip. The only sin out there was getting caught, and Kate Woodward never got caught. Woody chose to confess. “I had to get to the good part myself.”

“That’s unacceptable.”

Her heart sank. “I haven’t done it in—“

“Those selfish bastards never made you come?”

“Not one.”

“In that case, I’d be glad to be your first.”

“I want you to be,” she said, leaning back on her hands in the dewey grass, spreading her coverall-clad legs apart. “I wanna do everything with you.”

He placed his hand on her thigh, his fingers playing with the inner hem of her coveralls. “Tell me how you want it, sweetheart.”

“I want your mouth.” Truthfully, she’d never had a guy go down on her before. Heard about it from other girls, wild ones out in the desert. A few others as she got to know the first group of WAAC girls she bunked with after enlisting. Even from Holly, as apparently Stan had been generous and enthusiastic about that aspect of their sex life. Stan, Stan, what a man, the girls would tease about Holly’s fiance before he was dearly departed.

The corners of John’s lips twitched up as he brought his fingers further along the hem, inching closer to her covered sex. “Never had a girl ask me to do that before.”

“You really don’t mind?”

“Why would I?”

She hesitated, averting her eyes from him. “A lot of guys think it’s gross.”

“I think I should decide for myself, don’t you?” He cupped her chin, caressing her jaw with his thumb. “Look at me, sweetheart. What do you want me to do?”

Upon returning her gaze to his, she found no judgment behind his eyes, but a passionate sincerity.

“I want you to go down on me,” she said.

She studied him as he watched her. His pretty lips parted slightly, drinking her in as more of her body was exposed. It wasn’t a strip tease, nothing sexy about the way she pulled her arms out from the sleeves and yanked her coveralls down to her knees, finally kicking them to her ankles and off entirely. Sat before him in her white t-shirt, plain underwear, and boots, almost boyish if not for her breasts, low on her chest, nipples poking through the fabric.

“Are you wearing a bra?” He sounded breathless, almost as if he couldn’t believe he was even asking.

“No,” she said, her lips curving into a smile, letting him in on another secret. “I always take it off at the end of the day. Don’t tell anyone.”

As if the other girls didn’t know, with some degree of judgment along with their understanding that the damn thing got uncomfortable, could chafe with all the work they were doing, the sweat and friction. It wasn’t like anyone could really tell beneath the other layers, anyway. But anyone meant anyone of the male persuasion, and with that, John dutifully shook his head.

His lips were on hers in an instant, a hand on her waist, the other shoved up her shirt, squeezing her breasts. She gasped at the way his rough palm felt against her nipple, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue in her mouth. Her moans were lost to the world, claimed by him and him alone. He straddled her lap, keeping her in place beneath him.

John moved his hand from her waist to between her legs, rubbing her already wet pussy through her underwear. Her lips were undoubtedly swollen from the ferocity with which he kissed her. A delicious shiver ran down her spine at the thought of how it’d feel against her cunt.

He hooked his fingers in the waistband of her panties, and she lifted her hips, allowing him to pull them off of her. Bringing up her knees, she felt a burst of adrenaline rush through her at being so exposed to him.

“You need to tell me how I’m doing, alright? I wanna make sure you feel good,” he said.

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” she mumbled, almost dizzy with desire as he lowered his face between her legs.

His hot breath on her cunt, lips brushing against her folds. She strained to hear… whispering?

“Johnny?” she asked after a few moments of aching anticipation. “Baby, if you don’t wanna— Jesus Christ,” she choked out. Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and all the rest of them.

His tongue lapped at her clit, eyes looking up at her for approval. With a shaky nod, she bid him to continue, biting her lip as to stifle the whine that threatened to escape her mouth. A noble attempt, but fruitless when he licked up her pussy with the flat of his tongue, pulling a moan from deep in her chest. Her heart was beating between her legs.

Woody could make herself feel pretty damn good on her own. She lifted a dirty magazine from a guy in Reno once. Had pictures and everything, though she wasn’t sure how real it all was. She’d look at the pictures, tongue between her lips and hand between her thighs as she imagined herself in those women’s places, feeling the ecstasy written all over their expressive faces with their typically faceless partners. From there, she’d get creative, allowing her mind to conjure up a man who, behind her closed eyes, could bring her to orgasm. Even in her wildest fantasies, she never thought she’d find one who’d actually want to bury his face in her pussy.

Fuck, if she couldn’t feel John’s fingers digging into her thighs, she would’ve almost thought she was dreaming. She grabbed his hair, pressing his face harder against her cunt. He was giving so much, and she’d take all of it, greedy with the pleasure he offered her.

He slid two fingers inside her pussy, slowly enough to see how she’d take it before pumping them in and out at a quicker pace. Used his other hand to hold her down when her hips jerked up in his face, like her muscles had a mind of their own, hellbent on reaching an orgasm. Hell, so was she.

“Just like that— fuck,” she rasped, her nails scraping against his scalp.

She nearly wanted to ask if he’d been lying, if he had gone down on a girl before. He at least had enough experience to know where her fucking clit was, but his mouth. Jesus, how could he expect her to go to the officer’s club and watch him play saxophone after this? As if she wouldn’t be sitting there, skin feverish, thighs pressed together, thinking about his mouth and his fingers in that moment. The way his teeth grazed against her clit, making her pussy clench around his fingers. The way it almost felt like he was making out with her cunt. Their eyes would meet, and he’d know, maybe have a little smirk on his face up there, too. An obscene secret privately shared amidst dozens of other people who’d be none the wiser.

“Don’t stop,” She was so close it almost hurt, wound up tight and pulsing in her gut, waiting to be released. “Please don’t stop.” Hot tears rolled freely down her cheeks. Her chest felt like it was on the verge of bursting open. Between a fistful of grass and a hand buried in his hair, she cried out his name like a vulgar prayer in the night as her orgasm rocked through her.

A universe of stars burst across her abdomen, white-hot supernova tearing through her muscles, blinding her from anything but the pleasure that pulsed from her pussy. She finally came down from it, covered in sweat, chest heaving, a wild-eyed woman as John pushed himself back up on unsteady arms.

She grabbed his shirt, pulling him closer so he was straddling her lap. Took in his mussed up hair and the way his lips glistened with the traces of her still on them. She kissed him, a muffled moan in her throat at the taste of herself on this tongue.

She wanted him. More of him. Everything he had to give. Wasn’t sure it’d be enough to sate her need, but damn if she couldn’t try.

“Johnny, can’t we just do it?” she pleaded, her voice a girlish whine that sounded otherwise foreign coming from her as she desperately pawed at him.

“Next time,” he whispered. “Next time, sweetheart, I promise.” Grazed his teeth against her hummingbird pulse. “I didn’t bring a condom.”

“But what about you?” she pressed, reaching for his crotch. “You must be—“

He shook his head, cheeks flushed as he licked his lips. “I got carried away, sweetheart. I, uh—I’m good.”

She slipped her hand down his pants, feeling the sticky evidence of his orgasm for herself. Her fingertips brushed the sensitive head of his spent cock, sending a shiver down his spine. Was he good, though? He groaned. No wonder Douglass kept so many goddamn rubbers in his footlocker.

“Next time,” he repeated, voice strained and husky in a horrific display of self-control. He nearly regretted it when she pulled her hand away, feeling something sinful stir in his gut as she inspected her hand, finally bringing it to her mouth and licking the residue off her knuckles with a feline-esque curl of her tongue.

“Just say the word, Johnny. Whenever you want me to return the favor, I’ll drop everything for you.”

He swallowed roughly. She meant it.

#john brady x oc #john brady #john brady x ofc #masters of the air #masters of the air x oc #mota x oc #mota #mota fanfic #hbo war #hbo war fanfic #ch: woody #so basically i got carried away

69 notes · View notes