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rheawritessometimes · 4 years ago

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{ Childe x GN!Reader }

{ Summary } Sometimes we don't understand our feelings, and that's okay. Series Masterlist

{ Warnings } Swearing, Undefined Relationship, Physical Intimacy, Mild Anxiety.

{ Notes } Written for @sailormakoto. Usually, I'd wait longer to start another part to make sure people were interested, but they said they'd like it, so... Now you have to like it even though it's a dumpster fire rolling downhill fast. Reader isn't good with their emotions and it very obviously shows. It's really just messy and bad but I don't know what else to do or how to make a cohesive, logical plot. Masterlist

{ Word Count } 1,783

Childe’s guard nearly jumped out of his skin, letting out a yelp of fright as you swept out of the apartment in a hurry. But in your rush, you hardly noticed him at all, the entirety of your focus was currently on your goal of escaping the embarrassment that was on the verge of consuming you whole. With your body moving on autopilot through the busy streets of Liyue, you retreated into your mind to wrangle your thoughts and gain some sense of control.

Why was it exactly that you felt such an overwhelming urge to run away? It wasn't that you didn’t like or want the kiss, it had been rather enjoyable for you. It had happened so easily between you, and that was the part that you found weird. You couldn’t understand why it felt so easy with him, things weren’t normally like this. It was certainly safe to say you had never wanted to kiss your other friends, and that’s what you and Childe were. Friends.

It’s not like you were in love with him, you were pretty sure you felt the same about him as you always had. Sure, it had been a few months and you’d gotten to know him better and found spending time with him more enjoyable, but ultimately he was still the same person he was when you first met. You got along with him, you laughed together and now sometimes you casually made out with each other. That was fine, friends could do that, right?

Perhaps you were blowing things out of proportion. A few kisses didn't change anything, really. It's not like Childe had confessed to having feelings for you or anything drastic. You two were just friends and everything was fine, things would eventually sort themselves out.

You hadn't even realized you had been mildly hyperventilating by the time you regulated your breathing back to normal and managed to get out of your head. With your focus now on your surroundings, you found yourself in Liyue's bustling market among the fresh produce. You decided it would be best to pick up some groceries while you were here, as you said you would. Picking out what looked best and haggling with the merchants over prices seemed like a good way to pretend your problems didn’t exist clear your head.

As it turns out, grocery shopping became infinitely more difficult when you didn’t know what was needed. It was clear Childe liked to cook but you didn’t know what it was he liked to prepare. Going back to get a list from him now would be incredibly awkward, so you decided to play it safe and buy a large quantity wide variety of ingredients. You decided you had enough when the bags in your arms felt like they were getting too heavy to carry. Fitting this much food into Childe’s kitchen was going to be quite the struggle. Well, well, well, if it isn't the consequences of your actions.

Dragging all your purchases back to the apartment was going to be quite the workout. You wondered if next time it would be possible to get one of the low-ranking Fatui to help you carry things. A few pedestrians gave you some odd looks as they saw your mountain of purchases, but no one offered you any help. Things only got worse once you remembered you had said you were going to buy some things from Bubu Pharmacy, too. You were going to be strong as fuck after going up all those goddamn steps.

The man at the counter wore a worried expression as he noticed the amount of bags you were dragging along with you. You brushed off his concern with something about how you were an adventurer and stronger than the average person, trying not to let it show that you were indeed struggling to carry everything. Even with superhuman strength, you had your limits. Unfortunately, the man accepted your words and busied himself with finding the ice packs you requested, along with an herbal tea you asked for because it had a divine aroma you noticed upon walking in. It's not like he was likely able to help you with the groceries, so you supposed it didn't matter.

By the time you returned to Childe’s apartment, your arms were ready to fall off and the scowl on your face must have been quite intimidating because the guard stationed at the door immediately did as he was told when you ordered him to open the door for you. He didn't say a word, not even giving you a nasty look for the first time. Despite the non-hostile treatment by the guard, you promptly kicked the door closed on him after entering the apartment, heading straight to the kitchen and letting out a sigh of relief after dropping all of the bags in the middle of the floor.

You hadn’t seen Childe on your way in and you couldn’t hear him moving around the apartment but you assumed he was home, the guard probably wouldn’t have been quite so willing to let you in otherwise. Even if you wore a scary expression. Not to mention, surely the Harbinger wouldn’t appoint a guard foolish enough to allow you in unsupervised, there were likely sensitive documents somewhere inside. You assumed it had been Fatui reports he was reading earlier.

Finding room for all the groceries you had purchased took your mind away from wondering about the location of your temporary host. Putting everything away proved to be a time-consuming task, but by the end of it Childe had yet to make an appearance, or even any noise indicating he was in the apartment. This was worrying, if he had left and gotten himself hurt you’d have to go out in search of him. After purchasing, carrying, and putting away all the food you had bought you weren’t sure you were up for tracking him down.

Taking one of the newly purchased ice packs to use as an excuse, you wrapped it in a towel before making your way to his bedroom. It seemed like the most likely place to find him if he was indeed still in the apartment. It was hard to imagine he'd have spent so much time silent in the bathroom. You felt strangely on edge as you stopped in front of the door, knocking softly three times.

No reply came but you weren't convinced he was truly not home, so you slowly pushed the door open, holding your breath. It didn’t make sense for you to feel so nervous about this, it wasn’t the end of the world if he wasn’t home. Maybe you were more worried about seeing him than not.

The sight of Childe sprawled out in the middle of his bed peacefully napping greeted you as you quietly entered. His blanket appeared to have been thrown off him in his sleep and his shirt rode up just a little bit. His room was tidy, but you were too busy appreciating the revealed section of his abdomen to take a proper look around. You were only granted a few moments to stare before he opened one eye, peering at you for just long enough to register that it was you in his room.

It was unsurprising that the Harbinger was a light sleeper enough sleeper to be woken by you entering his room, considering his line of work. Vastly more surprising was when, after determining it was you who had woken him, he closed his eye again and went back to dozing. You couldn’t help but smile fondly at this, a pleasant warmth filling you at the show of trust. Or maybe he was too tired to care.

Of course he trusted you, you were friends after all. The thought had your smile fading, but you weren’t sure why that displeased you. Pushing the thought from your head, you silently made your way to the bedside and placed the icepack at his side.

The sudden cold had ocean eyes fluttering open before focusing on you. You smiled playfully at his slightly disgruntled expression. That was much easier on your emotions than his prior vulnerability.

“Sorry, but it needs to be done.”

“Mm, whatever. Hey, did I make you uncomfortable earlier?” the Harbinger asked, causing your heart to pause. He certainly was good at getting straight to the point. You had to take a deep breath before answering him.

“No, not at all. I’m sorry, I don’t even know why I ran away like that,” you told him, the words rushing out of your mouth. Your heart was racing faster than you thought it should have been in this situation. It’s not like any of this was that big of a deal, certainly not the end of the world.

“Well if you’re not uncomfortable then how ‘bout you nap with me?” the Snezhnayan offered, and you were pretty sure it was almost entirely because he wanted to get back to sleep himself, “You look exhausted, you probably need it.”

High flags of color appeared on your cheeks at his words, you must not be looking your best for him to offer such a thing. It couldn't be that he was actually worried for you, but you couldn't reason out why he would offer such a thing. However, the prospect of rest was tempting, but you couldn’t help but think it would be easier on your heart if you just went to your room for it. Then again, if you rejected him it might seem like you had been lying about being comfortable with him.

“Stop thinking so loudly and just come here,” Childe said finally, opening his arms to you. You clenched your jaw, feeling even more embarrassed, but began climbing into bed with him.

“Fine,” you mumbled, letting him pull you close before covering the both of you with a blanket. He gently tucked your head against his chest before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, luckily for you, it wasn’t possible for you to get any redder at this point. Not that he would see considering he had closed his eyes and was already nodding off again, but maybe he was able to feel the heat radiating off your cheeks.

“You worry too much. Relax and go to sleep.”

Despite your internal anxieties, you found yourself complying with his suggestion thanks to the fatigue already weighing you down and how comfortable it felt to be in his arms. All of it felt a little too intimate for being just friends, but you didn’t get much time to worry about it as you drifted off into unconsciousness.

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aliwritesfic · 3 years ago

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The Night Shift part 8 (F!Reader x Frankie Morales)

Summary: It's time to do what's best for you . . . also fuck Kurt

Warnings: physical violence, emotional abuse, brief mention of trauma

W/C: 2.2k

AN: So.... I'll be honest, I was quite sick when I wrote this (and I'm still not 100% but I'm at like 75% which is good enough) but I have a mentality of not editing or revising my work otherwise I embarrass myself and convince myself I'm The Worst(tm), but I hope this makes sense and the pacing is good <3

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Part 1 Part 9

Frankie was glad to see you finally opening up. Even if that meant tears he couldn’t wipe away, or a hand he couldn’t hold. The last thing he wanted was to put you in a position where you thought the only reason he was helping was to swoop in while you were vulnerable.

You sat next to him in his truck, your eyes were puffy and red from tears that once they started seemed to come in waves of intensity, from a few sniffles to shoulders heaving, gasping for air sobs. Manny sat beside you, holding your hand, which Frankie was grateful for. He was glad to see that you had people that cared about you. When he had messaged Manny that morning, it was more to find out if his suspicions were correct about the ‘friend’ you had talked about while drunk was you.

“You don’t have-“

“We want to,” Manny interjected for the fifth time. It occurred to Frankie that you weren’t used to people wanting to help you. “I’ve been praying that you’ll let me help you.” That made you sob again. You gave another apology, chest heaving as you tried to breathe.

Truthfully, Frankie was also glad that this was an excuse for him to skip talking about his own feelings. His own mind was a muddy mess of flashbacks and night terrors and bouts of anxiety that became so crippling he forgot how to breathe. How well would that have gone down in the little group he now found himself apart of? If he had to guess, about as well as it went down with Portia – pitying looks and urges to see a proper therapist, and a new distance that neither was willing bridge.

Manny answered a call as Frankie drove back. He wasn’t driving anywhere in particular, but when it had become clear you wanted to be anywhere but that bistro, he had suggested the three of you pile into his truck and see where the road took you.

“Mateo, honey, I need to ask you a few things,” Manny said into his phone. Out of the corner of his eye, Frankie saw you lean your head back and squeeze your eyes shut. Frankie wanted to reach out and squeeze your knee, take your hand, do anything to show that he was there, that he wasn’t going anywhere so long as you wanted him around.

Manny’s voice faded into the background as you turned to look at Frankie. He pulled up at a small nature reserve, which was just an algae slicked pond and a few oak trees surrounded by recently mowed grass. Frankie noticed how bloodshot your eyes were.

“You okay?” he asked, realising it was a stupid question.

“I will be,” you said, your voice hoarse. You cleared your throat with a wince. “I’m not upset . . . I’m just overwhelmed. Like, I’ve been holding this all in for so long that once the lid was opened it was impossible to put back on, and now I’ve just gotta let it all out. Does that sound stupid?”

Frankie shook his head. “Not at all.” You smiled weakly at him.

“Bet this is the worst lunch you’ve ever had,” you said.

“Nah, I think it ranks pretty highly,” Frankie said. “Mainly because of the company, though.” You rolled your eyes and Frankie could see the corners of your mouth twitch in an effort to keep a smile away.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” he said softly.

“What isn’t?” You asked, but before he could answer, Manny interjected.

“I’ve found you a new place,” he said. You shot up, confusion written on your face plainly. Manny smiled the type of smile when someone knows they’ve basically saved the day. “That was my dear friend Mateo on the phone. He is taking his first steps towards being a real estate mogul and recently brought a one bedroom apartment to rent out. And because he is such a dear friend and owes me like, a billion favours, I told him the minimum of what your situation was, and he has told me that he’s willing to rent the place to you for lower than market value. A hundred and twenty a week, including water.”

You’re silent for a few moments, and Frankie watched you carefully.

“When can I move in?” you said finally, and Frankie felt an invisible weight lift off your shoulders. He could only imagine how difficult this would be for you; making decisions that would change how you lived in a matter of hours, basically upending your life.

“He can get the keys to us on Wednesday, he’s just got to replace some fixtures and finish painting some walls,” Manny said. You nodded slowly.

“So, I just need to last till Wednesday,” you said.

“You can stay at my place, if you want.” Frankie said quickly, not exactly comfortable with the idea of you staying with Kurt. You had said he was never physically violent, but Frankie also knew how quickly a man could change when they didn’t get their way.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to impose,” you said carefully. Frankie nodded.

“Of course, you’re my friend, and friends help each other.” Just friends. Only friends. He wasn’t going to take advantage of you in this state just because he had a stupid crush. He had once had a conversation with a pissed off Eve Miller, who was ranting about the guys she thought were her friends instantly making moves the moment she became single. That had solidified Frankie’s resolve to not make moves on women he was friends with – it wasn’t fair to them or to him.

Before you could answer, your phone was ringing loudly. Your face crumpled as you looked at the contact, and Frankie frowned.

Kurt.

You took a deep breath and hit answer. “Hey! What’s up?” Your light and airy tone was at odds with your sombre expression. “No, I have lunch with Manny on Sunday, remember? You’re home already? But –“

Frankie listened to the angry buzzing coming from your phone, his revulsion growing.

“My phone died – no I just went out with Sara last night, she wanted to go to fight night . . . it’s not that short . . . No I didn’t fuck anyone else, Jesus Christ, Kurt! No! Look, I’ll be home soon, we can talk about this then.” You hung up with a shaking hand, your mouth twisting with effort to contain the tears.

Manny met Frankie’s eye over the top of your bowed head and gave a small nod.

“We’ll come with you to get some of your clothes,” Frankie said. “And anything else you need.”

“You’re really too sweet for this,” you muttered with a hiccup. “I’m sorry for dragging the both of you into my shit.”

“I crawled willingly into it,” Manny said breezily, “which I would only do for about five people in this world.”

The trio remained silent for several minutes, interrupted only but the sound of your occasional hiccups. Frankie reached out and patted your shoulder awkwardly, cringing internally while he did. Inexplicably, you leant into his touch, your damp cheek brushing against the back of his hand.

“Can you drive me home so I can get my stuff?” you asked softly. Frankie nodded and turned on the truck.

~*~

You were a ball of anxiety as Frankie pulled into the complex’s parking lot. Kurt’s car was already in the spot reserved for your apartment, sending you to the verge of a full-blown panic attack. You squeezed your eyes shut and counted to ten, then backwards from ten. Distantly, you felt Manny take hold of one of your hands.

“You’ve got this.” Manny’s voice sounded far away. “Francisco and I are behind you one hundred percent.”

“You’re calling the shots,” Frankie said, touching your arm. His hand was warm and calloused, and you didn’t know why that observation seemed to be at the forefront of your mind, but it was. You opened your eyes and met Frankie’s warm brown ones, suddenly feeling infinitely stronger.

You told them what you wanted to do – for you to go in by yourself and for them to wait outside the door, plug their ears if necessary, only come in if they felt like you were in any actual danger. Frankie’s face darkened at this, but to your relief he didn’t protest your plan.

You felt stronger with the two of them behind you. Every single step towards your apartment door solidified your resolve that this was the right thing, that this relationship hadn’t made you happy, fulfilled, in years. The click of your key in the door felt like one of finality.

Kurt sat on the couch, glaring at you. You left the door open a crack as you walked in, hovering by the dining table. You took him in fully and came to the conclusion that you were no longer attracted to this man at all. His skin was reddened by the sun, pale patches around his light blue eyes. His thin mouth was curled into a sneer.

“Care to explain what the fuck you’ve been doing while I was gone?” he said.

“Not really, no.” You replied. “Here’s the thing, Kurtis, you don’t get to go out with your friends for the whole weekend doing who-knows-what then turn around and get angry at me for spending time with the only friend from school that I still have! That’s not fair.”

“And who’s fault is that? You’re the one who pushed them all away!” Kurt stood up and advanced towards you. Normally, you would have taken a step backwards, given him space, but this time you stood your ground, clenching your fists tightly to stop them shaking.

“I’m still allowed to have a social life,” you said, struggling to keep your tone even. Kurt rolled his eyes.

“If you wanna go out and act like a fucking whore-“

“Think what you want, Kurt,” you said, “it doesn’t matter anymore. I’m leaving. You can’t stop me.”

Kurt spluttered for a moment, turning a shade of deep red. “Like fucking HELL you’re leaving me, you bitch!”

“I am!” you shot back. He was only a few inches from you now, so close his breath was hot on your face. “I’m miserable, I don’t love you anymore, and I’m done. I’ve been done for so long I can’t remember a time I was fully invested in this relationship! I deserve better! I deserve love that doesn’t make me so sad it hurts, and I can’t have that with you.”

Kurt’s face twisted into an ugly contortion of the features you once found perfect. “No. Nobody can love you the way I do! Nobody can understand you like I do! If you leave, I won’t want to live anymore. Don’t you remember? I can’t live without you!”

“Then go to a fucking hospital!” you snapped, moving to get past him. Kurt grabbed your wrist tightly. His grip was like a vice, cutting off blood supply to your fingers.

“Let go!” you begged. Kurt tugged you closer, spittle forming at the corners of his mouth, your noses almost touching. He’s going to kill me. Oh my god, he’s actually going to kill me. You saw movement by the door out of the corner of your eye, and your heart swelled.

“You heard her,” Frankie said, “let her go.”

Kurt didn’t let go, but instead gripped harder. He’s completely lost it, you thought dimly, the expression Kurt wore sending true fear into your heart.

“And just who the fuck are you?�� Kurt demanded.

“Let her go,” Frankie repeated. He didn’t raise his voice, but you could still hear the power it held. Kurt scoffed and spat at Frankie’s feet.

“This is an issue between me and my girlfriend, now get out of my apartment before I make you.”

Frankie didn’t reply, instead, he strode forward, pushed the sleeves of his flannel over shirt up as he did. Kurt didn’t wait. He pushed you hard against the kitchen bench, knocking the breath out of you and sending a shot of pain through your back, and moved to meet Frankie in the middle of the room.

It happened in an instant, blink and you miss it. Frankie swung, his fist connecting with Kurt’s jaw with a sickening crunch. Kurt went down like a lead balloon, howling as he collapsed on the floor. Frankie stood over him, breathing hard through his nose.

Manny ran forward to help you, holding you to him like the protective brother you had always wished for. It took you a few moments to realise you were shaking, out of fear or adrenaline you didn’t know.

“Come on,” he whispered soothingly, “we gotta get your stuff.” You nodded and let him help you up. You didn’t feel like you were connected with your body like you were watching the whole thing through a separate set of eyes. You saw Frankie standing over Kurt, arms crossed and boot pressing into Kurt’s chest.

Manny held your hand as you walked to your bedroom. You were distantly aware of the aching in your body, your back, and wrist especially. It was Manny who packed your bag for you, grabbing anything he thought you might need. The whole thing was done in less than ten minutes. Before you left you turned to face Kurt.

“I’ll be back sometime this week to get the rest of my stuff. Do not contact me.”

You felt your strength returning to you as you left with Frankie and Manny with you. For the first time in a long time, you felt like you could breathe.

Taglist: @hnt-escape @sharkbait77 @1800-fight-me @annathewitch @darnitdraco @frankiecatfish @punkerthanpascal @nakhudanyx @gracie7209 @quica-quica-quica @pintsizemama @phoenix-of-loki

#the night shift #frankie x reader #frankie morales x you #triple frontier #frankie catfish morales

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joonessence · 3 years ago

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The cough drop // jjk

summary: Jungkook enchants you from the second he catches your eyes from the stage of the small venue. You already know you’re gonna be falling in too deep.

wc: 2,427

tags: jk fluff i guess idk what to call this, band au

notes: this is way longer than i meant for it to be but it was so fun to write, also let me know if i should make it into a series??? possibly?? part 2 is here!

You had gone to a show with your friends for some unknown band. You’re sitting at a high table with your head supported by your hand; you’d had a long day at work and just wanted to go home. You stared at your untouched drink that had been set there by your friends earlier that night thinking of exactly which pyjamas you were going to change into when you got home; you couldn’t wait. Looking up, someone was already staring at you, eyes partially shielded by his drenched hair. He’s overwhelming from the second you meet eyes.

Your breath caught unexpectedly in your throat causing you to choke and cough. You feel your cheeks burning as you try to regulate your breathing. Once you find your natural state again, you glance up to see him still staring at you but his lips are curled up in a smirk.

You try to carry on as usual for the rest of the night until it’s acceptable for you to excuse yourself to go home but you feel his eyes on you. You turn to look at him again only to discover that he’s walking in your direction, holding something in his hand. In under a second you decide to act indifferent towards him, already expecting him to pester you. When he reaches you, he taps your shoulder and holds out his hand.

“Here, you looked like you needed this earlier.” His words sound sweet but the sly smile on his face betrays him; it’s not what you were expecting.

You look down in his hand to find a cough drop. Inside, you want to laugh but you can’t give him the satisfaction. You look up with your best blank stare.

“Do you just carry these around so that you have a reason to talk to unsuspecting girls?”

The stranger laughs so loudly at that, throwing his head back and grabbing onto your table to steady himself. When he calms down, he opens the wrapper to the cough drop and pops it into his mouth.

“No, but that was funny! I keep them for after we get off stage and my throat is scratchy,” he says with the cough drop pushed against his cheek. “What’s your name?”

You’re quiet as you try to analyze him, searching for his true intention behind talking to you. When you’re silent for a beat too long, he continues.

“I’m Jungkook, my band is the one that was playing earlier.” He looks smug, like he’s trying to impress you.

“That’s nice, Jungkook, but if you’ll excuse me I’ll be getting back to my friends now.” You say it like you mean it, but you don’t really mean it. You meet his eyes and he throws his head back again as if you’ve just said the world’s funniest joke.

“Babe, I’ve been looking at you for a while; you’re not even interested in talking to them. I thought I’d come here and offer you my companionship.” He’s still smiling and his eyes are twinkling, you can feel yourself sinking deeper into his charm.

“What makes you think I want the companionship of a stranger,” you point at him, almost poking him in the chest, then move your hand to refer to the other people sitting at your table, “over my friends?”

“Well, by the way you lost your breath when I looked at you earlier, I’d hazard a guess that you wanna talk to me.” He looks so pleased when your cheeks flame up.

“I’ll have you know that I’m getting over a cold and THAT is why I was coughing,” you say hoping he doesn’t see through your lie.

He laughs and puts his hands up, in mock defeat while reaching for something from his back pocket. He pulls out a pen and leans over to the table to scribble something on the wrapper of the cough drop.

“Well, when you decide you want to talk to me, here’s my number,” Jungkook states while sliding the wrapper over to you.

“If. If I decide to talk to you,” you correct.

He smiles softly and shakes his head, you almost mistake it as an endeared action but you know your eyes must be deceiving you.

“Okay, if you decide to talk to me, there it is,” Jungkook says as he’s walking backwards to get back to his table, still looking at you.

You let out a shaky breath, glad that you’re by yourself again. Only, you think to yourself, he wasn’t as bad as you thought he’d be. You know you’ll decide to text him later but what he doesn’t know yet won’t kill him. You finally excuse yourself from your friends, eager to get home and on your drive back you can’t get Jungkook out of your head. His sparkling eyes, the piercings that line his ears, the tattoos he has on display. His image and his words are engraved in your brain.

You throw your keys onto the coffee table when you get back to your apartment and head to your room. You look at the wrapper with Jungkook’s number written on it. Trying to convince yourself that you have no idea why you took it is futile, you know exactly why you did. Against all logic, you take your phone and type a message to him.

[you]: DONT take this as me deciding to talk to you

[you]: i was just wondering if you could tell your tall buff band member that i liked his voice

You laugh to yourself for a second before worrying he won’t get that you aren’t serious. You set your phone down and try to push down the regret that’s spreading throughout your body. Your phone dings and you reach for it immediately.

[coughkook]: oooh :( my wounded feelings i’ll never recover

[coughkook]: i won't be tell anyone anything

[coughkook]: but

[coughkook]: you can come to our next gig and maybe i’ll let you talk to him

You roll your eyes at his last message. “Let you talk to him,” you scoff and look at your phone when it dings again.

[coughkook]: it’s next friday at 8 i’ll send the address

You don’t respond after he sends it, wanting to keep Jungkook on his toes. Truthfully, you’ve already decided to go and are drafting up an excuse to cancel the plans you had with your friends.

You don’t talk to Jungkook for the next five days, until you show up to the address he sent you. You take a seat halfway between the stage and the door and look around to find Jungkook on stage with his band members. He’s talking to the buff member you mentioned to him last week, the one you thought was cute but not nearly as enchanting as Jungkook. He spots you and leaps down the stairs of the stage, god he’s so cute.

“You came,” he says with a big, too bright smile compared to the dark atmosphere of the small venue. “We go on in like, ten minutes; I hope you’re ready to be blown away.”

You scoff and roll your eyes. Jungkook needs his ego taken down a notch or two but you still find him captivating.

“Yeah, yeah just go warm up,” you say with false annoyance and send him a small grin.

He runs back to the stage and gives you a thumbs up and that same blinding smile. Your head shakes involuntarily but in your head, you know you’re locked in for good. When the lights to the venue dim even more, you sit up straight to capture every moment of Jungkook while he’s performing. You’re not ready for the next 45 minutes you experience. Jungkook’s voice is so beautiful and so full of every emotion you can think of. You can’t look away even if you tried to. Is it the stage lights or is he actually glowing? His presence overpowers everything. The way he moves with a purpose on the stage, his hand pushing his hair out of his face every so often, his eyes locking with yours. You won’t forget any of it.

When Jungkook and his band are done, he looks to you and holds up his index finger to let you know he’ll be back in a moment. You’re thankful, you feel like you need an infinite amount of time to wrap your head around what happened enough for you to speak coherent sentences. Jungkook walks around the side of the stage and practically floats to you. As he gets closer to your table he points to a full glass of water you had ordered for him earlier with a smile and shoots his eyebrows up, as if to ask if it was for him. You motion for him to go ahead and he downs the whole glass in one go. Endearingly shaking your head at him has become second nature to you by now. He slams the glass down on the table and clears his throat.

“Well?” he asks, expectantly.

“Well what?” you reply knowing what he’s asking for but playing dumb anyway.

“Well what did you think?” you’re silent so he continues, “Of us? Of me?”

“Oh that! Yeah, it was good, I guess.” It was more than good but you don’t want to inflate his already too large ego.

“Just ‘good’? You were on the edge of your seat the whole time! You basically fell out of the chair!” he says, exasperatedly. He narrows his eyes at you, “I see right through you, you know.”

“Yeah, whatever,” you say and hop off your chair. You push his shoulder to direct him to the table where his band members are. “Aren’t you gonna introduce me anyway?”

He groans but leads you there where he introduces you to them. It’s obvious that they’re more like friends than bandmates. There’s four in the band with him, Namjoon, Hoseok, Jimin, and Seokjin, and two friends Yoongi and Taehyung. You decide within a few minutes you like them all a lot.

“So you met Kookie at our last gig, right?” Namjoon asks. He’s the buff one.

“Ah, yeah. He bothered me until I gave in and messaged him, didn’t you ‘Kookie’? ” you joke and turn your head to see him roll his eyes and huff.

“Sounds like him, when are you gonna stop bothering strangers?” Hoseok directs to Jungkook.

“I can’t believe you guys are actually falling for this! I had her swooning for me the second she saw me,” Jungkook retaliates.

You wish what he said wasn’t true but you know it is. And seeing him with his friends doesn’t help the growing feelings in your chest. You spend the rest of the night talking with them and learning every embarrassing piece of information you can about Jungkook, you’ll use it all later. Way too often do you lose yourself in staring at Jungkook. He’s too alluring for his own good. When the night comes to an end, Jungkook offers you a ride home. Normally, you wouldn’t accept but you couldn’t refuse the way he begged you to go with him. In the car, Jungkook complains about how you spent too much time talking to his friends rather than him.

“Wait… did you think I was there for you?” You cover your mouth in faux embarrassment to accompany your act.

Jungkook’s head turns towards you. He’s got his mouth open in shock and he’s trying to come up with words when you take pity on him.

“I’m just kidding, Jungkook. Of course I went for you. You were really good,” you flush pink as you say it but not as pink as Jungkook flushes when he hears it.

“Thank you,” he mumbles and you laugh out loud.

The rest of the ride is spent with you teasing him for getting jealous and him teasing you back for getting so caught up in watching him. Neither of you deny it because you both know you can’t. Jungkook rolls to a stop in front of your apartment building and looks at you.

“I’ll message you when I get home, okay?”

You nod and let out a breathy “okay.” You thank him and tell him goodnight and walk up the stairs to the lobby of the building. You turn to look at him and he gives you a confused look.

“Why aren’t you going in yet?” he shouts.

You laugh loudly. “I wanna watch you drive away!”

He makes a face and you giggle.

“Get back in your car, Kookie.” You shoo him with your hand.

He laughs to himself and it's his turn to shake his head at you but he listens to your instructions anyway. You watch him drive off until you can’t. You can’t think straight so much that you might as well levitate up to your apartment. Jungkook makes you dizzy. You’re not even sure how you changed out of your clothes and got into bed with less than half a brain left. You don’t wait long for Jungkook’s message.

[coughkook]: i’m home :)

[coughkook]: thanks for coming <3

You smile to yourself and respond wasting no time.

[you]: thanks for inviting me! :)

[coughkook]: come to our next one?

[coughkook]: if you can

[coughkook]: the boys liked you, thought you were funny. they want you to come again

You roll your eyes at Jungkook’s ego again.

[you]: hmm the boys or you?

[coughkook]: the boys AND me want you to come again

Your heart beats faster in your chest. You weren’t expecting Jungkook to be so honest, so quickly. You definitely would go again, definitely will go again, actually.

[you]: oooh you like me so much

[you]: i’ll come

[coughkook]: ugh

[coughkook]: yes but i know you like me too so we’re even

[you]: hm

[you]: that’s fine with me

[coughkook]: good

[coughkook]:i’ll text you in the morning, goodnight <3

[you]: goodnight kookie

You assume he won’t see it until morning but you send him another message anyway but you’re surprised to see that he responds immediately. Wasn’t he supposed to be asleep or could he not sleep because he was replaying every moment he had with you, the same way you were doing with him.

[you]: i wasn’t sick

[coughkook]: i know LOL you thought i was pretty didn’t you?

[you]: ugh yes but i know you think i’m pretty too so we’re even

Your face burns at Jungkook’s last message of the night.

[coughkook]: yeah but even if we weren’t even i would still think you’re the prettiest girl i’ve seen

#jjk #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook #jungkook fluff #jjk fluff #jungkook fic #bts jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #bts fic #jeon jungkook x reader

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daebakinc · 3 years ago

Text

Ghost

Pairing: Sunggyu x Reader (G) Prompt: Ghost Word Count: 1.4K

~Admin V

You used to think of yourself as being good at math. In high school you were asked to tutor students before exams. You even got to skip finals because your average was above 90%. But now you were in university and you found out you were not good at math.

Maybe it was that you didn’t have class everyday like in high school or that you were expected to read the math textbook on your own and understand it. Whatever the case, where you used to bring home As you were now getting Cs, and that was only because you turned in homework and participated. When the homework was returned to you, it was full of mistakes and marked up.

You didn’t have any friends in class, so you couldn’t have a study buddy. It was also unfortunate that tutoring times were during your class and work schedule. You just hoped you’d be able to retain enough formulas to help you pass the final so you would never have to take math again.

You sat in your dorm’s common room with your book open, half hoping someone would see your pathetic attempt at studying and come save you. No one did.

You’d erased the problem you were working on so many times, that as your eraser skidded across the paper this round, it ripped it. Out of anger you balled up the paper and threw it at the wall.

A shower. That would give you some reprieve from this hideousness. Maybe after you would have a clearer mind. You left your book with notebook inside on the table. If someone wanted to steal it, at least you’d have an excuse for not doing it.

You took extra time, washing your hair, exfoliating, just standing under the hot water, anything to delay the inevitable.

You dragged your feet back to your room and put on pjs before going back to the common room. You took a deep breath to brace yourself for what would take you the next few hours.

When you opened your book, you were confused. On your notebook were all the problems set up. Then, the problems were mostly solved out. All that was missing was the final step and the answer.

You looked around. Who helped you? You looked at your notebook again. Whoever helped you was very smart. They broke down the problems in more steps than what the professor showed you. It made it so much easier to solve. You were able to complete the homework in no time.

“Thank you!” you called out when you finished. You skipped happily back to your room. You’d actually be able to get some sleep tonight.

The next week, math went smoother because you were able to use the new breakdown to solve the new problems given. The following week was a different story, however. Once again, your professor expected you to read and understand the textbook to know how to solve these new equations and memorize the different formulas.

You found yourself once again in the common room, waiting for someone to help, or at least the person who helped you last time to reveal themselves. No one came.

You sighed. You closed up your book and notebook and left them on the table again. You needed a break, so walked back to your room to make some ramen. Maybe food would help you focus and think.

Again, you took your time to savor every noodle. You even sipped the broth slowly. Too soon it was time to go back to your math homework.

You groaned as you sat down on the lumpy sofa. You opened up all your books ready to work. You gasped. Someone helped you once more! The formulas were written down clearer and equations broken down more simply. You just needed to finish solving them like last time.

This time when you finished, you took a leaf of paper from your note book and left a note on the table. Thank you, Mystery Math Wiz!

The next day you walked in the common room to see if anyone responded to your note. Unhelpfully, there were a few responses. You’re welcome. No problem, my good bitch. Fuck math. There were also a few uncreative penis drawings. You threw out the note then decided to try something different later that night.

After midnight you went back with your math book and notebook. You left them closed as you had previously then went back to you room and slept for the night. When you woke the next morning, you hurried to your math book. You pulled out your notebook and sat on the lumpy couch.

First on the note was the message you left:

Dear Mystery Math Wiz,

Thank you for helping me with the math homework. Do you like cookies? Tell me your favorite and I’ll make you some to return the favor!

Then, to your happy surprise, there was a response.

Dear Mathematically Impaired,

I just couldn’t take the torture of watching you countlessly butcher equation after equation. I don’t eat. Just leave your supplies next time you need help.

It wasn’t in the realm of what you expected. Couldn’t take the torture of watching you . . . Where were they watching you? It was normally empty in the commons when you did the homework. Now you were a little creeped out. And then the, I don’t eat. Everyone eats. Maybe they just meant no cookies. You didn’t dwell on it too long. Regardless of the strange response, they had helped you with the impossible. And at least they didn’t draw a penis.

A couple more weeks passed. You left your books in the common room with your notebook as suggested. You left another note as well. After working on art history homework you came out to see if MMW had been to help.

Success! They organized how to do the new assignments. You looked at the note you left.

Math Wiz,

I am infinitely grateful for your math help. Is there anything I can do to repay you? We have a big test coming up. Would you be open to meeting in person for some tutoring? I’m okay with meeting late since that seems to be when you have time.

The Response:

Math Impaired,

Really, just seeing the math done correctly is thanks enough. I don’t think meeting will be possible. Just leave tabs and circle the things you need help with. Think of it as me studying with you in spirit.

The notes and math help continued for the rest of the semester. All that was left now was the final exam. Because of the Mystery Math Wiz, you actually felt prepared.

You sat in the common room writing a farewell note to them.

Math Wiz,

The final is tomorrow. Wish me luck! Thanks to you I think I actually stand a change of pulling a decent grade. It’s funny though. I’m happy math is ending, but I’m sad I won’t have this fun communication with you anymore. Are you sure you can’t meet up? I’d like to think we could be great friends. . .

“Hi, are you okay?”

You looked up mid-sentence. A very handsome, but very pale guy stood in front of you. He had a kind of charm, despite his out of fashion clothes.

You closed your notebook. “Uh, hi. Yeah, I’m okay?”

The guy chuckled at your confusion. “Sorry. You just looked sad.” He sat down in the chair next to the couch.

“Ah. I guess I am. I’m sort of writing a goodbye letter.”

He looked at you curiously then looked at your math book. “A sad goodbye letter to math?” He smiled.

You smiled back. “No, that is a happy goodbye. There’s a friend who helped me study, but now that math is ending I don’t think we’ll be in contact anymore.”

“Ah. Well I’m sure it’s nothing to do with you. School life can be busy.”

You crinkled your forehead. “I guess. I just really wanted to show them how thankful I am. They were a real life saver. I just know we would’ve been great friends, if they’d given it a shot.”

“Maybe you would’ve if things were different.”

How vague. “Who did you say you were again?”

He smiled again. “I’m Sunggyu.”

You returned his grin and introduced yourself.

“Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. I’m sure your Mystery Math Wiz knows how much you appreciated the help. You don’t seem too mathematically impaired anymore.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

Sunggyu nodded and got up.

“Hey,” you called after him. “Maybe I’ll see you around?”

He turned and smiled once more. “Not likely.”

That threw you. You looked back to your notebook. What an odd response. But . . . did he say Mystery Math Wiz? Was he . . .

“Sunggyu!” You looked at where he just stood, but no one was there.

#31 Days of Halloween #sunggyu #infinite #kim sunggyu #sunggyu scenarios #infinite scenarios #sunggyu fics #infinite fics #kpop scenarios

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ditttiii · 4 years ago

Text

Mobius

They say some infinities are bigger than others’ and you can’t say that you fully understood what that meant—at least not until you fell in love with Kim Namjoon, the time-traveller and the man who lived in your house, decades before you.

◈ Pairing: Namjoon x Reader (A Time Travel AU // strangers to lovers AU)

◈ Genre: Romance, Angst with a happy ending, Smut, Fluff (PG-18) (slight hair pulling, if that’s a problem for you here’s a warning)

◈ Word Count: 9657 (of which 3k is smut so lol you’re welcome)

◈ Based on the prompt: In the middle of the night, you hear strange sounds. You go to investigate, only to find a man rummaging through your fridge. At the same time, you both say, "What are you doing in my house?" It turns out that the man lived in your house decades ago. But how did he get here? by @megahwn

◈ Event: Written for the “Prompt Twist” event hosted by @bangtanidx

“Because time is a drop in the ocean, and you cannot measure off one drop against another to see which one is bigger, which one is smaller.”

Mobius :: an infinite loop.

*clang*

Your brows furrow as you turn on your bedside lamp and you wince when the bright light assaults your vision. As your blurry eyes try to focus on your bedside alarm clock, you realise that it has been less than three hours since you went to bed.

'What the hell?!' Is the thought at the forefront of your mind as you groan and scoot off your bed. Your scowl only grows darker as your feet touch the cold floor of your apartment.

You had recently bought the property two months ago. You were a writer by profession, and while your books didn't top the bestsellers list, you earned enough to live comfortably. The added bonus of your job being your passion wasn't lost on you either.

As you walk across your room to your door, the noises only get louder. You think you had closed the windows before going to sleep so it shouldn't be the wind, but maybe the wind was strong, and the latch unlocked on its own?

When you had bought the land, it wasn't barren. The property you had bought also had a two-storey built house on it, one you had additionally paid for too. However, it's times like tonight that make you think, that perhaps, buying an old house, with creaky floorboards and loose windows wasn't the smartest decision.

Climbing down the stairs, you tighten your robe around your body to shield yourself from the cold that would settle every time the sun would set. Again, one of the perks of buying an old, abandoned house.

You follow the sounds to your kitchen, your feet padding across the living room. The sound of your footsteps drowned by the noises that were coming from the kitchen.

However, as you enter your kitchen, you freeze midstep. Your eyes widen, and you take a step back, as your eyes take in the scene.

There was a man, crouched over, rummaging through your fridge for lord knows what. A man who you had, from the looks of his back, never seen before in your life.

Your breathes quicken, and adrenaline flows through your veins as your fight or flight instinct kicks in.

You move soundlessly, tiptoeing to where there is a lamp kept on a small table. Your eyes stay locked onto the intruders hunched over figure as you pick it up, wrapping the wire around your arm, to make sure that it wouldn't make any noise as you move.

'To charge or to ask?' The thought runs through your head as your eyes stay trained on his figure. While you did want to protect yourself, you also didn't want to accidentally, fatally injure a hungry, homeless man. As your eyes roam over his old fashioned outfit, your belief only strengthens. Definitely homeless.

When you move to close the distance, the floor below your feet creeks and you curse. Hearing the sound of your curse, the intruders face snaps up, his figure spinning and turning to look at you.

You freeze like a deer caught in headlights, as your eyes lock with him, and at the same time, you both say, "What are you doing in my house?"

Your brows furrow and your eyes narrow, as you scoff out an, "Excuse me? The house you're in right now? Yeah, mine."

Taking a threatening step toward him, you raise your lamp and continue, "Now let me ask that again, Who are you and just what the fuck do you think you are doing in my house, hoarding my fridge?"

The man raises his brows incredulously as he points at himself and goes, "I don't know who you are, but this is my house." He then pauses as his eyes travel to where you are holding the lamp high above your head before he continues, "And I believe that lamp is loose, I'd suggest that you lower your hand before the bulb falls off and shatters on your head."

You blink taken aback before your eyes narrow further. You look up and flinch away from the lamp as you realise that the stranger wasn't lying.

"Who even—"

"Are you?" The unknown man finishes your thought, before looking at you with raised a brow.

Somehow, that makes you feel a little stupid and that, annoys you more.

'Fuck him and his holier-than-thou attitude.' Your mind supplies, miffed and maybe a little irrational, as you further narrow your eyes at him.

"Well genius, why don't you answer the question then?" You practically spit out, your words coming out more like a hiss at the end. You were at your wits end, and your patience was all but ready to snap.

The man looks at you, his jaw clenched and jutting out as he regards you. You unconsciously pull your robe tighter over your body, unsure and wary of his intent. His eyes sweep over you, then sweep over your kitchen, narrowed and contemplative?

"Excuse me?!"

"Shush, one second." He replies as he raises a finger at you as if to ask you to stay quiet?

'What the actual fuck?' Is the only thought that runs through your head as you stand there and wait for the man to finish musing over whatever it was that he was contemplating. There wasn't much else that you could do anyway. You take that time to observe him too and gulp when you see how low the neckline of his shirt is. The material thin and almost see-through hangs lose around his body, the cuffs draping low over his fingers.

You think if you hadn't met him in such unconventional circumstances, you'd have been interested in him.

"The bedroom is through the second door on the floor above this. Also, there is a crack that runs through the third tile on the left of the bathroom door."

Your gaze snaps back to him when you hear him say that and you gape.

Your mouth opens, but no words come out as you look at him with furrowed brows. He shouldn't—couldn't have known those finer details about the interior of your house.

"Wh-what?" Your voice comes out soft, unsure, as your head tilts in confusion. His dark, thin eyes track the movement, follow the way your hair come loose with the motion and slip past your shoulder.

"I have a theory behind why I am in your kitchen, but I don't think you'll believe me." He responds, his eyes never once straying from where they were fixed somewhere on your shoulder.

Your eyes furrow in confusion as your eyes track his line of sight, a soft gasp leaving your mouth as you realise your robe had slipped off your shoulder, and the bare skin of your shoulder was in his plain sight. Quickly gliding a hand over your forearm, pretending like you were itching at a point on your shoulder, you slide your robe up.

The strangers' eyes snap away then, and he blushes?

His behaviour was confusing you more and more. First, he wasn't answering your questions then he was creepy staring at your bare shoulder, and it all that wasn't enough now, he was embarrassed.

'It's way too early for this.'

You clear your throat and wait for him to look at you before continuing, "Right, I might not believe you, but I'd like to hear your theory anyway, but," and here you hold your finger up before you continue, " I'd like to know your name first. Mine's Y/n, and I can't say it's exactly a pleasure to meet you."

At that, he cracks a smile before he puts his hand out and goes, "Hello, I'm Namjoon and uh, I am sorry about all this," Here he randomly waves his hand in the air as if to indicate the mess you two were in before he continues, "but let's talk? I'll try my best to explain."

You nod and shake his hand, a little wary before you gesture him to follow you and you both settle down on your living room couches. Him on the seat opposite yours, as you wait for him to continue.

Namjoon, as you now know, wrings his hands, chin again jutting out as he seems to be deep in his thoughts. You glance at the living room clock and wince when you see the time but don't say anything, for once not disturbing him and instead wait for him to gather his thoughts.

"Do you know who I am?"

Your brows furrow when you hear him say that and you give him a look as if to say what do you think?

He, however, doesn't take any offence to your snappy attitude, and continues, "I mean, have you ever heard my name before?"

At that, you furrow your brows and shrug. "I know a few Namjoons so, what?"

His eyes widen when he hears you say that and he huffs, "Right, My bad, what I meant was my full name is Kim Namjoon. Does that ring any bells?"

Your eyes widen when you hear him say his full name. 'Kim Namjoon', your lips form the words, but no sound comes out. The back of your neck breaks out in cold sweat when you finally put the name to his face. Back when you had been looking to buy the property, your agent had informed you of Namjoons status; missing, and the conspiracy around his disappearance, still no signs of where he was or how he went missing.

He looks at you, observes your reaction and nods as if you had just confirmed something. "That's what I thought. My name is Kim Namjoon, and I am or well," here he stops before he looks at the calendar that was on the table beside his couch and continues, "Was the owner of this house 40 years ago."

You blink before your mouth opens, but again no words come out, and you close your mouth again. Thinking back to a few minutes ago, it suddenly makes sense to you as to how Namjoon would know those details about the interior of your house.

'He lived here, or is it lives here?'

"Where were you all this time then?" You ask instead, you have too many questions and you don't know which one you should ask first so, you go with what comes to your mind first.

Namjoon glances at you surprised, maybe he had expected you to freak out, which would be the logical thing to do, but you are a fantasy author, and you remember what Kim Namjoon's profession was, you just hope your hunch is right and that he wasn't a ghost instead.

As you raise your brow, he snaps out of whatever stupor he was stuck in and continues, "I've been living here. Well or I was at least, I don't know how to explain it to you. I barely understand it on my own, but I have a guess." He fumbles as he explains and you just nod to indicate that you are listening, encouraging him to continue.

"So, if you don't know who I am or was, ugh—I don't know, this is so confusing. But, well, I am a scientist, a physicist if I have to be precise. I studied time, the concept of stars, galaxies, a mixture of quantum and astrophysics." Here his hands flap around in the air randomly, which you think is his way of trying to get his point across and so you just nod to show that you are following along.

He looks at you and nods before one of his hands' rakes through his hair, the strands long, and dark, move under the force, and you gulp as your mouth suddenly goes dry. Now that you are no longer in mortal danger, your brain was finally picking up on how good looking the stranger or not such a stranger, was. His hands big, his fingers thin, long and ridiculously hot.

You snap your gaze away from him and blush as you realise just where your train of thoughts was going and internally admonish yourself for letting your libido get the best of you.

'Focus Y/N, have some shame, will you?' You think to yourself before you let out a quiet huff and straighten up, snapping your gaze back to Namjoon as you hear him continue.

"I don't fully understand how this happened either, but I had been working on a time machine." Here his eyes tentatively find yours probably expecting to see a look of disbelief or annoyance, however, you keep your face straight and expressions neutral, just nodding along as a gesture to continue.

'So your hunch was right.'

"It was a prototype, and I didn't think it would work, I mean time travel wasn't exactly a possible belief amongst the scientist community back then, probably still isn't, is it?" He asks you and looks at you with his brows raised and you fumble. You don't know if it is or isn't, but you hadn't heard about anyone inventing any time machine, so you just shake your head and hope you are right.

He nods along as if you had confirmed something again and you internally wonder why he would hold your opinion and answers so high. You barely know him, he hardly knows you too, what reasons did he have for trusting you? You could be lying, but then again what would you get from lying, it's not like you were intruding in his space.

'Or were you?' Your brain supplies and you run a hand through your hair, raking your fingers across your scalp as you groan out loud, the confusion and insaneness of the situation enough to make you feel like you were going to go crazy.

Namjoon surprised, swivels his gaze to you and frowns before he asks, concerned, "Hey, Are you okay? Do you need me to get you a glass of water? I know this is a lot to take in I can wait."

You are a little taken aback by how genuine his concern is, as you look up at him, you see his eyes on you. Squinted and full of worry, for you— a virtual stranger.

Seeing him genuinely concerned for your well being you feel a little bad about your earlier actions, and in response, you just give a small smile which you think comes out more as a grimace instead, but thankfully he doesn't comment on it.

Shaking your head with a soft, "I am fine." You urge him to continue, taking in a deep breath and settling yourself more comfortably on the couch; you have a feeling it's going to be a long night.

It has been a month since Namjoon had somehow managed to time-travel, to your time, a month since you two had started sharing the same roof over your heads.

You also were right back then because it was a long night.

Namjoon had apparently been testing the prototype of the time machine he was working on, the prototype still in its early stages wasn't fully developed, and Namjoon himself was still figuring things out with where he wanted to take that model.

On his part, it was just a side project, his little brain baby that he worked on in his spare time—something he had high hopes for but because of society and the opinions of his colleagues had been pushed back, and turned into a secret project. Not many believed that something like 'Time travel,' was possible and so they would ridicule Namjoon for his belief, mock him—call him crazy and delusional.

Your heart hurts when you think about that night now, because while you hadn't been close to Namjoon then, you are now.

In the time that you have known him, Namjoon has proven himself to be the kindest, most considerate and sweet man ever. His affection wasn't loud, and he didn't speak about how much he cared for you. Instead, his kindness and care shine through with his actions, the little things he does throughout the day that sometimes you miss at that moment, but later realise and appreciate when you think back.

His care comes through when he leaves behind a cup of coffee, made just the way you like it, every single morning on a tray outside your bedroom door with a glass of water. Or in the way, his soft voice whispers about constellations or other galaxies and paints another world as he sits on the floor beside your bed and helps you fall asleep, his hand running through the strands of your hair, just like your mother did when you were a child.

Those miscellaneous little acts of his were what kept pushing you to fall for him. You try to hold yourself back, try not to them affect you—but you know it's all in vain.

Your heart physically aches—clenches in on itself, when he looks at you with glittering eyes, orbs full of excitement and a sense of pride in his own self, when he makes a breakthrough with his repair of the prototype.

You want to be happy; you want to feel happy for him, but at the same time, you can't help but hope that his repairs don't go well, that instead, they take time. The time that you can then use to get to know him better because, good lord, do you want to know him better.

You know it's selfish to want that, he doesn't belong in the present time. Because while the land you both lived on might be same, nothing else was—not the time, not the people, nothing.

Remembering that little tiny detail, however, is hard, so so hard because you want him to be, you want him to belong to your world, to your time—to you.

Never before have you met a man who makes your heart race as Namjoon does. He makes you feel loved, cherished, happy and you selfishly want more of it, more of this happiness, more of him.

"Y/N have you seen the number four screwdriver?" You hear Namjoon yell out from your basement, his voice bellowing through the house to where you are sitting in the living room.

"Did you try the kitchen drawer?" You shout back, the back and forth of your dialogue from halfway across the house now a daily occurrence.

It's quiet for a moment, and then you hear steps padding across your creaky basement stairs, and then Namjoon is in the living room doorway, a full closelipped smile on display, passing you by on his way to the kitchen.

Your eyes follow his tall figure as he walks to the kitchen and you wince when you hear a crash, before a "Sorry about that," reaches you, and you just huff in exasperated fondness.

In the last month, you have come to realise that while Namjoon is a brilliant scientist, he is also an incredibly clumsy person, with him breaking things left and right. Just within this week, he has already shattered two of your coffee cups and a vase your mom had given you for your last birthday.

I've got to say, not too sad about the vase.

Your gaze snaps up when you hear him coming back to the living room, and you smile softly as his eyes lock with yours for a moment before he proceeds to go down the stairs to the basement.

It has been three months since you first moved in; two months since Namjoon came into your life. There wasn't much time between these two incidences, which was why you hadn't been able to fix your house and change the interior before he time travelled. And while you have slowly been making progress room after room with Namjoons help, that wasn't the case a month ago.

The basement, aka Namjoons lab, virtually abandoned for close to four decades was dusty and home to all sorts of insects and rodents; but still the same as he had left it. It was probably because of this reason that Namjoon hadn't initially noticed that his prototype had worked and that he had actually managed to time travel to the future.

The changes that you had made after moving in during the initial two months were minor enough that when Namjoon made his way to your kitchen that night a month ago, they went unnoticed by him; the dim lighting and lateness of the hour only helping to hide the changes more.

Since then you have slowly been working on repairing your home, fixing the roofs and the leaks, changing the creaky floorboards. It was a tough task, and some days you wonder if buying the land was more trouble than it was worth, but then you think of Namjoon and realise you would never have met him, if not for the house and then suddenly your fondness for the land grows.

The creaky floorboards, the chittering of mice running around in your basement, the musky smell of old wood, it all feel warm, almost cosy to you. Maybe it's just your lonely soul cherishing the company of Namjoons’ presence, but you don't dwell on the reasons, knowing full well that—that particular train of thoughts would result in you falling in love, and love wasn't ever kind to you.

Sighing you crane your neck, and let it fall onto the back of your couch, as your thoughts go to places you wish they wouldn't go.

As the clanks of Namjoon fixing up his lab, ring in the back you close your eyes and take a deep breath in, savour the moment—his presence, while you still can.

You hear Namjoons feet pad into the kitchen while you are cooking dinner, and you twist to shoot him a smile before you turn back to continue chopping the vegetables. You would ask him for help, but another thing besides elementary hand-eye coordination, that Namjoon wasn't good at was cooking.

While your new home is a little rough around the edges, it still doesn't deserve to be burned down into hot embers.

"Should I go ahead and set the plates out?" Namjoon asks from where he is leaning on the counter beside you, his eyes following the motion of your hands as you deftly chop the vegetables.

You hum and nod, a soft "Sure, Thank you," Slipping past your lips as you look back down to your chopping board to avoid looking at him for too long.

He is wearing a black muscle shirt, his muscular, coiled arms on display, with hints of his build chest and abbs showing through as the material hugs his body.

You turn your head and allow your hair to fall around your face, curtaining your blushing cheeks and wandering eyes, and take a moment to collect yourself.

It's a little ridiculous how much he affects you, how much his deep, smooth voice feels like molten gold to your ears, his smile and the crinkle around his eyes the brightest parts of your day.

You don't want to like him; if it was, something that was in your control you would prefer to hate him instead.

But the simple fact is that it wasn't—isn't in your control, not when he smiles only for his perfect dimples to pop out, not when he sits for hours beside you as you cry and stress over a chapter or lack of inspiration. Not when he then proceeds to tell you that you can do it because you are Y/N and amazing and he has complete faith in you.

Kim Namjoon is everything you have ever wanted in a man, kind, smart, hard-working, intelligent. It's like, instead of flesh and bones, he is moulded from stardust and magic, too perfect, too good to be true.

Your breath hitches and your heart skips a beat when you feel him lean closer to you, his front softly grazing against your back, as his long, tan arm stretches over your shoulder to the cupboard above and you grip the knife in your hands tighter, your body feeling light just by his mere proximity.

You breathe in to calm down, and it only makes things worse, because with every breath it's like you are breathing him in. The scent of his cologne spicy like cinnamon or spearmint, with an underlying tone of his own fragrance, something so primally Namjoon, that just the tiniest waft of it makes you feel faint.

When he finds whatever it was that he had been looking for, he pauses, inches a little closer to you, his entire front now pressed softly against your back. As he brings his hand back to himself, it grazes against your wrist then glides over your hand, lingers a little on your elbow, before it moves back to its owner.

His touch leaves fire behind in its wake, goosebumps rising over every inch of your skin and you bite your lower lip to stop any unwanted sounds from tumbling out.

It's when he is finally setting down the utensils that you allow yourself to breathe in fully, your chest aching and tight due to lack of oxygen, as you try to get your racing heart under control.

His voice rings across the kitchen as you hear him call you, to join him, and your reply comes in the form of a high pitched, "Yeah!"

Scrunching your nose at the glaringly obvious pitch change, you hope that he doesn't pick up on it. You aren't sure how much of this back and forth teasing you can take before you finally snap, but you have a feeling that the threshold isn't too far off.

You set the bowl of popcorn down on the centre table before you move to sit, your legs curling under you, as you throw a blanket over them to block the chilly night air. The open window allows in the cool breeze from outside, the subtle fragrance of wet mud and roses from your garden wafting in the living room along with it.

"Which movie?" Asks Namjoon as he takes the seat beside you, the cushion dipping under his weight as he slides himself under your shared blanket.

You bend to pick the bowl of popcorn before you hold it over the shared blanket and shrug, replying, "Surprise me."

You allow your eyes stray over to Namjoon. While he is busy picking a movie; you watch the way his brows furrow, that familiar jutted chin making an appearance as he concentrates on the task, his long post-shower hair falling in front of his eyes as messy, wet strands.

Your gaze snaps up to his eyes when you hear him snort, "Talk about ironic, Have you seen this movie before?" He asks with a tilt of his head towards the T.V, and you see the movie title, 'I'll Never Forget You,' a film by Roy Baker and you shake your head, the movie too classic for your usual taste.

Ever since you and Namjoon have started the tradition of watching a movie every night before bed, your repertoire of classic films has expanded, with him introducing you to many of his favourites, while you show him yours.

It's sweet, domestic, almost couply, and your heart tightens a little in your chest every time you realise that while the intimacy might seem real, it isn't the truth.

The inevitability of Namjoon going back to his time isn't lost on you either.

The movie starts, and you recline back onto your couch, the shared bowl of popcorn between you and Namjoon slowly growing lighter as the film progresses. Your fingers bump into each other; some accidentally, and some intentionally. The slide of your nails softly moving against his long, thin fingers, holding more of your attention than the movie.

Your fingers tangle as you both dig for the last few popcorns and you pretend it's not deliberate, but you can't deny that your heart races with the simple action.

The plot progresses, and your hands grow sweaty, your unease increasing as you realise just why Namjoon had called the movie ironic.

The plot revolves around a scientist, who goes back in time and takes the place of one of his ancestors. Fated to marry a woman called Kate, he slowly gets to know her, only to be more interested in her sister Helen. As he stumbles throughout the movie, making mistakes and saying things he shouldn't, dropping his knowledge of the future, Helen falls more and more in love with him.

You shift, uncomfortable and watch as he finally admits to Helen that he is from the future and shows her his basement laboratory, the similarity of the plot while not exact was still quite noticeable.

The end though is what leaves you frozen, your limbs feeling cold and unmoving, as your eyes take in the scene where the man goes back to his time and realises that when he left the past timeline, Helen's grief and sorrow, ate her inside until it finally became too much and took her life.

As the end credits roll, you stay frozen, your spine ramrod straight and your eyes unfocused and blurry, filled with tears that drip down to your cheeks.

You feel as Namjoon shifts to get up, but pauses when he sees you crying. You think you hear him call out your name, but your ears are ringing, and your head is buzzing, filled with far too many troubling thoughts.

Is that going to be me? Will my grief and sorrow cripple me too? You dread just the thought of him going back, how will you ever survive the reality?

Your body shudders, as a loud sob escapes you and you finally break down. Tears drip out of your eyes, leaving wet trails against the soft skin of your cheeks. You taste their saltiness on your lips, feel as your lungs burn due to lack of oxygen as shudder after shudder rack your body.

You hear Namjoon move, as he shifts closer to you and starts running his hands over your forearms, pulling you closer to him and you bury your face in the crook of his neck and let the tears wet his skin.

When another shudder racks your body, you try to take a breath in, your lungs clenching in on themselves, but you regret it instantly.

With every single broken inhale, you breathe more of Namjoon, his cologne, his very own essence, the scent a mixture of the wild and old books.

It's confusing and insane—and so painfully Namjoon. The duality of it much like its owner in the way that Namjoon would be the quietest, most focused person ever when he is working on something, but would turn goofy and clumsy the next second, would make you laugh so hard that your cheeks would hurt and you'd be left gasping for breath.

His presence is like a shot of heroin to your bloodstream, and you are afraid you might be addicted, maybe you are addicted. You must be because the thought of him not being there under the same roof, the same timeline kills you, makes you feel like clawing your heart out and throwing it away, so it would just finally stop hurting.

"Y/N, hey shush, it's a movie, it's okay, you are fine, shush, come here," Namjoon says and pulls you closer, and you suddenly want to scream, pull your hair out, throw a tantrum because doesn't he understand? Doesn't he get that it wasn't just a movie? That someday the scientist would be him and the heartbroken woman in love, you?

He runs his hand over your back, caresses your skin through the layer of your shirt, and you want to push him away, pull him closer. You want him to go away, want him to stay. You want to hold him close, keep him in your arms, house him in your heart so that you never lose him.

You bite your lip as a shudder racks through your body again, and sob out, "Why would you show m-me th-that?" Your words come out broken and in pieces at the end, and you bury your face deeper into his neck. Maybe if you push hard enough, you can push yourself inside him, and then you two can stay together forever.

You feel him tighten his arms around you as he brings you closer, his face coming to rest on the crown of your head, his chin rubbing small, slow circles on the top.

"I am sorry," He says, his voice is smooth—deep, and you feel as the words come rumbling out of his chest, feel the vibrations against your skin, and you clench your eyes closed, more tears slipping out.

"Hey shush, Y/N please don't cry, I am so sorry, I shouldn't have put it on, that was stupid of me, I—" Here he pauses, takes a breath in and you feel his chest moving against yours before he continues, "I should have known better."

You hear his apology, but it does nothing to soothe the burn in your chest because it's not like he has done anything to hurt you, all he did was show you a movie. It's your sentimental, stupid, lovesick heart that decided to take it personally.

"Can you look at me?" You hear him whisper close to your ear, and you tremble, your fingers gripping his shirt around his waist as you nod, the motion making your hair run against his chin and you feel as he shifts, drops a kiss on the crown of your head, his hands moving to rub over your arms.

He cradles your face softly, and his fingers softly caress your cheeks, wipe the tears away, before they make soft circles over your cheekbones. You melt at his touch, of course you do, because no matter what happens, regardless of how much you end up getting hurt at the end, the simple fact is that at this moment? Nestled between the strong, warm arms of the man that you are in love with, you'd choose the pain, the grief, the inevitable agony because at least you have him now. And maybe you are a little selfish—a little stupid, but you still don't want to push him away, not when you can have him now.

Eventually, your breaths start coming out a little clearer, your sobs no longer sending shudders down your spine, and you lay there drained. Tucked under Namjoons chin as he rocks you side to side in slow, gentle motions.

You smile against his neck because it reminds you so much of how your mom would calm you down when you were a child, and your heart squeezes a little in your chest at the realisation.

"Could you get me some water?" You mumble into the crook of Namjoons’ neck. Your words come out soft, and a little muffled but thankfully he understands them and moves to shift away from you, and you let him, moving back and bowing your head, as you wipe away the tear tracks and block your running nose.

'Great look Y/N. Real nice.'

Looking at your reflection in the glass of the centre-table, you wince when you see puffy, bloodshot eyes staring back at you.

The sound of a glass falling into the sink snaps you out of your thoughts, and you snort, Namjoon's clumsiness more endearing than anything else at this point.

"Joon, you good?"

"Yeah! uh, I'll be out in a minute, just stay there will you?"

"Will do!" And with that, you relax back into the cushion. The two of you had gotten the routine down pretty quick, while you were all for supporting each other, you had realised that your presence around him only increased his clumsiness further for some reason, which would then result into more broken dishes. And so, for the sake of both your crockery bill and Namjoons pride, you stay put.

As you shift to lay more comfortably on the couch, your eyes stray to your garden outside, being a writer wasn't exactly an office job. Most of your time was spent at home, usually in your balcony as you'd groan and painstakingly figure out plot details. So, you had grown your garden with a lot of care, much like anything else in your life. You took your time with it, cared and nurtured for the seeds until they finally bloomed to be the beautiful flowers that they were today.

You like taking your time with things, whether it's writing a book or forming friendships or even falling in love. You are patient, and you believe in taking the time to get to know other people, but with Namjoon, you are afraid instead of being too quick, you might be too late.

As you hear his feet pad across the house, towards you, your resolve strengthens.

The idea is crazy, sudden, not thought through at all, but you also know that if you give yourself any more time to think, you will cop-out. So, with your heart in your throat, you spin around and blurt, "I think I am in love with you, please don't go."

Looking back perhaps blurting out your undying love without any context whatsoever wasn't the smartest decision on your part.

You worry your bottom lip with your teeth as your eyes take in another broken glass and spilt water.

You force your eyes to not stray—to not travel up to the man who is standing in the middle of all the wreckage, surrounded by broken glass and spilt water. You don't know what the expression on his face is, what the thoughts whirring inside his head are, but at the moment you aren't sure if you want to know them either.

The sound of breaking glass had served as a wake up a call to you, whatever insane bravado that had led you to decide that confessing your feelings would be a good idea, sapping away with the loud sound and bringing you back to your senses.

Your fists clench when you hear Namjoon shift as he takes a step forward, in response you take two back.

"H-hey careful! There's glass all over the floor. You'll hurt yourself!" You squeak out, but Namjoon doesn't stop nor does he reply.

His feet pad closer to you, and the sound rings in the quiet of the room almost ominously.

You trip over your own feet in your haste to get off the couch and move away, nearly face-planting against the floor, but save yourself at the last second. When you push your head up, raking a hand through your hair and pushing the strands back, you realise that Namjoon is right there—in front of you.

"What did you just say?" He almost whispers, his voice coming out quiet and raspy—but to you? It feels loud, the whisper no different than if he had shouted it from the top of his lungs because you hear him loud and clear.

You just avert your gaze away and let the silence stretch on, did he not hear you? Why'd he shatter the glass then? And why doesn't he use a hearing aid if he's so selectively deaf?

"Y/N, look at me."

You don't, and instead, keep your gaze away as you move to side-step him, but before you can push past, his hands are down on your shoulders pushing you back into the wall.

You gasp, the breath knocking out of you when you feel your back hit the wall, the feel of his hands following close after, as one snakes around your waist while the other curves around your head, your hair bunching under his grip.

"Say it again." His voice, breathy and raspy breaks the stillness of the air around you, and you gulp as your gaze locks with his, the look in his eyes wild, almost feral.

His eyes are blown out and dark with lust, his lips parted as small puffs of his breath fall onto your lips, and you try your best not to shiver, try your best not to give away just how much he affects you.

When you still refuse to answer, his grip over your hair tightens, your head tilting back under the force, as his face inches closer.

Your eyes against your will fall to his lips—pink and full, and you unconsciously lick your own, wetting them as your teeth bury themselves into the soft flesh. His eyes follow the motion, and you think he groans a little deep in his chest, but when your eyes snap back up to his, they are looking into yours.

"Y/N, I am going to kiss you, push me away if you don't want me to," He whispers, as his hold over your hair grows softer, his other hand sliding up the side of your body, as both his hands tangle in the silky strands of your hair.

He inches closer as he closes the distance between the two of you, but despite his warning, you don't do anything and instead stay put, waiting, aching for him.

When his lips finally touch yours, you feel your hands rise without your accord as they slide over his torso. You feel the dips and curves of his chest muscles, sense his heart thudding under your touch, the warmth of his body heat curling around your skin, enveloping you and you push yourself closer, tangling your hands around the nape of his neck.

His lips are soft under yours, the touch slow, warm and sensual. He doesn't rush you and instead takes his time as his hands run over your back, caress the skin under before they pull you closer to him.

You're close, hairsbreadth close and there is no space between the two of you, your lips locked—your bodies touching each other, as your breaths mingle.

His lips leave yours, and you let out a soft huff as you twist to have them back on your own, but he pushes your head to the side, revealing the soft, smooth skin of your neck.

He exhales, warm breath hitting your skin, and you almost mewl out loud, goosebumps rising over the sensitive skin of your nape in response. He chuckles when you try to push your shoulder up before one of his hand shifts to hold your jaw softly, but with enough force to prevent you from moving.

The feel of his plush, plump lips on your neck leaves tingles running down your spine, and you can not help but shudder when those same lips part and close around your skin, sucking the flesh in. The moist, warm cavern of his mouth over your slightly cooler skin has you moaning out loud as your hands curl around his waist in pleasure.

His lips run over the skin of your neck—caressing, kissing and sucking the soft skin until it's left red and covered in a thin layer of his saliva. The much cooler air of the room hits your skin, and you tilt your head back; hit the wall behind softly as he kisses his way down your neck, to your chest.

His tongue leaves a wet, trail in its wake, and his nose dips under the depression of your collar bone before he breathes the faint smell of you in. His lips leave a soft peck there as he nuzzles the underside of your chin softly before your head is being pulled straight, your eyes meeting his dark, chocolate brown ones.

Now that you are closer and can look clearly, you realise there are flecks of hazel at the outer edges, the hazel and brown all swirling together to form a warm pool of tender, shimmering orbs.

This time you decide to take the lead, taking his hand in yours, you pull him to your room, him following behind as your fingers intertwine and the soft sound of his feet padding behind you rings in the quiet of the room.

As you slam the door to your room shut, you feel as Namjoons' hands again fall to your body, disentangling his fingers from yours, he glides them from your wrist to your elbows, forearms, then shoulders—your shirt bunching under his ministrations.

The feel of his touch is like a flame over your skin even through the layers of clothes, and you just tilt your head back, letting it fall on his shoulder, as you let him do what he pleases. His hands softly stroke over your waist, the motion slow and deliberate, but still over your tee and you arch, pushing your back into him as you try to feel more of his touch, more of him.

Namjoon takes the hint, drops a kiss onto your shoulder before his hands are under your knees and you are in his arms, bridal style, being carried over to your bed.

The mattress dips under your combined weight as Namjoon lays you down before he leans forward and kisses you. This time you meet him halfway, pushing and straining to take the lead as your tongue swipes across his lower lip asking for entrance, one he instantly grants. Tugging his hair strands softly, you hear him let out a groan from somewhere deep in his chest, before you are pulling him closer, your hands getting lost between the soft, long strands of his hair.

Your tongue glides over his, tangles and twists around as it pushes to lead. Strings of your shared saliva hang between the two of you when you lean back to rest and catch your breath, and you chuckle when you realise just how badly you had been holding yourself back for a while.

While you are catching your breath, Namjoon is busy getting rid of his clothes. Your hands itch to run over his chiselled chest, but you hold yourself back and appreciate the view for a second. In the dim light of the room, you look at Namjoons body and your breath hitches, as the realisation of just how fine he is, hits you all over again.

Long legs, thin waist, that rise to make way for wide shoulders and pectoral muscles to absolutely die for, not a single imperfection marred his smooth, tanned skin.

Every inch of him from his toes to the tip of his hair strands was perfect— or maybe you are just in love. Whatever the reason, you don't stop yourself, unabashedly raking an appreciative gaze over his body and let out a soft groan when he pulls his tee off of him, the action simple but incredibly hot to you in the moment.

‘‘Like what you see babygirl?” Namjoon smirks, now only in his boxers, as he gets down on his knees and leans over to unbutton your jeans, the button coming undone with a pop before he pushes the flap open and drops a kiss on the exposed skin of your navel.

You just humm, too wired with Namjoon so close to where you want, need him to be. Your exhales come out broken and your chest feels tight with anticipation.

You don't think anyone has ever made you feel this way before, you have barely even started, but for some reason, you can feel your wetness dripping out of you as the heat in your belly grows stronger.

A surprised squeak pushes out of you, and you arch off the bed, closing your legs when you realise Namjoon had pulled your panties along with your jeans and now you were naked, bare with nothing to hide just how aroused you were.

When your strayed eyes return back to Namjoons you find him standing there looking at you, you feel as his gaze rakes over you, slides over your skin like water and you blush, curl into yourself, a little self-conscious.

“You're the single most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” Namjoon speaks, his voice soft and breathy, as his eyes find yours in the dim light, soft, glittering and brimming with affection. Looking into his eyes you feel reassured, confident in your own skin as you see how much you affect him and you push yourself up, sliding across the bed only stopping once you are at the edge.

With your hands on Namjoons waist, you push him back a few steps, getting down on your knees on the floor, you push your fingers under the waistband of his boxers and lookup. His gaze that was till now filled with nothing but affection and soft love for you was now once again growing dark, his chin jutting out, as his long, dark strands fell in front of his eyes, making him look like a dark, sinful dream.

One of his hands comes to your chin before it caresses the skin there and moves to the nape of your neck, sliding across your skin until it finally rests at the crown of your head—his touch leaving fire behind in its wake.

Still, with your eyes trained on his, you push the waistband down, the last piece of clothing on him, falling away under your hands with it.

His hand on your head tangles with your hair as he runs it through your strands, wrapping the ends around his hand like a yarn ball, and tugs.

Your neck arches from where it was inching closer to him before he tugs again, and you push yourself off of your knees and on your feet, as the tug becomes slightly painful. What you hadn’t accounted for before was how much you’d like that pain, the sting doing nothing more but arousing you further.

You try to take your tee off, but he tugs your hair again, and you let the ends drop, your eyes coming and finding him instead.

Your heart thuds and you wonder if he can hear it too. Your pulse racing, as your breaths come out more as soft pants than complete breaths. The foreplay, the tease, the promise of his touch has you feeling unbearably hot, and you feel as your wetness drips out of you and runs down your thigh.

“The shirt stays until I say otherwise.” Namjoon whispers before his lips are on you again. His hands sliding under your knees, as your legs go around his waist.

Picking you up, he lays you back on the bed before his lips leave yours and find purchase in the crook of your neck. His pillowy soft lips skim over your neck, leaving you breathless and you moan as they move down to your shoulder, his hands on your breasts kneading and squeezing the flesh.

When his lips finally fall to your breasts, you let out a broken moan, his mouth hot, wet and painfully good even through the thin layer of your tee. You internally thank your lucky stars that you had decided to forego your bra that day.

With only a thin, now wet piece of clothing between your sensitive bud and Namjoons mouth, the pleasure you feel makes your toes curl.

Your hands tangle in his strands, and his mouth moves over your shirt—biting, pulling and licking at the skin under.

Broken gasps and moans pour out of your mouth like a mantra, the feel of his other hand running down your side and stopping at your inner thigh, making you mewl as you ache for his touch.

Namjoon, however, has the patience of a saint, as even though you can feel how hard he is against your thigh, he doesn’t rush. Instead, taking his time as his lips rove over your breasts, kissing and sucking your skin under the tee raw.

You groan out in relief when his hands finally pull the ends of your tee over your head, and your skin feels the cool air of the room hit it, your nipples growing hard under the temperature shift.

When his lips finally do fall to your bare skin, it feels like heaven, your body so sensitive that, a simple tug on his side has you crashing into an orgasm—your back arching off the bed as a loud moan rips out of your body, waves of pleasure rushing through your bloodstream.

You hear Namjoon release your nipple with a 'pop' before he moves to slide further down your body, but you stop him.

Hands wrapped around his forearms, his muscles coiled and tight under your touch, you rasp out, “I want you, now.”

Your chest is still heaving from your last orgasm when you feel Namjoon position himself at your entrance, you moan when he bumps into you before he is sliding in and the moan turns into a loud groan.

Your legs cross behind his back as he drives into you and your walls clench, fluttering and squeezing him as your lips part, sighs and soft moans slipping out.

“Joon, oh god!"

You find his eyes in the dim-lit room, and you bring him closer, the hands on the nape of his neck pulling him to you, as you reach out to kiss him. The rush of affection and love that flows through your veins for the man above you almost makes you cry, the feel of his solid, warm body anchoring you to the reality of the moment. All your life all you had wanted was to be the one, someones forever after, you wanted the kind of love you dreamed of as a child, wrote about as an adult, and with Namjoon—with him? You think you might finally have found it.

His mouth is insistent on yours, parting your lips and dwelling in, licking and stroking every inch, sending wild tremors along your nerves as he becomes the only solid thing. Everything else around you falling apart, fading away until all you can feel is him.

Pulling back on a particularly deep thrust, Namjoon groans as your walls clench around him, pulling him in, every time he pulls back. You feel wet, warm and deliciously full as he thrusts in deep and hits your sweet spot, making your toes curl.

Moans and cries of his name fall off your lips like a prayer as he rocks into you and you feel the heat in your abdomen simmer, as an orgasm starts to build. Your hands grasp Namjoons back, and your nails scrape against the skin, making him growl out loud.

“Come for me baby, I’ve got you,” Namjoon whispers over your skin, his lips fluttering and forming the words over the juncture of your collarbone, leaving you with shivers running down your spine.

With a few more thrusts to your sweet spot, you are sent craning into your orgasm, your back arching as a scream rips out of you, and the world spins, as pure unadulterated euphoria flows through your veins.

Not too behind, Namjoon quickly follows with a loud groan, your name slipping past his lips, in a deep, guttural voice.

Your walls grip him tight, and you pull him closer into you as he comes, filling you up from inside, and you are left feeling full—sated.

As his orgasm rushes through him, the fall from the peak sending him reeling, he falls onto your chest, his face between your breasts and you run your hands through his hair, savour the moment, the feel of him still inside you, as close to you as anyone could ever physically be.

After a few seconds of catching his breath, he leans back a little to look at you, and you tilt your head up to meet him.

With only a few inches of space between the two of you, you take your time and look at each other, relish the closeness, let the reality set in. The silence stretches on, but it isn’t uncomfortable, if anything it’s nicer, like a warm hug, a space in time when you don’t need words because the touch of the other person is enough, more than enough.

“I love you.” You finally break the silence, your voice coming out low and a little hoarse, as your eyes gaze into his warm, chocolate brown ones. The very same eyes that you had looked into not too long ago and thought belonged to a stranger.

Now, you look into them and they look like coming home, the tiny little flecks of hazel at the edges which might go unseen by others, now so familiar to you .

That familiar close eyed smile of his that he has on now, as he hears you say that, the happy stretch of his full lips when he smiles, all of it fills you with so much love for him.

“I love you too.” Namjoon says, his deep, breathy voice forming the words that you had been longing to hear for some time now.

His eyes turn into two crescent moons when he sees you grin and a laugh spills out of him at seeing you get so happy after hearing his admission.

As you lay there, curled under him, you think you’ve finally got all that you had hoped for as a child, your own little perfect fairy tale. A house tucked away from the world, a garden full of roses, a job that you are passionate about, but most importantly, a man that you love—your own prince charming.

At that moment you feel like the two of you are infinite, the threads of your feelings for each other woven with your love—love that is far stronger than anything that time could wear and tear.

Cocooned under Namjoons warmth, with his arm wrapped tight against your waist, and your legs tangled with his, you think you finally understand why they say some infinities are bigger than other infinities.

Because even if you were galaxies apart, your soul would still always call out for Namjoon—would find him and then would tether itself to his forever, timelines and distances be damned.

Love ya, Thanks for reading!

—ditttiii ♡

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dragonrajafanfiction · 3 years ago

Text

Genji Heavy Industries (Part 4) Elevators

I had a lot of fun with this. I hope you enjoy it.

Ahead of you was the low, narrow passage, no windows as far as the eye could see. Ventilation fans are spinning slowly behind grates. The walls are spray painted a heavy rusty red. Walking directions are written in white paint that you couldn't read. This was the Inner district, a place that felt mildly suffocating, with an element of unease in the air. Caesar walked in front with a Desert Eagle in each hand, fully focused on the possible danger at any time. Chu Zihang held a sword at the rear, you and Lu Mingfei walked between the two, passing one white light after another. The institute felt mysterious here, like an infinitely extended maze that secretly held a minotaur.

You fall into step with Caesar, matching him stride for stride. It was known as “Wolf Walking”. When traveling through snow, you used the foot falls of another as a pathway. Not only did this ease the exertion of trudging through the snow yourself, it also created a minimal disturbance in the snow. It concealed the numbers of the people following through the area. Even though you were one of dozens of children, the actual population at the port was hidden this way. You would see a single trail of footprints where dozens of children had passed.

In this case, even if someone could hear your footsteps, they would think that there were three men in this passageway. Your presence wouldn’t be noticed until it was too late.

You crossed the walkway without incident. There was nothing odd at the end of the walkway, just an elevator, and, surprisingly there were no special security measures in the inner area, probably because the Hydra thought it was impossible to invade the inner area. So they didn't add a cumbersome access control system here. The elevator door opens right up and lets you inside.

"Boss, which floor should we go to?" Lu Mingfei looked at the densely packed floor buttons.

You take Chu Zihang’s advice and bite your tongue. There was no need to ask any questions. Caesar would figure things out. Your job was just to do what he told you. But Lu Mingfei thought with his mouth. Every thought bubble was, for him, a speech bubble. It was like trying to perform a covert operation with a large tropical parrot. You just wanted to turn around, shoot it into a cloud of feathers and move on. But Caesar was far more generous and patient, not paying it much mind, and scolding you for doing so.

On reflection, your impatient attitude was a product of your upbringing. You were brutal because the environment and the people around you were brutal. There was no need to viciously swear at Mingfei and punish him. You did it on impulse because that was how it was always done. Once again, Caesar was showing you another way to be.

Every time you worked with him in dangerous situations that goodness was like light to penetrate the dark, but now your mind dove elsewhere, back into the memory of his opening the door wearing nearly nothing. You feel the heat rise to your face involuntarily. You blink rapidly to clear your head, mentally swearing at yourself for your lack of focus and glancing around to make sure that no one saw.

A new problem emerged. This skyscraper had more than fifty floors. Some were garage floors. Some were equipment floors. Others were mezzanine floors, half floors that didn't need to be named by numbers. Typically, in a modern high-rise, an elevator can only reach certain parts of the building. The ground level general office elevator would not reach Hydra level. A cargo elevator would not need to access every floor, only the floors where the cargo needed to go. But the elevator in the inner district can lead to the majority of floors. It was all accessible.

"Wow! Didn't think about it." Caesar frowned.

And just like that, the light was switched off. What did he mean he didn’t think about which floor in a one hundred floor highrise was going to be the right one?!

“Truth be told, I didn’t think that it was absolutely necessary to go straight to Kaguya tonight. I just wanted to feel my way in and see how it went. If it weren’t for that submarine, I would have gone back, but it blocked our path.”

Your mental rifle now swung from the ‘Tropical Parrot’ to put Captain Underpants in the crosshairs!

"So, brother, do you have the structural diagram of this building?" Lu Mingfei asked Chu Zihang.

Chu Zihang shook his head: "Do you think there will be such information on the Internet? Even if there is, the information of the inner district will not be included in it."

God.

You hang your head, your hair falling over your eyes to shroud your face in shadow.

You feel a soft pat on your shoulder and look up again. Chu Zihang, stoic, was taking a page from Caesar’s book and trying to comfort you. You needed it. It took everything in you not to fall into his arms, have him offer you champagne, and give you permission to cry if you’re sad!

They had actually walked all the way to the inner district, but now their minds were blank. The last time they came as VIPs. There were uniformed high-heeled secretaries to guide them, and they were quick to press the floor button. You were so overwhelmed by the amazing things around you that you never thought to pay attention to which floor you were on, having never been in such a magnificent highrise in your life.

You let out a soft breath of air. “Permission to speak sir?”

Caesar gives you an odd look. “Oh… right. No one’s around so it’s okay to talk.”

You look up at him. “Such a large pumping station requires adequate ventilation, not only for the staff inside but to avoid creating vacuums that might collapse the pipes. Now that we’re inside we see a lot of ventilation fans. Those vents are likely part of a larger network. You can use your Speech Spirit to follow the noise of the guards in the Iron Dome Temple and get back out.”

Caesar beamed at you. “Excellent observation, MC. I’ll keep that in mind. But since we’ve made it this far, it would be a shame to go back now. Why not go straight to the source of the issue? The most important floor must be the top floor! Let’s go to the top and take a look!"

What? Wasn’t he just now talking about wanting to go back? He looked dumbfounded and confused but his mind was actually running a mile per second and he’d arrived at the conclusion of, ‘Screw it, let’s go.’ before you could collect your thoughts. If you had been faster on the uptake, perhaps you could have slipped the suggestion in, but now his mind was locked in place and it was impossible to change it.

"Damn, the most important floor is also the most heavily guarded, right? I say go to the 12th floor first! I remember that the 12th floor seems to be the floor with all those phone operators. Even if they recognize us, once we pull out our guns, the girls will be scared! We still have time to escape!" Lu Mingfei hurriedly objected, "Right, brother?”

Both you and Mingfei turn and look desperately at Chu Zihang. Perhaps if you had his backing you would be able to avoid going along with Caesar’s harebrained decision.

"The operator room is located on the 14th floor, you are remembering wrongly." Chu Zihang said, expressionless, "but I agree with Caesar's idea. Since we don't know which floor to start from, might as well go straight to the yellow dragon!"

Now you just want to kill all of them.

“You want to go back home right, MC?” Chu Zihang glanced down at you again.

“My home is gone.” You grumble bitterly, crossing your arms.

"Hey hey hey hey! Listen to me! Listen to me! Although the top floor is important, Hydra would not use a top tier place as a machine room, right? The main purpose of our visit is to blow up the core of Kaguya, right?" Lu Mingfei hurriedly made up excuses not to go there, flapping his arms in desperate parrot-like gestures while you watched, sullen. "First, the main quest then the side quests, right? Let's blow up the Kaguya computer system first, and then go to the top floor to sweep, okay?"

You drop your arms in impatience. “Just stop talking, Mingfei. We can’t see the top floor if we blow up the computer, d- ” You barely manage to avoid ending that sentence with ‘dumbass’, because the elevator cut you off with ‘ding!’ And you suddenly feel a strange vertigo as the elevator stops! It was rising up and you were all too busy arguing to notice!

Lu Mingfei freezes, his face going pale. You, Caesar and Chu Zihang, however, put your hands on your guns and as one form a wall between the door and Mingfei Lu.

You’re on the 21st floor but you have no idea what it was and there was no guide on the side of the elevator to tell you. But the elevator rose because someone called it. So someone had to be on the other side of the door! Your eyes sweep upward to the ceiling. You might be able to find an escape through those tiles, but more likely you would be shot trying.

The door opened. A woman appeared, looking like a secretary and wearing a white shirt and A-line skirt. She was in such a hurry to get in that she ran into Caesar chest to chest. They are both tense for a moment, like tigers who caught each other unawares. The secretary slowly looked up, and Caesar, a head taller than her, coldly stared at her.

This was not a young girl, but a mature woman of nearly 30 years. Though she had a hot, curvy body, with a beautiful face, you recognized the cold in those eyes. This wasn’t the first time you’d seen her. She was Nanami Sakurai and was one of the important people of Hydra. You met her briefly on your tour and introduction to the Japan Branch. You quickly lower your eyes, but she was already face to face with Caesar. Caesar had his dark makeup on and was dressed differently, but he was still himself and he was hard to forget.

At this moment, her eyes were sweeping Caesar from bottom to top, her gaze sharp as a knife, as if she wanted to cut Caesar apart inch by inch. You wished you had a telepathic link to Caesar’s brain to tell him to move! Your fundamental understanding of cruel leadership instinctively clued you in to her expectation. She expected him to know what to do. If people like her ever had to tell you what to do, then they would make sure they wouldn’t have to repeat themselves ever again!

Sakurai Nanami's eyes were suddenly murderous!

"Bakayarou!” A loud slap hit Caesar's face.

Caesar froze. A clear palm mark quickly appeared on his face despite the make up.

You remembered being slapped like this. You had been carrying a stack of dishes. You couldn’t have been more than seven or eight years old. You stepped in something wet and the plates fell to the concrete floor and broke, every single one. You still remember the eyes of the nurse who was bearing down on you while you stood rooted to the spot. They were cold and completely black, like a shark’s. She took your wrist in her hand and slapped you so hard that your vision flashed white and your whole head went numb.

She slapped you like you had wanted to slap Lu Mingfei back at the entrance of Genji Heavy Industries.

She screamed at you the way Sakurai Nanami was screaming now. It was all in Japanese and you couldn’t understand the exact words, but the exact words didn’t matter. You grabbed Caesar’s hand and pulled him out of the elevator.

You get several steps away before Caesar digs his heels in. “Hey, stop, stop…” He whispers.

Several Executive Board officers running to and fro, each carrying boxes of documents. The floor was divided by rows of large bookshelves that went up to the roof on which stood bound files covered with plain white leather cases. Except for Sakurai Nanami, who was in a white uniform dress, everyone on this floor was wearing a very similar dress to yours, and everyone was doing their own job. Some were responsible for boxing up the documents on the shelves, others were counting and filling out spreadsheets, and the moving team was responsible for carrying the sealed boxes of documents to the freight elevator; only a few people were not involved in this intense and orderly move. They patrolled around with their hands on the handles of their guns, and it was obvious that the value of these documents was extraordinary.

“Quick, act natural and not like a scared rabbit!” Caesar hissed, shoving you forward.

You snap into form and grab a box. Your hands are trembling. You couldn’t remember the last time you were scared like this. Usually, when faced with danger, you went ice cold or got angry. However, when faced with Nanami Sakurai you felt the terror of being seven years old again.

You take a breath and school yourself to stay calm. Your hair and eyes were dark and you wouldn’t stand out here at all. It was fine.

You were fine.

You imitated the people in front of you as you put the file box in front of the elevator. Someone was responsible for recording and checking the number on the file box, then the box was covered by a black cloth and sent into the elevator.

The person in charge of taking notes waved a pencil in his hand and the people behind him paused, the Executive Board officer who remained in the elevator nodded and said "HAI", and the elevator took him with the stacked boxes up the elevator shaft.

All the entry and exit routes were guarded by Board officers. With the vast amount of paperwork here, you couldn’t stay here to wait too long or you would be discovered.

"They are counting. Each time the elevator is loaded with fifty boxes of documents, the person who moves the last box in is responsible for escorting the documents upstairs, and the fiftieth person who moves the boxes in can leave." Chu Zihang whispered as he passed.

The Japanese Hydra are very organized. Each time the number of boxes of documents transported in the elevator reached fifty boxes, the fiftieth porter naturally acted as an escort. All this was, was the efficient division of labor, as precise as an automated machine. It was no wonder you were familiar with it immediately without even understanding the language. You realize that -- from your penchant towards violence, to your immediate and rigid obedience to leadership -- you probably would fit in more with Hydra then you would with Cassell Academy.

It makes you wonder how Chu Zihang got in with the Academy to be able to notice something like this so quickly. His degree of precision is just like yours. He also seemed to agree with you more often than not about deadly force. You look at him and observe that he’s controlling the speed of his work. You need to position yourselves to make sure that each of you is the fiftieth person on the elevator each time. And you need to do this three times in a row. Even if you do it perfectly, because each elevator takes ten minutes to fill, it will take you thirty minutes to get out.

Unfortunately, perfection is not Lu Mingfei’s strong suit. It wasn’t even in his vocabulary. Without a glance or word, both you and Chu Zihang tacitly agree that Mingfei should get on the elevator first for the best result.

But you’re overruled just as fast.

Caesar passes you. “I’m first. Chu Zihang, you’re second, MC, third, Mingfei last.”

Every expletive you’ve ever learned in your entire life passes through your mind in a flash.

“Boss!” Mingfei squeaked. “Haven’t you heard of women and children first?!”

“If anyone’s going to be caught here, it’s going to be me.”

You then notice. The enclosed space was hot. Caesar was starting to sweat, and once he started sweating his make up would be really noticeable.

"Since this building was built, this is the first time the police department has issued a search warrant for us, right? What are they looking for?" A familiar voice suddenly sounded behind Caesar's head.

Caesar's body shook slightly, and the Director of the Executive Board, Gen Chisei, the leader of the entire Hydra Clan, the man that Caesar had made a statement of friendship with - only for him to leave Caesar to die at the bottom of the Japanese Trench - was standing behind him!

Chu Zihang keenly perceived the killing aura, not Gen Chisei's killing aura but Caesar's. The muscles on the side of Caesar's face involuntarily pulled tight, revealing the sharp lines of light skin.

He is not afraid ...... he is angry!

#Dragon Raja

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suzyundertale · 5 years ago

Text

tumblr user suzyundertale makes a post about Suzy from Undertale

Suzy masterpost, because people need to pay more attention to Suzy. This is not a theory post, but more of a collection of information on what we currently know about the Undertale character Suzy. Of course, due to the nature of Suzy as a very mysterious character, there will be slight speculation, but hopefully it’s clear what is canon and what isn’t.

Section One: The Beginning

When Undertale first released, there was very little that we knew of the character “Suzy”. Even less than what we know now, which is impressive. The only connection we had to her was word of mouth from an NPC with no name, but known in the files simply as “clamgirl”, found in Waterfall if your “Fun” value is between 80 and 89.

When you first talk to her, she says the following:

* I'm visiting Waterfall from the city. * Synchronicity...? * My neighbor's daughter looks about your age. * Her name is "Suzy." * I feel like you two should be friends. * You have... * A neighbor's blessing!!!

(”Suzy” here is written in yellow text.)

Talking to her a second time:

* Not knowing where I live is no issue. * Fate finds a way.

And, finally, talking to her post-pacifist:

* So you never became friends with my neighbor's daughter. * Don't despair. * This world has infinite opportunities. * But there's a limit to the things you can do. * Accepting this is healthy. * Take my neighbor's blessing! * And consider this blessing for anything you like!

(She has more dialogue, but this is all that you really need to know.)

Section Two: The Patch

In January of 2016, a couple weeks after Toby made (and subsequently deleted) a tweet about he wanted to “start something else” in 2016, a something which we now know to be Deltarune, Undertale received its first major update - version 1.01.

Here’s the relevant information.

Toby made two very, very minor changes to Clamgirl’s post-pacifist dialogue. Here is the new dialogue, with changes bolded:

* So you never met my neighbor's daughter. * Don't despair. * This world has infinite opportunities. * But there's a limit to the things you can do today. * Accepting this is healthy. * Take my neighbor's blessing! * And consider this blessing for anything you like!

He changed “became friends with” to “met” - emphasizing the fact that Suzy is not a character you can meet in Undertale.

He also added the word “today”, to emphasize the fact that this does not mean Frisk will never be able to meet Suzy.

This wasn’t the only Suzy-related thing in the version 1.01 patch, however. The patch added a well-known line of dialogue to the lab behind Sans and Papyrus’ house. Normally, when you examine a certain drawer in the lab, you get this dialogue:

* (There's a photo album inside the drawer.) * (There are photos of Sans with a lot of people you don't recognize.) * (He looks happy.)

However, from version 1.01 onward, if you examine this drawer after having spoken to Clamgirl, you will get this dialogue instead:

* (There's a photo album inside the drawer.) * (There are photos of... Huh?) * (A card is sticking out from the back flap of the binder.) * (It's a poorly drawn picture of three smiling people.) * (Written on it...) * "don't forget."

Again, I’d like to emphasize that this dialogue only appears if you’ve spoken to Clamgirl, if you know who Suzy is. In this way, the phrase “Don’t forget” is intrinsically linked to Suzy.

So, from all of this, we can gather a few things about this mysterious “Suzy” character.

She is a girl around Frisk’s age.

She lives in the capital.

She has at least one parent (who happens to be Clamgirl’s neighbor.)

Frisk is, apparently, fated to meet her.

Despite this, it is impossible to meet Suzy in Undertale.

Sans’ photo album will have a card reading “don’t forget” only if you know who Suzy is.

Section Three: Fast Approaching

Did you think that was the only Undertale update that added cryptic Suzy-related dialogue?? Guess again!

Fast-forward to September 2018. Undertale has just been released on Nintendo Switch! Almost immediately, it is discovered that the Switch version added this:

youtube

(excuse me posting my own video, but it’s really the best one on youtube...(side note; i’m not sure if she’s actually supposed to reappear when you exit and re-enter the room, that might be a side effect of me poorly emulating the game))

Anyway, this is what happens post-pacifist in the Switch version if your fun value is exactly 81. If it’s 82-89, Clamgirl has her regular dialogue from v1.01.

The Switch version of Undertale came out September (15 in Japan, 18 everywhere else) 2018 - A month and a half before the release of Chapter 1 of Deltarune. In hindsight, it’s obviously foreshadowing - but when you think about it, foreshadowing what?

A month later, we play Deltarune, and meet a brand new character named Susie. Not Suzy. (More on that distinction in a bit.) If that’s the case, why did Clamgirl claim that we were going to meet Suzy very soon?

Well, the answer is that we don’t know.

It’s important to consider what Clamgirl says from an in-universe standpoint. It’s easy to take this line as Clamgirl talking directly to us, the player, since she’s clearly hinting towards Deltarune - but in actuality, in the game, in-universe, she’s talking to Frisk. She’s telling Frisk that they’re going to meet Suzy very soon. It’s possible that, when it comes down to it, what Clamgirl said might not apply to us at all.

Section Four: Deltarune

In October 2018, Toby Fox not only released an entire demo for an entire new video game, but a video game with a major character named Susie. Not Suzy, but Susie???? What’s going on?

Since Deltarune seems to have an alternate universe thing going on, some people believe that Susie is simply the Deltarune universe’s version of Suzy. This is definitely a possibility, but there is also reason to believe that this may not be the case.

Deltarune also introduces a new character named Catti, who is Catty’s little sister. Like Suzy and Susie, their names are pronounced the same, but spelled slightly differently. This could be hinting at the difference between the two.

As it stands, however, we currently do not know the relation between Suzy and Susie, or if any even exists.

In any case, it is likely that Suzy will be a major part of the story of Deltarune, as the main theme of the game is called “Don’t Forget”.

Bonus: A Comment From Toby

To my knowledge, the only time that Toby has ever publicly spoken about Suzy is in this tweet, since deleted (not specifically, but because Toby wiped all his tweets before a certain date), from nine days after Undertale’s release:

Unfortunately, since we’ve lost the context, it’s difficult to know who exactly “yellow kid” refers to here. The tweet was most likely in response to speculation regarding Suzy’s identity. Since Suzy’s name is written in yellow when Clamgirl speaks about her, some people assumed that Suzy may be associated with the color yellow. “Yellow kid” could be referring to Monster Kid, Frisk, or the yellow human soul. (I’ve heard people say before that this tweet is specifically in response to people speculating about Monster Kid being Suzy, but I don’t know how true that is. If anyone has any proof of this claim, let me know!)

Conclusion

Generally, when you’re writing an analysis of a character, you’re able to say more than three facts about them. There is very little we can say about Suzy, however, without delving into pure baseless speculation. Hell, we know more about Gaster, who is generally regarded as the mysterious Undertale character.

It’s very likely that we will learn more about Suzy in the future, but right now, we don’t have much to go on. However, that also means we’re free to speculate pretty much anything we want. Essentially, until proven otherwise, Suzy is whoever you want her to be..!

#ut #undertale #deltarune #analysis #suzyposting #thats a tag now.#since my suzy tag is um. shitposts

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cyn-00 · 4 years ago

Note

“You are my family” for moreid pretty please if you feel like it. Thank you

This prompt will never get boring it's so soft <3 btw I kinda have already written a fic months ago that touched on this topic (my 13th one shot if I remember correctly), so I'm gonna try and slightly switch it up ;) this is n. 14 from fluff btw!

Prompt list (requests currently closed)

Read it on AO3

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

The jet had been quiet for at least an hour. Everyone except for Reid had seemingly long fallen asleep, and they would arrive at Quantico in 30 minutes at most - 27 minutes, the genius gauged.

He really had no more excuses to further procrastinate what he'd been meaning to tell Morgan for the past three weeks. Now or never.

Spencer lifted his eyes from the book he'd been pointlessly holding in his hands since they took off and looked up at his very much asleep boyfriend, still wearing his beloved headphones.

He swallowed. "Derek?"

No answer.

Reid leaned forward just enough to be able to easily reach the man's crossed arms with his hand. He brushed his fingers on his forearm to avoid startling him.

"Der?" he repeated in a lower and more intimate tone.

Derek slightly winced and instinctively scratched his arm where the other's finger pads had ghosted over it.

"Mm' yeah?" he mumbled in response, rubbing his eyes and taking off his headphones as he straightened in the seat.

"I'm- I'm sorry I woke you but I, uh... I really have to ask you something ?"

Morgan leaned in to rest his forearms on his knees under the tray table; the mild wobbling in the other's voice having piqued his interest.

"What's that, baby?" he said softly, ignoring the unneeded apology - purposely or not, Derek himself couldn't quite figure out.

Spencer nodded shortly and took a couple of deep breaths. He eyed down again at the forgotten book and closed it at last, settling it atop the small table and running his fingertips on its leather-coated spine.

"I was wondering if..." he let out another shaky sigh. "...if you'd like to move in with me?"

'Caught off guard' would be the most blatant euphemism to describe Morgan's reaction in response to the question. He tried to limit the external display of such to a gulp and an arching of eyebrows, while inside his heart almost jumped out of his chest.

Before answering, he reached out to place his palm over the boy's jittery hand on top of the book cover.

Spencer brought his eyes back to him.

"Yeah." he replied at last, grinning widely. "I'd really like that, pretty boy."

Spencer ducked his head again to look at their hands; a few curls falling before his face from where they were tucked behind his ears, barely hiding one of the biggest smiles Derek had ever seen gracing his lips.

Morgan stroked the other's knuckles with his thumb. "Honestly, I thought you were gettin' tired of me after spending all day together at work." he joked - not actually joked, though.

Reid lifted his chin to look at him, re-adjusting his brunette locks where they were supposed to have stayed in the first place.

He hesitated a few seconds and eventually scrunched his nose playfully, shaking his head. "Not possible."

Derek's smile grew into a chuckle as he tilted his head.

During the brief silence, Spencer's gaze reunited with the other's fingers tracing unknown patterns on the back of his hand.

"Oh! Right-" the genius mumbled to himself as he remembered something, removing his hand from under Derek's to pat the pockets of his jacket in search for a specific object.

Morgan's pupils chased his boyfriend's clumsy motions with a slightly amused frown.

Spencer took out of his left pocket what he'd been looking for, placing it on the tray table: a key.

The man's eyes glanced in between that and Reid's face a couple times, before finally picking it up to scrutinize it as if it were the most interesting key he'd ever seen - it was, sort of. In a metaphorical way.

"...you made a copy before knowing what I'd answer?" he dared to ask.

The man in front of him merely shrugged. "Call it profiling ?" he said, a funny but cute expression crinkling his features.

Morgan snorted briefly before starting to gradually drift into a more serious state of mind; a couple minutes of quiet hanging gingerly in between him and Reid.

"I also thought..." he prompted to get the other's attention. "that I'd have to ask you at some point."

His boyfriend didn't seem to get the hint.

"I didn't think you'd ever get to be comfortable enough to share your spaces with me." Derek explained, careful not to sound accusing.

Spencer considered the man's statement for a while.

"I didn't think either." he agreed, unexpectedly. "Honestly it doesn't bother me only when it's my mom...or you guys..." the genius' voice got lower by the second.

"...my family." he concluded, smiling bashfully.

Derek chose not to reply just yet; his gaze softening visibly whereas on the other hand Spencer's dropped, concentrating on how to phrase what he wanted to phrase.

"...you are my family, Derek." he whispered at last. If Spencer's knees holding his clasped hands in place were succeeding to keep them from trembling, his voice on the contrary was helplessly failing at remaining steady throughout those 5, simple words.

Morgan stayed silent once again, merely reaching a hand above the table separating them to lift his boyfriend's chin and lightly bump an index on his nose; knowing that, when Spencer opened his heart to him, he needed reassurance and unspoken proof that Derek was listening more than actual words.

Reid was now able to keep at bay the quivering in his hands and voice both.

"...I know you can't really consider me...your family, because you have your mom and sisters and- and probably a bunch of other relatives, but for me..." he trailed off, lowering his gaze once again. "...my- my dad was never family to me...and my mom can't always function enough to...to feel like a mother and- o- of course I cannot blame her for it! But you...you always felt like family, now more than ever but honestly even before...you know, before this ?"

Spencer paused to catch a glimpse of the other's expression, trying to fathom if he'd picked up on what he meant with 'this'.

Even once the man nodded, Reid somehow felt a million other things surfacing to the forefront of his mind right in that moment, things he knew he didn't need to voice but were escaping him before he could grasp onto them.

"I'm infinitely grateful that I have you in my life." he murmured. "even if I'm not exactly sure what...what I did to deserve you." Spencer added in a witty, sheepish snort.

Morgan shook his head, at this point unable to keep himself from speaking up and cupping the man's cheek in his hand.

"Baby, stop saying things like that," he paused, stroking Spencer's cheekbone with a thumb as if feeling the need to ease down the mild harshness that had possibly accompanied his tone.

"and don't ever assume that just because I have a full family you count less than them."

Derek was expecting a nod at best and a self-denigrating retort at worst, what he was surely not expecting from his boyfriend was to shoot up from his seat to make his way around the tray table and sit beside him, hurling himself into his arms in a matter of 3 seconds.

Of course he more than happily hugged the boy back and dug his fingers in his curls, because it was only natural; however Derek didn't bother hiding a slightly surprised reaction - Spencer never liked to display affection even during the flights home, when the team were sleeping 9 times out of 10. To push himself to do such gesture Morgan reckoned that what he said must have really struck him, and his caught-off-guard state quickly became one overflowing with feeling honored and touched.

He was brought out of his thoughts when Spencer slightly loosened the clench of his arms around his torso and nosed his neck, releasing a deep breath.

"So...we're going to your place then?" Derek's question wedged a narrow gap in between their bodies.

Spencer tilted his chin up to meet his eyes shortly before laying small pecks on the corners of the man's lips and Cupid's bow and chin.

Morgan lightly giggled both at his boyfriend for being that level of adorable, and at himself for having managed to meet his lips only once at most.

"I'll take that as a yes."

"Mh-mh," Spencer hummed into the last of several kisses. "Yep."

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badatusernames · 5 years ago

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CHOJI, SHIKAMARU, LEE, GAARA & HINATA!! ITS A LOT IM SORRY

THANK U FOR THIS...admittedly some answers may be a lil short just so i can like. Get to them all.

EDIT: IDK WHY IT LOOKS LIKE THIS. IM SO TIRED. IM SORRY ITS JUST A LONGASS NARUTO POST ON YOUR DASH I TRIED MY FUCKIN BEST YALL

SEND ME A CHARACTER AND I’LL DO THIS;

Chouji (man i’ve seen it spelled both ways and i’m just used to typing Chouji at this point sorry)

Sexuality Headcanon: Pansexual!! Gender Headcanon: Cis male A ship I have with said character: SHIKAMARU. SHIKAMARU. SHIKAMARU. SHIKAMARUUUU, my god...just, everything about their dynamic makes my heart melt, the way they’re both people who are easily dismissed by others and how they have such UNFALTERING FAITH in each other. chouji knows how much of a genius shikamaru is, knows very well the fact that despite his laziness, once he commits to something he’s in it for the LONG HAUL, the way shikamaru just believes so steadfastly in chouji, considering him stronger than NEJI FOR FUCKS SAKE...they like. get one another, the kind of relationship where you can be yakking away one minute and then just sitting in contented silence the next. they can just laze around. maybe play video games and snack. and sometimes...kiss. and it’s so chill even with that latent tenderness their later relationship develops and they both just feel so safe and KNOWN and familiar like. love your best friend. anyway everyone slept on shikacho and y’all should be ashamed the naruto fandom is enormous and finding pretty much ANY content for it is almost impossible aside from the small (if lovely and amazing) tag and i’m pretty hyperfixated on it if you couldn’t tell holy SHIT. A BROTP I have with said character: i’m really not a fan of ino taking potshots at him for his weight and outright shaming him, but once she grows out of that i absolutely love their friendship. listen, you know that post thats like--hold on

thats just them, thanks. A NOTP I have with said character: i have nothing against karui but canon is fucking dead to me and my opinions on p much all the “endgame” ships range from utterly neutral to absolute loathing. their relationship is on neither end of the spectrum, but. eh. definitely not into it. A random headcanon: he keeps nursing injured animals back to health because he’s just that fucking sweet and bringing them back to his house to keep them warm and safe while they recover and his team knows vaguely about this and ino and shikamaru like to poke fun at him for it but since they don’t tend to encounter said animals, it’s not really a huge deal.

of course they stop by his house one day bc he hadn’t shown up for training which is annoying and frankly a little concerning and finding the house mostly empty ino just bursts on into chouji’s room only to immediately have the opossum he’s been caring for latch its little paws on her face and cling.

it’s a bad morning. General Opinion over said character: literally one of my absolute favorites of all time and it really breaks my heart how overlooked he is in the fandom (seriously y’all...). i think kishimoto is kind of a stupid hack and the Fat Jokes are really grating and it sucks to see that so intrinsically tied to his character (like. just let him be fat. jesus christ) but his kindness and overall relaxed, loyal and lovable nature has me just melting. i adore him.

Shikamaru

Sexuality Headcanon: He’s gay, scoob. (I could also talk a lot about how his earlier misogyny is both a product of being a whiny tween and also some internalized frustration of like WHATS SO GREAT ABOUT GIRLS. UGH. I DONT. STOP TELLING ME IM GONNA FALL IN LOVE WITH ONE ONE DAY DAD JESUS. and let’s be real, thats frustrating, even if it aint an excuse) Gender Headcanon: he uses he/him pronouns because it’s just what he’s used to and comfortable with but man gender is such a drag... A ship I have with said character: SEE ABOVE SHIKACHO RANT A BROTP I have with said character: naruto! he and naruto have a really adorable friendship and i love love LOVE that he and chouji were shown to be kind and accepting of him even when most people were shunning him. also he’s so fucking dumb i love seeing shikamaru meticulously plan out something only to have naruto shriek into battle and ruin all of it. love those guys. stupid bros. A NOTP I have with said character: ok. im sorry i just. loathe sh*katema i really do. i haaaate the way kishimoto writes this whole “ew a GIRL” “ew a MAN” vibe with the like OOOH BUT THEYRE GONNA LIKE EACH OTHER vibe like.

don’t get me wrong i adore them as friends, i think they’re fantastic scathing and witty pals who bitch about anything and everything including each other

but they’re also both gay and kishimoto can suck my nuts byeeee A random headcanon: sometimes pakkun just fucking Shows up and chills with him. shikamaru wants absolutely no part of this but is way too lazy to like. do anything about it so it’s just this guy and a dog sitting in a field chillin and occasionally him piping up like ‘hey kid. remember when i bit your hand? yeah? haha, man time sure does fly.” while shikamaru is just. go aWAY. General Opinion over said character: if you told 9 year old me watching naruto for the first time my favs were gonna be a three way tie of lee, shikamaru and chouji i never would have fucking believed you but here we are. i love him. i absolutely love him. he’s such a whiny bastard and a really good depiction of burnout genius who doesnt want to do ANYTHING, but his intellect is an absolute DELIGHT to watch. i love him very much.

Lee

Sexuality Headcanon: he’s pan!! this is a boy that crushes easily and crushes hard on just about anyone!!!! Gender Headcanon: cis male A ship I have with said character: ok i ship him a lot with neji actually? what with how neji grows during the course of the series to regard lee with the respect he deserves is really sweet and there’s just something so infinitely adorable about him going around being the hammiest, most ridiculously earnest, kind and enthusiastic person and neji, now that he isn’t constantly bitter and angry at the world can finally really see that? lee is always happily dropkicking his way into his life, like he wouldn’t have it any other way, and i think that’s just...so sweet A BROTP I have with said character: SAKURAAAAA. oh my GOD do i adore their relationship. ever since lee saved her and basically just gave her a glimpse of his...lee-ness, the fact her negative opinion of him IMMEDIATELY flipped and gave her such a strong admiration and fondness for him kills me DEAD. she always treats him with so much respect and the fact she’s quick to rag on anyone making fun of him melts my HEART!! and on lee’s side, his little crush on her is adorable of course, but the sheer strength of the friendship that comes from it is more than infatuation could ever offer him. i want them to hang out together and talk about their troubles...i want them to make each other laugh and be so very kind to each other...i want sakura to storm over and throw him over her shoulder to TAKE A BREAK ALREADY when he’s been training too hard for too long. god. A NOTP I have with said character: honestly i’m pretty happy with a lot of lee ships! the only ones i view with obvious disdain are the ones with creepy age gaps honestly. A random headcanon: out of everyone in the leaf genin, he’s probably the closest anyone’s ever come to someone who EVERYONE is at least distantly friendly towards. like god have you SEEN how warm and inviting and concerned he is the SECOND he sees that naruto is feeling down? i get the sense he’s immediately inclined to provide that kind of support to any of his comrades, even the ones that Resist it.

you think sasuke is the most popular among the leaf genin? puh-LEASE. everyone looks on rock lee with at least a LITTLE bit of warmth. thats just fact. General Opinion over said character: since my first viewing of naruto he has been my Absolute fav, and while chouji and shikamaru are veeery close to stealing that spot, one look at him and i feel he’s gonna be on top forever. probably the best written character kishimoto’s ever produced that’s remained in the main cast (tho i dont speak for shipudden onwards who fucking knows, but the truth of it is is i adore rock lee)

Gaara

Sexuality Headcanon: Panromantic Asexual Gender Headcanon: kind of like shikamaru, i feel like he uses he/him pronouns but also doesn’t particularly....Care? A ship I have with said character: ok so it wasnt until my naruto rewatch that i really started falling into this but i think him and naruto are super cute? while i loathe kishimoto for ruining so much abt this show he really is good at creating good foils to naruto, and gaara is no exception--and the way naruto changes his life by just kicking his ass (and proving he’s not just a Simp or smth) and then just, extending genuine empathy and a REAL sense of truly relating to where he’s coming from re:his upbringing? the EFFECT it has on him, bro!!!! my god!!! i feel like they’re that opposites attract ship that don’t clash constantly but instead fall into this adorable synergy and understanding? and i think thats so sweet A BROTP I have with said character: ...is it cheating to just put temari and kankuro here? bc they are literally his siblings but my GOD do i love their relationship. there’s something so deeply sad about their initial situation??? like having siblings that either are deeply fucking afraid of you or clearly don’t care for your well being whatsoever, it’s such a tragic scenario, and the times where they really do show legitimate care for gaara just breaks my heart...but the GROWTH. THE DEVELOPMENT. THE HEALING. i love the sand siblings so much, i am a STRONG advocate of seeing the development from estranged family to loving, occasionally bickering siblings who absolutely Love Each Other A NOTP I have with said character: uhhhh same with lee in that i don’t really mind most of the ships i’ve seen him in? while i don’t particularly ship gaalee i think its also Very Cute, and really it all just seems pretty valid as long as people aren’t being creepy? A random headcanon: i’ve been wracking my brain for one for a good 20 minutes and i just don’t have one he’s such a mystery to me/????? i love him but he is an enigma?? General Opinion over said character: oh my god he’s such an edgelord in the beginning. i’ve been doing a lot of this naruto rewatch with my friend @drashseed (a simply phenomenal fella 10/10 follow him) and every single time he talked the only valid response just became “ok gaara”

but his backstory? utterly HEARTWRENCHING. and his growth is just. absolutely divine, i adore him. thank you mister sandman for doing so much for us all.

Hinata

Sexuality Headcanon: Bisexual Gender Headcanon: cis woman A ship I have with said character: listen. i think kibahina is........Really Really cute. he cares about her so MUCH??? and there’s a certain tenderness to his interactions with her that’s just really evident whenever you see em together? i really love that you get the sense hinata is COMFORTABLE around him!!! like! i feel like hinata really deserves to have a partner who sees her when she ISN’T blushing and stammering? when she’s like? legitimately comfortable and being HERSELF? (dgmw the blushing is adorable i fucking love her but its one of the gripes i have with naruhina that so much of it is just naruto being oblivious and her having a small panic attack) the comfort she and kiba have make for a chill, adorable relationship i just cry over constantly A BROTP I have with said character: so i was GONNA put naruto here, but technically i already put him there for shikamaru’s so i’m gonna say neji!!! uhhh OBVIOUSLY they got off to a. very rough start but the way their dynamic changed (or perhaps in a way reverted back to the times they interacted before neji’s father died and temporarily killed his Human Decency) into this respect and fondness that’s just...such a delight to watch? i’m a SUCKER for slow and mutual reconciliation and there are just so many sweet moments between them. they are FAMILY, BRO!!! THEY CARE FOR EACH OTHER, BRO!!!!!!!!!! A NOTP I have with said character: ...at the risk of sounding like a broken record, i think a lot of hinata ships are quite cute? i guess i’m gonna have to say sasuke. because like.

has. he ever even looked at her. please. jesus christ. she deserves so much better. A random headcanon: she is a LOT physically stronger than she looks!! a lot of her combat techniques rely on taijustu after all so it’d make sense that she puts a lot of effort into physical training alongside chakra control.

i’m trying to say she’s strong. not as strong as sakura but. she can lift her bf up over her head (he’s dying hes dying he’s dYING he lOVES HER SO MUCH). it’s pretty fuckign badass

General Opinion over said character: i LOVE her??? honest to god i really really do--honestly while i dislike the direction they went in canon with her, i really loved seeing her be motivated to grow and change the parts of herself she hated to become a stronger person.

that and she’s so fucking cute and sweet and i just??????? bless her honestly.

#naruto #shikacho #narugaa #nejilee #kibahina #they speak #i cant tag everyone fuck #is this formatting fucked up? i can't tell it wouldnt post before #long post

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thespamman24 · 3 years ago

Text

Some people say that brevity is the soul of wit, but to that I say:

You are wrong, you are extremely wrong, you’re so wrong if you were any more wrong the universe would explode with how wrong you are, I have never seen someone be any more wrong in my entire life. If I had a nickel for how wrong this was I would have an infinite amount of nickels because the wrongness of that extraordinary dumb statement is inifnite. I have spent over 16 years on this hellscape of a planet, and in all of that time I have not once heard something, so wrong, so dumb, so extremely removed from reality. The wrongness of the statement that you have said is at such an extreme level it boggles the mind. You’re so wrong I don’t even know what to do. That statement that you have just said, literally every single letter of every single word in it is wrong. And I used the word literally correctly. That is because I am a person who is correct as opposed to you, a person who is wrong. Capital W-R-O-N-M-J wrong. I mean, I didn’t even know a person could be that wrong. Like 100% of what you just said is wrong. Like, I mean for someone to think that is right, that must mean that they have an IQ below zero. You have an IQ below zero. Because you have said this dumb-ass, idiotic, rediculouse, insane, idiotic, putrid, idiotic, rediculouse, idiotic, idiotic, WRO-ONG, statement. I mean like, what is in your brain? Is it just a bunch of lukewarm water that just sloshes around? Is that what goes on in your brain? Is it just slosh, slosh, slosh, slosh, slosh all day? Just a bunch of lukewarm going sloshity, sloshity, slosh. I mean like, that’s the only logical explanation because what you have said is so goddamn wrong! I mean, like what school did you go to? The Isaac Newton school of being WRONG! Because you are so wrong! I mean, do you even have thoughts?!!?!?!? Or is it just the lukewarm water in your brain going spilishity slapishity sploshity all day long? HUUUUUUUUUuuuuUUUUHHHhhhhhHHH?????? You disgust me, you know that. Because you’re just sto wrong. You know, wrongness doesn’t usually actually piss me off. But this, but this, but this, but this, oh boy, oh boy, old buddy, old boy, does this piss me off! This pisses me right the f*** off!!!!!!!! You are just so gosh dam wrong!!!! What you have said is astronomically wrong! The wrongness of it is off the charts! Off the chains! Over 9000! Numbers can not calculate how wrong you are, there are no words in the english language which I can use to articulate, how wrong you are! I mean just the pure rotten, rotten, festid, rotten wrongness if the claim that you have just made to me- is disgusting. Just disgusting. I hope you die in a hole, you dumb little dumb little big dumb wrong slut!!!!!!! You are so wrong, that just reading that claim that you have just made makes my brain hurt. My brain cells are slowly dying one by one. You have killed them!! Killed them!!!! WIth your filthy, putrid wrongness!!!!! You sick, sick, sick, sick, sick, wrong bastard of a wrong person. Your wrongness has given me a migraine and I don’t think that it’ll ever end, I think I’ve been cursed, cursed to forever bear the shame of your wrongness, because you are just so wrong!!!!!!!!!!!!! I mean, I don’t think the human brain can even fathom how wrong you are. Maybe, your statement is just so wrong, that the human brain can’t even comprehend. Maybe it’s one of those things, like infinity, or quantum physics, or the plot of Lost, where our brains just can;t understand it because it’s just so fucking wrooooooooooooooooooooooooonnnnnnnggggggggggggggggggg!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WRONG! SO FCKING WROOOOOOONGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!!

god, oh god, oh god why, why must you do this to me, you- you’ve hurt me. I can’t stand it any more… just this… this… wrong… it’s just so wrong… so wrong… so wrong. How can you be so stupid. Your statement is dumb, your logic is dumb, your reasoning is dumb. I hope you never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever give birth!!!!! I… I don’t think I… I even want to live anymore… how can I even exist… on a planet where such wrongness… also exists...how, how, how, how, HHHHHHOOOOOWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!! WHY OH WHY GOD WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY!!!!!!!!! YOU ARE WRONG!!!! YOU ARE WRONG!!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU ARE WRONG!!!!!!!!! WRONG!!!!!!! YOU WILL, AND ALWAYS SHALL BE SO, FRICKING WRONG!!!!!!!! Your wrongness, the magnitude of it, it, it, it just astounds me. Nothing, anybody ever says, will be so WRONG AS THE WORDS THAT YOU HAVE SAID TO ME!!!!!!!! YOU DUMB LITTLE POOR EXCUSE FOR A HUMAN BEING!!!!!!!!!! I HATE YOU!!!!!! I HATE YOU!!!!!!!!! I DON’T LIKE YOU!!!!!!!!!! I HATE YOU!!!!!!!!!! I’M NOT INVITING YOU TO MY BIRTHDAY PARTY!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU’LL NEVER HAVE ANY PIECES OF MY BIRTHDAY CAKE!!!!!!!!!!!! IT’S MINE! ALLLLL MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MWA, HA, HA,HA,HA,HA,Ha,Ha…. Ha… ha… ha… ha… ha. Oooohhh… woe is me. For I have been cursed with this wrongness. You know Shakespeare once said, “When we are born we weep, for we have come to this great world of fools.” You know, Shakespeare, he was gay, but he was also right… and today… I weep… I weep a thousand tears for this wrongness that has befell my eyes and blinded them, oh god I wish I could stick a hand into my brain and remove this filth and pestilence that infects it like a disease. Your words poison the air they are spoken into!!!!!!!!! The pits of hell themselves don’t even know such agony as the pits of despair I am currently drowning in!!!!!!!! I hope to never see the sunlight again, because if I do it would give me a sunburn! I hope aliens never see what you have just written because if they do, will, then they would, they would they would burn our planet to the crisp and then salt the earth so that nothing ever, ever, ever, ever grows again and then they incinerate our planet to the core!!!! And then they would flush it down a toilet that is big enough to fit the earth in!!!!!! You are wrong… so wrong. You are in fact, one hundred percent wrong. It honestly makes me sick. Just how wrong you are. I could on and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on about how gosh damn wrong you are but I won’t because it would take a thousand lifetimes to do so and I need to feed my cat!!! DO YOU HEAR ME!!!!!!!!! MY CAT!!!!!!!!!! SHE IS A GOOD, GOOD,GOOD, KITTY AND SHE IS SMARTER THAN YOU CAN EVER HOPE TO BE!!!!!!!! BECAUSE EVEN SHE, AGREES WITH ME THAT YOU ARE WRONG HELL, EVEN A POTATOE CAN SEE WHY YOU ARE WRONG!!!!!!!!!! EVEN A POTATOE!!!!!!!!!!!!!! A POPTATO, A POTATO, A POTATO, A POTATO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU ARE DUMBER THAN A POTATO, BECAUSE YOU ARE SO, SO,SO,SO,SO,SO,SO,SO, FUCKING WRONG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WRONG!!!!!!!!!!!! WRONG!!!!!!!!!! WRONG!!!!!!!!!!! YOU ARE WRONG!!!!!!!!!!!! INCORRECT!!!!!!!!!! UNTRUE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MISTAKES!!!!!!!!!! ERRONEOUS!!!!!!!!!! UNTRUE!!!!!!!!!!! INACCURATE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! INVALID!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! FALLICIOUSE!!!!!!!!!!!!! FALSE!!!!!!!! WIDE OF THE MARK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! … my life is but a nightmare. A dream which I can not wake up from. I am trapped, trapped in this prison known as the universe, a prison of which I can not escape, my memories are like chains binding me down, preventing me from, moving, from running, from trying to break free!!!!!!! All I can do is scream at the top of my lungs about how wrong you are… but I won’t because I’ve already done that and my voice is very tired and I don’t want to get laryngitis, because herbal tea is surprisingly expensive… I think I’ll go feed my cat now.

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amandabe11man · 4 years ago

Photo

While I was slacking off, I decided to finally go about translating that old Hitcher-novelization I attempted when I was 14-15, and here it is! I changed some things that didn’t make sense in my original write-up (check out the Author’s Notes here and there), but I tried to keep it pretty faithful to how I originally wrote it, despite there being, well... a lot to be improved on probably.

I remember I was so stoked to write this, and hell, as you’ll see, I even managed to write down the first sequence before I ran out of juice. Who knows, I might continue some time. Either way, if anyone else in our tiny fandom would like to continue where this left off, feel free to do so, xD

But yeah, let’s start off with some carefully picked intellectual quotes, shall we?:

PART 1

“Man is his own worst enemy.” - Cicero “Better to be alone than in bad company.” - Italian proverb

CHAPTER 1.

Oh, fucking shit, Jim Halsey mused where he sat. I’m out of coffee again! Jim had been driving all night, and it was now half past twelve in the morning. It was still dark and the rain roared against the windshield. He’d seen the odd lightning bolt a few times, but luckily, they seemed to be far away.

Before he’d left his home in Chicago, he’d brewed a generous amount of coffee to bring in his thermos, since he knew he’d probably find it hard to stay awake throughout the long trip. So far, he’d had to stop at seven gas stations to refill his coffee, since Jim was quick to finish a thermos. Now he was on his way to the eighth gas station, while also considering to just skip the coffee altogether and just try to stay awake out of sheer willpower alone. But that was easier said than done. Right now, his whole life pretty much revolved around that damn coffee. But he wasn’t so sure that there’d be another station for another 6 miles or so. In that case, he’d have to pull himself together. That, if anything, was easier said than done.

In the beginning, Jim thought the rain’s roar against the windshield had sounded unpleasant, but as he’d grown more tired in time, he’d started finding it inviting; lulling him to a certain death if he so much as fell asleep for one second. Though, in his case, one second pretty much felt like an eternity. Jim’s head nodded involuntarily. For a moment, the road before him disappeared while the roaring rain sounded more inviting than ever. He’d just take a little nap, nothing more.

There was a sudden loud, blaring sound. Jim’s head shot up from where it had been resting on his chest, just in time to swerve out of the oncoming lane and the big truck that was headed straight for him. He quickly got back into his own lane and allowed himself to heave a sigh of relief as soon as he was out of danger. So far there wasn’t a single sign of a gas station. He’d begun to accept that he wouldn’t be able to stay awake behind the wheel and that checking into the nearest motel would be for the best.

The traffic was scarce tonight. The only cars he’d met, or even seen, had of course been the truck that almost collided with him, a nice-looking Mercedes and a little white Buggy that had passed him. *(A/N: I changed it in the translation, but originally, I had written that Jim had passed the Buggy, for some reason. Either I didn’t realize that particular car’s significance later or I just forgot. ANYWAY--) Suddenly, Jim thought he saw the outline of a building in the distance, most likely a motel. He was just about to turn towards the driveway when he noticed a grayish shadow emerge in the rain. The figure stood with their arm stretched out and their thumb turned upwards. A hitchhiker.

Jim was hesitant about pulling over, but then realized how selfish it would be to just leave that poor guy (who had probably stood there for a long time) out in the rain. He made his decision. Besides, some company might help him to stay awake. Jim stopped the car a bit further down the road and watched through the side mirror as the hitchhiker hurried over in his direction. Once the man had reached the passenger door, he started pulling the handle. The door wouldn’t open. The man then called upon Jim’s attention by tapping his knuckles against the window. Jim unlocked the door and the man could finally settle down in the passenger seat next to Jim. When he closed the door, a horrible squeaking sound was heard. Shitty door. I should oil it.

“My mother told me never to do this”, Jim said, hearing the slight joking tone of his voice and instantly regretting it. The man didn’t reply, and neither did he show in any way that he’d heard Jim’s remark. Jim started the engine and drove away again.

The silence in the car was deafening, and Jim felt he had to break the ice somehow; start up a conversation.

“My name’s Jim Halsey”, he said, and reached a free hand out to the man. The man responded in kind and took Jim’s hand.

“John... Ryder.”

Suddenly, Ryder surged forward with a sneeze.

“Bless you”, said Jim.

Ryder didn’t reply and the silence settled once again. The only sounds were Ryder’s heavy breathing and the rain’s roar against the windshield, which was starting to get deafening by now. Finally, Jim asked:

“Where should I drop you off?”

“I’m getting your car wet.”

“This isn’t my car”, Jim answered, glad to have finally gotten the guy to talk. “I’m driving it out to a guy in California.”

Ryder turned his head towards him, looking infinitely tired. Maybe just like Jim had felt earlier.

“Do you have a smoke?”, asked Ryder.

“Sure.”

Jim pulled out his pack of Camels and extended it to Ryder, who took one and put it in his mouth. Then he took out a weathered lighter from his coat pocket, lit the cigarette and immediately started inhaling the smoke.

“You’re gonna tell me where you’re going?”, Jim asked again.

“Sure.”

There was a short pause again, and Jim could feel Ryder’s stare on him.

“What are you looking at me like that for?”, he asked.

Ryder’s answer was delayed, before he turned his head away and murmured:

“Just looking.”

Suddenly, Jim caught a glimpse of a little car that looked to have been ditched by the side of the road. It was the white Buggy. He leaned closer to gauge the situation further, but then there was a sudden movement beside him and before he knew it, they were speeding down the road again, pushing 70. Once they had put a significant distance between them and the Buggy, Ryder saw it fit to remove his hand, which had been pushing Jim’s leg down on the gas pedal. Then he sat back in his seat again like nothing ever happened. *(A/N: In my original write-up, I changed this part so that John somehow pushed the gas pedal down himself, without the aid of Jim’s leg. I probably wasn’t sure how I was going to write down what actually happened, so I simplified it. But since it’s kinda an important moment, I changed it now in the translation)

Jim was at a loss for words, so surprised had he been. Now he wasn’t the least bit tired anymore. He turned to Ryder.

“What’d you do that for?”, he shouted while trying his best to keep his voice steady.

“Scared ya?” Ryder grinned at him, cigarette between his fingers.

Jim had had enough. He stepped on the brakes so hard that they both surged forward a bit before the car came to a stop. He then turned to face Ryder, still feeling jumpy. “I think you better get off now”, he said. “Ride’s over.”

Ryder didn’t move a muscle; just kept staring at Jim, who tried again.

“Goodbye.”

Something changed in Ryder’s eyes. Now he almost looked offended; as if someone wanting to throw him out of their car was the most preposterous thing imaginable. Still, he shifted a little and opened the door.

Jim was relieved. Enormously so. Sure he might be in need of some company, but then he’d rather pick up another hitchhiker. This guy seemed fucking nuts.

Ryder held the remnants of his cigarette up for a while, as if examining it, before dropping it on the wet asphalt and closing the door again. And just like that, Jim’s hope was extinguished; just like the faint embers of Ryder’s cigarette, immediately drenched by the rain. Again, Jim was speechless.

Ryder sat back into the seat with a smile on his lips, rain pouring down his face.

“I’m gonna sit here”, he said. Then he turned his head toward Jim again, smile widening. “And you’re gonna drive.” Then he suddenly surged forward and sneezed again. “Excuse me.”

Then it was quiet. Jim didn’t know what to say or how to act, but since he was in dire need of some answers, he asked:

“What was it about the car back there?”

“Why?”

“Thought I saw something, that’s all”, he trailed off.

A sudden flash of lightening lit up Ryder’s face, amplifying the glow of his icy blue eyes while he smiled at Jim, almost amused.

“I ran out of gas”, he said finally.

“So you wanna go to a gas station?”, Jim asked, hope reignited.

“Would help.”

Why didn’t he say that right away?, Jim thought sulkily, while starting the car back up. Silence fell once again, but this time, Jim didn’t feel like chatting. Better to just shut up. He’d have to make due with the roar of the rain instead, while he dealt with an ever growing longing to drop this John Ryder off. And while they were at it, Jim might as well refill that coffee thermos when they got to the gas station too. Finding hitchhikers out here in the middle of nowhere was not a guarantee, after all.

Jim gulped and silently thought back to his mother’s words from so many years ago. Still, he remembered it like it was yesterday; the whole process seared into his brain. Back then, his mom had been suspicious of just about anyone; never being one to see the good in strangers. Jim, just having received his first car, had been given his mom’s advice to never pick up hitchhikers. She’d said:

“Jim, never trust anyone. Wherever you go, there’s going to be all sorts of scummy people. And most definitely never ever pick up a hitchhiker.” Never pick up a hitchhiker... Never pick up a hitchhiker... Never pick up a hitchhiker... His mother’s words resounded in his brain until he was sure he’d go mad, before his thoughts were suddenly interrupted; as if cut off with a scissor, when Ryder spoke.

“Gas stations have cigarettes.”

Jim was even more perplexed now. “What about the gas?”, he asked.

“I don’t need gas.”, Ryder answered. It was as if he was enjoying being interrogated. At that moment, Jim lost any patience he had left, and didn’t even try to hold back his feelings when he yelled:

“WHAT DO YOU WANT?”

Ryder’s voice was husky when he started laughing. Jim didn’t know why he joined in on it. They both laughed for what felt like an hour, until whatever was humorous about the situation disappeared again, if it had existed to begin with. Jim turned to Ryder, still with a hesitant smile on his lips.

“What’s so funny?”, he asked.

“That’s what the other guy said”, Ryder chortled.

“Who’s the other guy?”

“The guy who was driving that car back there, the one who picked me up before you did.”

“Was that him in the car?”

“Sure it was”, Ryder said. “He couldn’t have walked very far.”

“And... why is that?” Jim didn’t like where this was going. And he hadn’t liked the situation to begin with. Ryder lowered his gaze.

“Because... I cut off his legs”, he said as he looked back up at Jim, smiling again. But not in a way that assured Jim that what he just said had been a joke. Ryder continued. “And his arms... and his head.”

He had stopped smiling now, as he looked out the window again. “And I’m gonna do the same to you”, he said.

What? Jim’s mind was reeling. It has to be a joke. It has to be! Jim couldn’t believe he’d been so unlucky as to let a murderer into his car. But that fact was made clearer still when Ryder retrieved something from the inner pocket of his coat. Jim couldn’t quite tell what it was, until the object glinted slightly.

“Don’t”, Ryder warned as he held up the pocket knife, seeming to show it off.

Jim jumped a little behind the wheel, but he knew he needed to try to keep calm unless he wanted to die. He wound up just keeping quiet while staring ahead out the windshield, trying to calm himself down. It wasn’t working. ------------------------- (A/N: Now for some POV-change! Bet you always wanted to know what that old roadworker guy was thinking, huh? Well, wonder no more! Hell, I even gave him a name.

Also I had no idea what job he actually had, so I went with him being a customs officer because... I guess it made sense at the time.)

Henry Rockwell stood right in the middle of what must’ve been torrential rain at this point, trying to make out any cars in the distance. He was middle-aged and had worked as a customs officer for well over twenty years. Unsurprisingly, he’d grown tired of it lately, and was planning on finding a new job before his retirement. He hated taking the damn night shift. Sure, he wasn’t alone on his post, but judging by the other guys’ faces, they were as tired as him. Of course it’s taxing to wait around for hours for passing cars, having to greet tired drivers and be courteous. A lot of the drivers that came by weren’t just tired either, but annoyed. He couldn’t fault them though; having most likely drove all night and just wanting to be done as soon as possible.

So far only four cars had passed, and he hoped that the fifth one would be the last. Then, with some luck, him and the guys would be relieved earlier.

And suddenly, there came the thing he had been impatiently looking for; a car. A red, classic sportscar. *(A/N: Once again, I have no idea what kinda car Jim’s driving...) Behind the drenched windshield, he could make out two figures in the front seats. The car stopped at the barrier and Henry made his way there, a pep in his step.

The guy behind the wheel wound down the window on his side, revealing himself to be a young guy of around 20. He looked spooked somehow, but there was probably nothing to worry about. Henry leaned forward slightly and looked in through the window, laying eyes upon the man sat beside the young driver. The man looked to be around 40-something and he was wearing a long dark green trenchcoat, that looked even darker after being exposed to the rain. *(A/N: AGA I N I don’t know? Seriously, I’ve never been able to make up my mind on what color John’s coat is. Just when I’m sure it’s green, I see another picture and it looks grey, etc... It’s like that gotdamn dress (you know the one)) He was slightly leaning forward too, peeking out the open window and smiling. It looked like he had something in his hand. Henry started talking to the driver, but was unable to look away from the man beside him.

“Where in Illinois are you from?”, he asked the young guy, who jerked his head up a little, like he’d been awakened from some kind of trance.

“Wh- what?”

“Your license plate”, Henry clarified. While he waited patiently for an answer, the man beside the kid spoke instead.

“Tell the man”, he told the kid, who started looking even more spooked. Henry swore he heard a light tremble in his voice.

“Chigaco”, he finally managed, not without difficulty.

“I see. My wife’s from Rockford”, Henry replied, wanting to ease the tension. “Do you have a cigarette?”

“No.”

Henry was surprised when, yet again, the man beside the kid spoke in his place. Without thinking, Henry’s gaze travelled lower when he noticed the man making a slow move with his arm, his hand coming to rest on the kid’s crotch. The young man jumped again, letting out a gasp before he could calm himself.

It seemed to make sense now; these two were probably one of those homosexuals couples, with the kid being noticeably scared of being found out. Henry supposed he couldn’t blame him. He wasn’t one of those homophobes, but he could understand if the kid would be embarrassed right out in public. But Henry almost thought it looked like the man was holding something against the guy’s crotch; something that made him all jittery. But really, it was probably nothing. Henry straightened back up and caught the kid’s scared and almost begging look. It was like he didn’t want Henry to go; almost as if he was scared to be left alone with the man beside him.

He shook his head lightly though (Stop imagining things like that), raising his arm to point out the direction for them.

“All right, the road’s clear now. Come on, get going, sweethearts.” “Bye”, the man said, grinning at Henry. *(A/N: I can’t believe I didn’t write down the part where John seems to blow this guy a kiss, dammit.) The kid looked over his shoulder at Henry one more time before he had to turn his attention back on the road. It had stopped raining now and you could see the dawn on the horizon.

Henry followed the red sportscar with his eyes as it drove away, taking its strange passengers with it. After a while, he went into the booth to call his boss, to tell him he was quitting.

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

Jim felt when Ryder removed the recessed knife from his crotch and inwardly, he sighed in relief, while still being frozen in fear. Ryder looked over the weapon for a bit, before folding the blade back out and putting the tip close to Jim’s eye.

“Do you wanna know what happens to an eyeball when it gets punctured?” Ryder shifted slightly, continuing, “Do you have any idea how much blood jets out of a guy’s neck when his throat’s been slit?”

Jim steeled himself and said, uncertainly:

“What do you want?”

“I want you to stop me”, Ryder almost whispered. Jim had to concentrate to be able to make out the words. He swallowed.

“Y-you’ve got the knife... You’ll stick it in me before I can do anything.”

“Yeah, so what have you got to lose? Stop me!”

There was a moment of silence again, and then Jim took a sharp breath. He couldn’t hold back the tears any longer; so he started crying. He hadn’t done that since he fell from his bike at age 14.

He twitched a little when Ryder carefully moved the knife over his cheek; almost like a caress. Ryder caught a tear on the blade, and let it continue rolling until it finally fell down on the seat.

“Crying won’t help”, Ryder said quietly. It almost sounded like the words were meant for himself as much as Jim. Then, Ryder said something else.

“Say four words.”

“O-okay”, Jim said without thinking, hoping this might make Ryder stop.

“Say: ‘I want to die’.”

What? Jim jerked a bit in his seat.

“I- I don’t know if I can say that”, he replied, shakily.

“Sure you can”, Ryder said, almost encouragingly. “Repeat after me: I-”

“I-”, Jim parroted, his voice trembling.

“Want-”

“W-want-”, Jim was whimpering now.

“To-”

“... To-”

“Die”, Ryder finished.

Try as he might, Jim simply could not bring himself to say that word. Then he saw it; the passenger door was slightly ajar. He glanced over at Ryder again, who was still staring at him emptily. So Jim took the plunge.

“I DON’T WANNA DIE!”, he yelled and delivered a hard shove to Ryder’s ribcage. The shove was hard enough that the man lost his breath, emitting a loud “oof”. Ryder fell back against the passenger door (What if it doesn’t open...?), which slammed open, causing Ryder to fall backwards out onto the asphalt. As he tumbled down the road, the knife came bouncing after.

Jim quickly checked himself over in the rearview mirror. Upon finding no cuts on his person, he could no longer contain his relief and exhilaration at having escaped with his life. He grinned wildly and laughed out loud. Then he looked in the rearview again, at the little dot that was Ryder, and hollered:

“Haha! Fuck you, buddy!”

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

Ryder laid on the road, trying to gather his wits after the sudden turn of events. There was an ache in his ribs from his collision with the ground. One of them was probably broken.

He took a deep breath and slowly wobbled back up on his feet, snatching up the knife as he went.

#the hitcher #1986 #novelization #(fan-made. in swedish.)#lol

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hihoneyimdead · 5 years ago

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Post for Friday Night Fights by @promptsforthestrugglingauthor

I’ve never done one of these before, but I also haven’t written anything original in months, so I brought out some new ocs! This was kinda hard but I like these guys and might sneak them into my wip!

Meet Emerson, known asshole, Smith, known ghost, and Rogers, known coward.

“What, may I ask, the actual fuck is a Streamy?”

I ignore the question and smack Smith away with a salt-covered hand. Smith skitters backwards with a hiss and a flutter of the curtains and flickering of the lights. Thankfully my laptop isn’t plugged in because there is no way in any of the hells that I can afford a new one. Not after last time.

“Personal space,” I snap, eye twitching. The costs of this operation are going through the roof already, what with the house and the new laptop and the new phone and the new everything because someone refuses to accept that electronics aren’t as dense as they were when he was a kid, like, a billion years ago. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you manners?”

“I was an orphan,” Smith says.

“Not my problem. Now, listen, get close to me again, and I will call Rogers back in.”

Behind me, he shudders, the room’s temperature dropping a good couple of degrees. Thank God for the summer heat (for once, and never again.) I’m sure that Rogers, miles and miles away tucked under his sorry excuse for a church praying to whatever god he’s worshiping this week, is doing the same. Times like this make me wish I didn’t settle down here, or that I had picked a better haunting ground to steal in the name of fame, fortune, and a future in reality television. I made the active decision, after all, to buy a haunted house. Not only was it infinitely cheaper, but it gave me the ability to capitalize on the haunting with a YouTube series and an incredibly active Twitter account. This is my burden, for worse or for worse, and I brought it upon myself. Though if the gods are really this against me, I should have just stayed in the hospital. At least the ghosts there are competent.

Retirement came easy once I was told I would never walk again. Not like I can go around hunting ghosts and being the hero in a wheelchair, not until I can afford one that doesn’t break down every time I even think about leaving a hardwood surface (because even her extremely generous life insurance can only get so far.) And I had thought at the time that it would be good for me. Running around for so long, it’s tiring. Was tiring. I could go to therapy, finally, or get to work on that novel I’d been planning since middle school.

And then I saw therapy costs and broke the lead on my pencil every time I tried putting it to paper, seeing her eyes as she-

Rogers told me to start a diary. Helped him when he was down, he said. But he was also curled up under my dining table clutching a bagel to his chest as Smith looked down upon us upside-down through the ceiling, concerned as ever.

But pencils are bad. Pens are expensive, and they run out of ink too quickly (Smith keeps stealing them to write in his own diary up in the attic where he knows I can’t go and steal them back and also send his ass to the hells where he belongs.) Paper rips, and it cuts, and I don’t like bleeding all too much. But my laptop had a camera, a cheap one that was grainy and shitty and barely picked up audio after so long sitting in a case next to my bed gathering dust.

“So I just stand like... this?” Smith asks, head detached and tucked under his arm. He sticks his tongue out and widens his eyes until they’re, literally, the size of dinner plates.

Rogers, cowering under his hat, shakes his head. “Ah. No? I... Em?”

I roll my eyes and roll over to take Smith’s head and put it under his other arm, poking his eye in the process. He only protests a little.

“What’s with the face?” I ask, nose wrinkled. “Aren’t you supposed to be, you know, scary?”

“I am.” Smith pouts, notably not scary.

Smith is the least scary apparition I have ever had the displeasure of dealing with. Not only does he have all of his body parts intact (he died of poisoning, or something, fuck if I know or care), but he also cries when I even mention bringing out the holy water. One time he hid under Rogers’ coat when he came over, much to Rogers’ absolute horror and terror. But he also won’t be exorcised, no matter what I try. It’s annoying. There’s another ghost here somewhere perfect for this, I know, I feel. I can feel them sitting in the storm cellar by where Rogers says the apparent rows of shelves of empty, dusty jars sits.

Rogers squeaks and pulls his hat lower over his face. “He is, he is! Em, please!”

I roll my eyes and pinch Smith’s cheek. Hard. “Could it kill you to try, you know, being the evil, demonic spirit you are?”

“I’m not evil. And I’m already dead, jackass.”

“Most assuredly dead,” Rogers agrees.

In the cellar, I can faintly feel the presence floating up to listen, as it has been for the past week and a half as we try and get this pilot episode filmed.

“Buzzed Feed isn’t going to pick us up if you. Are. Not. Scary!” I snap, pinching Smith’s cheek for emphasis.

“Do you mean Buzzfeed?” Rogers asks.

“The fuck is a Buzzfeed?” Smith asks.

I groan and look to the presence beneath the floorboards. It’s laughing. I hate it.

“Buzzfeed isn’t into this stuff, dude,” Rogers says. “You’re thinking of Netflix.”

“What’s a Netflix?” Smith asks.

If she were alive, Sammi would be laughing at us. But she’s not, and I don’t think she would know what a ‘Net flicks’ is, either.

“Didn’t you die in 2008?” Rogers asks, peeking out from under his hat.

“1908.”

“Ah.”

“That’s a whole century apart! How did you get that wrong?”

“I’m sorry!”

I push myself back and away from the shitty ghost and the shittier exorcist with a huff, going to retrieve my laptop from its spot on the counter so I can pull up that breathing website (it’s the only good thing Rogers has ever found.) The spirit below follows me.

Smith coughs, the already-flickering kitchen light going out for half a second, and Rogers screams, and I count down from ten in my mind. I’m not going to run my idiot best friend over. I’m not going to get him to exorcise the key to my future success. We are going to make a television show, I am going to get the royalties, and I am going to bury my sister where she belongs.

I let out a five-second breath, tuning the two idiots out. It’s going to fine. It’s going to be fine.

And then the spirit underneath me pushes its way through the floorboards and through my lap and I almost fall out of my chair because-

“What the fuck?” Smith demands. I don’t even have the energy to jump or slap him as he appears by my side, head reattached. He jabs a finger into the other spirit’s chest, literally. “Why are you here?”

“I don’t know.” The other Smith smiles, all teeth, bloody. He’s bloody.

“Em hates tea,” Rogers unnecessarily says, probably frozen in fear and-slash-or shivering like a shaved penguin where he stands.

“This is the worst-case scenario,” I say. “Please get out of me before I have a heart attack.”

He doesn’t, so I do.

#friday night fights #tw death mention #tw blood #fnf fill #idk who they are just that i love them #i can't wait to do more with these guys!!#i should make my writing blog now then

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agrestenoir · 5 years ago

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what’s written in the stars

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug Pairing: Adrien/Marinette Rating: M Summary: Marinette doesn’t know what deity she pissed off to be cursed to love a time traveler.

“I think we are one of those couples with a long story to tell when people ask how we found each other. Because I will see her every now and then, and maybe one year, she’ll be with a different me, and the next year, I’ll be with a different her. And it’s gonna take a long time, but then it’ll be perfect. I’m in no rush.”

When Marinette is twenty-years-old, she meets Adrien for the first time.

He’s behind the counter at the coffee shop, an apron wrapped around his waist as he takes an order from the customer at the register, and looking younger than she’s ever seen him. Her mind draws a blank as she rushes forward, pushes to the front of the line, and grabs ahold of his wrist before he can pull away.

“Hello,” she says with a bright smile.

He stares at her in confusion, quirking an eyebrow high. “Hi?”

There’s a moment of silence between them, the span of a handful of heartbeats, and then she’s leaning closer. “Do you… Do you know who I am?”

“I’m sorry?” Adrien shakes his head and starts to pull away. “You have the wrong person.”

“I love you,” she tells him suddenly, expression imploring. “Please don’t go.”

“Oh?” A smile stretches across his face, and heavy-lidded eyes turn her inside out. “Tell me more.”

It’s nothing new, but it’s a face she recognizes from those years he was tentative and unsure, when Early Adrien had no idea how to talk to women. Even though it has the power to make her heart throb, bruised and bleeding in her chest, she knows there’s no truth behind it. Not here, not in this time.

Adrien is eighteen and full of the charm and charisma that tears her apart, something that squirms under her skin like a live wire, and something she doesn’t miss. But it’s still Adrien, the person she loves with her whole being, and she’ll take him no matter what age. (Even if he’s still that rascal sort who thinks flirty eyes and sharp smirks are all girls want, and then they’ll leave him alone.)

“Over coffee,” she says. “Preferably when you’re not working.” She thinks back to what he told her way back when, tries to remember what time he gets off again. “Tonight, maybe seven?”

He smiles, and Marinette’s heart picks up its pace.

This is how it all starts.

It actually starts when Marinette is six and picking flowers in the park across the street, when an older man steps out from behind the old willow tree with an easy smile and kind eyes. He’s holding a pink lily, petals wet with morning dew, and offers it to her.

“Someone told me this is your favorite flower,” he says when her little hand brushes his. “But I think blue poppies are better.”

Marinette manages an indignant huff. “Blue flowers are stupid.”

The man merely chuckles, shaking his head. “Maybe, maybe.” He stretches out his hand for her to shake. “My name’s Adrien. Do you mind if I stay here for a little bit and look at flowers with you?”

Little Marinette hesitates for a moment, her parents’ voices echoing through her head about strangers and caution, but this man looks at her with that smile, and it’s like she’s known him for her entire life. A part of her recognizing him instantly.

“Sure. I’m Marinette,” she murmurs in response, and the rest, they say, is history.

“So you’re my girlfriend, and you know I time travel,” Adrien says incredulously over the rim of his coffee cup, like he doesn’t know which concept is more unbelievable. “How long has this been going on exactly?”

“You’ve been with me my whole life,” she tells him with a smile. Marinette reaches out and grabs his free hand in the center of the table, intertwining their fingers together. “You’ve come more frequently in the last five years though. I think it’s because it’s closer to when you first met me.”

“This is still a lot to take in.” Adrien shakes his head, still dumbfounded. “It’s not every day that some pretty stranger comes up to me at work and tells me that she knows my deepest secret, that we’re apparently dating, and that she knows all about my future.”

“Our future,” she corrects. “You’ve known mine my whole life, so I kind of like being on the other side of things.”

Adrien leans back in his chair and crosses his arms against his chest. “So you’re telling me that someday soon, I’m going to start traveling back in some random girl’s timeline?”

“It’s not random,” Marinette presses and nudges his ankle with her toe. “It’s never been random.”

“Trust me, it is, bugaboo, because I’d remember if I ever saw a pretty girl like you—” he begins, eyes lingering on the ladybug earrings she’s currently wearing, the nickname slipping out as easy as breathing.

She kicks him hard enough to make him choke. “It isn’t.” Anger burns low and hot in the pit of her stomach, and she remembers how stupid Early Adrien was, still learning how to function without the mask he portrays to random girls who accost him in coffee shops.

“I just don’t understand how this is supposed to work,” he tells her honestly.

“You once told me it’s like gravity: that big events pull you in.” She shrugs helplessly. “That’s how it is for me too. The more important something or someone is, the more I travel to them.”

“Wait.” Adrien’s eyes flash wildly. “You time travel too?”

A laugh falls from her lips and into the space between them. “You think I’m from this time?” Adrien tightens his grip on her hand as the truth crashes over him. “I travel too, but only to you.”

“Why?”

“What can I say?” Marinette smiles, eyes glimmering. “Big events pull me in, and you were mine.”

“I don’t think we’ve ever been the same age,” Marinette tells him, when she is eighteen and he is eighteen. “It’s different.”

“What’s the oldest you’ve seen me?” he asks as they amble down the snow-slick sidewalks towards the Italian café near Marinette’s university. Adrien is fresh from his spring semester while Marinette is in the middle of her fall, her workload already increasing as she prepares for her finals. He carries her bag over his shoulder while she buttons up her jacket.

Marinette bites her bottom lip in thought. “I think… twenty-eight maybe?”

“That’s… a long time,” he muses. “I do this for over a decade?”

“I’ve been doing it for longer,” she tells him with a sharp smirk. “Better catch up, darling.”

Adrien laughs, shoulders shaking. “And how long have you been traveling?”

“I started when I was ten.”

“And you only go to my future?”

“Your future, a different reality, a parallel universe.” She sighs and buries her face in the worn knit scarf. “We’ve never really figured out what it is. Time travel or universe hopping or something else. Nothing really needed a label. We don’t even know if we’re in the same timeline.”

Adrien thinks about that for a long while. “So I could be in my sixties when you’re born. Or you could be long dead right now.”

“Or I could be in a completely different reality,” she says softly. “There’s an infinite number of them you know: ones that are completely different, others only slightly. One where we took a left instead of a right, where I studied forensics instead of fashion. You just never know.”

Adrien whistles low. “Wow. You’ve thought a lot about this.”

Marinette presses her lips into a thin line. “I’ve spent most of my life waiting for you. I’ve had time.”

Marinette is twenty-one and sitting with a twenty-three-year-old Adrien on a rooftop in the grassy hills of England somewhere. There’s a B&B belonging to a friend of his from London that he likes to visit a few times during the summer when he’s on break from school.

“So you ever been here before?” he asks her as he takes a sip of the cinnamon whiskey he’s taken up to the roof with them. “Little bit different than New York, I presume.”

She leans back on her hands, crosses her legs, and tosses her head back to stare up at the night sky. In the distance, the moon bobs above the waves. It’s definitely not like the city.

“Once,” she tells him and thinks back to when she was twelve and walking down the hallway of her home, only to suddenly find herself in a meadow in England with Adrien laying on a picnic blanket. It’d only been for a moment, where she managed a short wave, and was thrust back into her own timeline. “But it was nothing like this.”

“It’s really something, isn’t it?” He hands her the bottle of whiskey, and she takes a quick sip, wincing as the bitter taste burns her throat. “Don’t get a view like this back home.”

Marinette’s eyes rest on him, trim and toned body laid out across the roof, all long legs and pale skin. “You definitely don’t,” she tells him, probably a little tipsy but far past caring.

Adrien can feel her gaze on him and takes the bottle from her hands, tossing back a shot and choking it down to give himself an excuse for his burning cheeks. Shoulders shaking, Marinette laughs and leans forward to press a kiss to his cheek, to the tip of his nose, and then to his lips.

He smiles into the kiss. “You’re the best view I’ve ever seen.” He pulls away and rests his forehead against hers, breathing heavily. “I wish I could see you every minute of every day.”

Marinette sucks on her bottom lip and pushes Adrien backwards until she can lay across his chest. She can hear his heartbeat through the thin fabric of his shirt, the steady pitter-patter that reminds her that he’s real and he’s here. Sometimes she thinks she’ll wake up one day and this will all be a dream—time travel, Adrien, and their love—but then she jumps again, and he’s there, right where he should be.

“I wish I could wake up next to you every day,” she tells him softly. He cards his fingers through her tangled-curls, and tears prickle in the corner of her eyes. “I love you so much.”

She tries to quell the fears bubbling up inside her, her heart beating against her ribcage like a wild animal wanting to get out. What if this is all their life is—waking up alone with the ghost of the other in their bed—and they never get the chance to make something real out of it? What if the time traveling stops, and she never sees Adrien again after this moment? What if this is all they have?”

“I graduate next week,” she says. “Can you come?”

He looks at her sadly. “I’ll try,” he tells her and presses a kiss to the top of her head. “I always do.”

Sometimes that’s all they can do.

Marinette can’t remember when she first fell in love with Adrien.

He’s always been a part of her life—since the moment in the park to the last night they spent together in her apartment in the middle of New York. All she knows is that she’s loved him for as long as she’s known him, which is basically forever at this point. At twenty-four, you’d think she’d know better than to love a person she can never keep.

But that’s a lesson Marinette’s been trying to learn for nearly twenty years to no avail.

“Do you ever wonder if this is the last time we’ll see each other?” Marinette asks him on the eve of her twenty-fifth birthday in a mess of sheets and skin, wrapped in his arms as a storm brews outside.

Adrien at twenty-seven simply shrugs like he has no care in the world and holds her tighter. “I don’t have time to worry. I’ve been traveling my whole life, and if there’s one thing I know, it’s that I have to value my time in the present.”

“But is this my present or yours?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says and presses a kiss to her crown. “All that matters is that you’re here, and so am I, and that we’re together.”

One time, when she’s twenty-two and visiting home, she goes to London and tries to look for Adrien.

She doesn’t find anything and heads back to Paris, too broken-hearted to think.

“Can I kiss you?” Adrien asks while they stand in the pouring rain, when she’s seventeen and he’s nineteen. “Or is that too weird?”

There’s no proper response as Marinette throws her arms around his neck and pulls him close. She kisses him then, and it’s wet and messy, maybe from the rain, who really knows, but it’s wonderful and beautiful because it’s something they’ve both been waiting for. When they pull away, both are gasping for breath.

Marinette laughs, giggles spilling into the space between them, as she rests her damp head against his soaked shirt. “God… I’ve been wanting to do that since I was fourteen.”

A shiver goes down his spine. “You’ve loved me for a long time.”

“You’ve just…” Her voice trails off as she struggles to find the words. “You’ve always been there. I don’t think… I ever had choice not to.”

“Do you ever regret that?” he asks.

Marinette shakes her head. “Never.”

Marinette doesn’t love Adrien just because the universe told her too, but rather because he’s ingrained himself in every part of her life. While the concept of him has always seemed impossible, he makes himself known in little ways that matter, sometimes just to prove he exists, and others just to make her happy. It’s these things that make her fall for him.

When she has her first fashion show, he’s standing in the crowd with a noise maker he’d snagged from the convenience store down the way, getting chased out by security when he uses the damn thing. When she’s drowning in finals during her freshman year at a university in New York, away from home for the first time, he comes with an energy drink and study guide to keep her company. During her graduation, he’s seated front row away from the rest of her family, blowing her a kiss and mouthing “I love you!” for her eyes alone.

It’s every afternoon in the park pressing flowers between the pages of one of her father’s old dictionaries. It’s poking each other with foils between Adrien’s fencing matches when he’s sweaty and anxious and she’s there to calm him down. It’s hours spent over designs as she finalizes the pieces before the presentation for the spring collection. It’s her at fifteen teaching him at twenty to skip rocks on the Seine only for him to turn around at twenty-four and teach seven-year-old Marinette the same thing.

It’s all these things and more—the way he comes to the big moments in her life, the way she makes things big moments in his.

Marinette wonders sometimes how she got so lucky to have someone who’s always there, and even when he disappears, there’s the burning hope he’ll come back. How he always keeps his promises. How he’s her constant support. How he never fails to make her smile. How his kindness shines through in everything he does. How soft and tender he is when she’s a little girl. How much he loves her and fights for her in the present.

Marinette may not know when she fell in love with Adrien, but she definitely knows why.

The first time Marinette time travels, she’s ten and afraid.

She’s skipping down the street to head home from the park as the sun burns low on the horizon, and suddenly it’s daybreak and she’s in the middle of an auditorium full of loud voices, flashing lights, and lots of people. She doesn’t know when she is—let alone where—but before she can panic, there’s hands on her shoulders and a man kneeling in front of her.

“Marinette?” Adrien whispers, green eyes like the trees, soft and kind.

“W-Where am I?” she presses as tears trek down her cheeks. “I was going home, a-and then I—” She snaps her eyes shut as a sob bubbles up from her chest. “I w-want to go home.”

Her gaze skitters to the people around her, wearing weird clothing and weird hair and weird shoes with weird voices and weird phones, and she doesn’t know if she’s thirty years in the past or thirty years in the future. It only makes her press closet to Adrien and wrap her arms around his neck, holding on tightly as her whole body shakes, because he has a habit of disappearing when she doesn’t want him to, and she won’t let him go now.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” He rubs a hand down her back to comfort her. “You’re fine, you’re safe, I promise.”

“What happened?” she whimpers.

Adrien looks at her, twenty-one and quiet, and simply smiles. “You time traveled.”

Marinette is twenty-six when she travels onto a balcony in the middle of the city in Paris, attached to an unknown apartment in the uptown district. It’s a quaint complex with a sloping roof and white brick, maple trees bending gracefully over the street below. The late morning sunlight filters through the leaves and a spring breeze filters past.

Cocking her head to the side, she ambles towards the window of the apartment, trying to make sense of where she is. In all her travels, she’s never been here before and Adrien has never told her about it.

She peers through a window with white-trim and catches sight of movement inside. Hesitation has never been her strong suite, especially when she’s traveling, as she never knows how much time she has to do what she needs to do. Usually Adrien is somewhere close, but something about this time feels different.

The window shows a dining table where two people sit—a man with a red hat and thick-rimmed glasses and another woman with dark hair pulled into a high bun. They’re both sipping from coffee mugs and pondering over open catalogs strewn across the table in front of them. The man says something that causes the woman to shake with laughter as she scoots her chair back and makes a move to stand.

As she turns to the side, Marinette lets a gasp fall from her lips.

She recognizes the woman as herself—laugh lines etched into her face, hair piled into messy curls, and belly swollen with child.

A single tear trails down her cheek as she continues to stare, speechless and shocked, at the older Marinette who’s happy and with a man other than Adrien. Her hands are shaking as they clench the fabric of her shirt in tight fists, heart thundering like it’s going to break through her ribs, the world tilting on its axis as reality crashes over her.

She’s pregnant. He’s not Adrien.

She doesn’t want this. She’s never wanted this. Her whole life—it’s only ever been Adrien.

There’s a pull within her, the universe trying to take her back, but she fights it even as her world falls apart. She needs to see more, get her answers to questions she hasn’t even formed yet, has to learn how to change this future because she doesn’t want it.

As everything begins to fade and she finds herself between one time and the next, the older Marinette turns around and stares out the window, catching her gaze before she can fully disappear. The Marinette inside only presses her lips into a thin smile and raises her hand in goodbye, the silver ring on her finger glinting under the kitchen light.

“It’s okay,” she mouths to her. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Marinette doesn’t like to think about all this ending.

If she has her way, they’ll keep jumping in and out of each other’s lives forever. It’s not much of a life together, but it’s theirs, and damn it, that matters to her. She’d spend the rest of her life being a ghost in his, the figure found in all his photographs, the voice on his answering machine when he’s out and she can’t bother him, the memory that he goes back for when he needs to.

Marinette would do it all if it means she gets to keep him.

She wonders what Adrien thinks. She knows he loves her, but the question is… is it enough?

For her, it always has been.

“What’re you doing?” Adrien asks her at twenty-seven, breathless and smiling between her kisses.

She’s twenty-six and desperate, convinced she’s just seen the end, where she’s thirty-something with a family of her own and no Adrien in sight. It makes her hungry for what she has now, and she wants to lose herself in it just to hide from the bubble future and what it has in store for them.

It’s funny, she thinks to herself. I’ve never been scared of the future before.

Inside her bedroom, she pulls him down by the collar of his shirt and crushes her lips to his, wet and hard with teeth and spit. He tastes like vanilla chap stick and coffee as he’d travelled in the middle of his breakfast, and God… she just wants to savor this. He hefts her against the bedroom door, her legs wrapping around his waist as she pulls her blouse overhead, and he buries his face against her neck.

“I missed you,” she tells him between harsh gasps, shoulders shaking. He only smiles and spins around, throwing her onto the bed before crawling atop her.

More clothes start coming off, exposing miles of warm skin she’s never once taken for granted. He sighs as he pushes into her, breathes turning shaky, but his kisses turn more ferocious. Hips pumping, toes curling, bed rocking—her nails dig into his shoulder blades as she holds onto him for dear life. It makes tears prickle in the corners of her eyes at the thought that she could someday lose all of this.

“I love you, you know that, right?” he says as he pulls away, staring down at her in awe.

Marinette can’t even muster a response, only nudging him closer until she can capture his lips with hers, opening her mouth and licking inside. Adrien smiles into it and reaches between them with one hand, cupping her sex and pressing until the world turns white. They lose themselves in the ebb of the tide, the sheets turning sticky with sweat, until her thighs clench around his hips, back arching off the bed, and she comes hard.

When Marinette comes back to herself, and the world seems to right itself, she curls up in Adrien’s arms and buries her face in the crook of his neck. “I want you,” she murmurs against his skin. “I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Adrien is silent for a moment before he laughs. “Did… Did you just propose?”

“Yes,” she says because she can’t imagine what else she’d rather do.

“Isn’t that my line?” he teases in jest.

Marinette snorts.

(God, she loves him.)

The first morning after, when she’s twenty and full of hope, she stares at the twenty-two-year-old Adrien sleeping beside her, who’s hogging the blankets and drooling on the pillow, and can’t help but laugh. “I swear, I’m gonna love you forever,” she tells him, and it’s more than a promise or a far-fetched dream.

It’s always been a fact.

Adrien is twenty-eight and tosses her a small black box when she collapses on the couch in her new apartment. Moving back to Paris was harder than she imagined, but at least her boyfriend knows how to time things perfectly. They’ve spent the past few hours moving the last of her things in, and the adventure of unpacking still awaits, but it’s been a long day and she doesn’t know how long Adrien has left.

“What’s this?” She takes the box and turns it over, gears in her head turning slowly, because she’s twenty-seven and tired. “Was this packed somewhere?”

“No,” he says with a soft smile and plucks it out of her fingers. Marinette lets out an indignant squawk, trying to yank it back, but he presses her back against the couch with a single finger to her forehead. “Just hold on a second.”

“Is it mine?” Marinette bites her bottom lip, trying to picture where he’s swiped it from. She doesn’t recall the box among her jewelry when she packed it all up.

“Well, it ought to be,” he tells her. “Just depends what your answer is.”

The world shudders to a halt. Her hands fly up to cover her mouth, and she draws a blank, unable to think of any words.

Adrien slips off the couch and rocks back on his haunches, propping up on one knee in front of her. “Marinette, I feel like I’ve loved you since before I knew you.” He swallows, voice breaking. “Last year, you asked me a question, and I… I didn’t have an answer, and you didn’t do it correctly. I went to my father and asked for my mother’s rings because…”

A half-formed sob falls from his lips before he can choke it down. She’s still frozen.

“You didn’t—” Marinette starts to say, voice full of tears.

“You asked last time, so I think now it’s my turn, so Marinette Dupain-Cheng, will you—” A smile stretches across his face, and there’s tears dripping down his cheeks, and there’s tears against her lips as she kisses him breathless.

“Yes,” she tells him and can’t stop laughing or crying. “It’s always been yes.”

They can’t get married—both lost in time, neither sure where the other is.

It doesn’t stop them from pretending though. Rings adjourn fingers, twenty-eight-year-old Adrien pressing kisses to twenty-eight-year-old Marinette’s lips, the “I do” and always” somewhere in the spaces between them.

It’s been a decade since they were the same age.

Marinette often wonders if there’s a limit to how much you can love someone. She wonders if there’s a limit to how long you can love someone.

At thirty, Adrien’s mother’s wedding ring burns like silver fire on her finger wherever she goes, a constant reminder of who put it there. She thinks about Adrien, tries to picture her future where they don’t exist, but it’s impossible.

Every time she thinks about the future, where she’s thirty-something and with another man, she can’t imagine what life without Adrien will be like. It’s like trying to imagine a world where the sun doesn’t shine and the sky isn’t blue, where the road to her parents’ bakery isn’t cracked with age, where the pink lilies on her porch don’t grow after the rain falls.

It’s impossible, so she tries not to think about it.

She also tries not to think about the fact that it’s been six months since Adrien last traveled.

(She tries but fails every time.)

She’s thirty-one and married to a ghost.

It’s been five months since she last traveled.

The last time she sees Adrien is when he’s twenty-two and in love with a girl who burst into his coffee shop one day just to tell him that she loved him.

They go to brunch and then kiss goodbye on the sidewalk, and Adrien fingers her ring and promises to catch up. “I think this is the oldest I’ve ever seen you,” he notes, and she tries not to cry, tries to pretend that there’s so much more future between them, tries not to think about how she’s going to lose him.

“You’ll see me older someday,” she says, and this time is a far-fetched dream because if there’s one thing she can’t promise him, it’s time.

Adrien stares at her with those green eyes that glitter like stars. “You know,” he tells her. “I think this is the happiest I’ve ever seen you.”

Marinette can’t even form a proper response, only huffs a soft laugh and presses her lips to her wedding ring.

Marinette is thirty-three and has started a new job as a fashion designer at a renowned business in Paris. Adrien’s mother’s wedding ring still sits on her finger because she made a promise when she was twenty and refuses to break it. She’s unpacking her desk supplies from a box and adjusts her new nameplate with a soft sigh, the golden metal glinting in the sunlight streaming from the window.

There’s a knock against her door, pulling her from her morning musings. “Hey, I found this box outside your office, and I think you dropped… Marinette?”

The voice strikes her deep inside, bringing her heart stammering to a stop. She twists around on her heel and a bright smile overtakes her face. “Adrien!” she cries and wraps her arms around his neck, his own holding her tight against his chest. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again!”

“I can’t believe you’re here,” he gushes to her, eyes wide and brimming with questions. “I haven’t traveled in three years, and the last time I saw you, you were seven at that park, and… and I thought I’d lost you!”

“Wait, wait,” she says, pressing her hands to his shoulders to keep him still. “What do you mean you haven’t traveled?”

“I don’t know,” Adrien tells her, running a hand through his hair, already messy to begin with. “It just stopped. Master Fu thinks it’s because the clock genes got shocked back into place or something, or maybe it just… I don’t know, but I am so happy you’re here, I was worried you weren’t traveling anymore—”

“I haven’t traveled in two years,” she says.

Just to check, she glances around her office. It’s still her nameplate, still her box, still the picture of her parents in the corner, still the pink lilies and blue poppies on the windowsill.

“Then how are you here?” he asks her.

“I don’t know,” she tells him. “But this is my timeline and my reality. I woke up and came to work. I’m here because I got a new job with Gabriel Fashions, and this is where I’m supposed to be.”

Adrien bites his bottom lip and shakes his head. “Then if you didn’t travel, and I didn’t travel…”

Then…

Marinette doesn’t waste her time thinking. She grabs him by the collar and pulls him forward, kissing him and kissing him, until he’s laughing and so is she, tears streaming down both of their faces.

“H-How are you here?” she asks him, flabbergasted. “I looked, but I could never find you.”

“Gabriel’s my father. He owns this whole building, and I help with the business… But God, Mari, you’re here, you’re here,” he whispers against her forehead. “You’re really here.”

“I’ve always been here,” she tells him and intertwines their fingers together, the silver of their matching wedding bands glinting in the sunlight.

Same timeline, same universe, same Adrien.

She’s thirty-five and sitting at the kitchen table of her and Adrien’s home a mile from the office. Her wedding ring sits on her finger, but soon she’ll have to switch to a necklace as her fingers swell from her pregnancy. Across from her, Nino, her husband’s best friend, smiles around the rim of his coffee mug and points to a picture in the catalog.

“I think you should get this crib,” he tells her. “That’s what Alya and I got for the twins. It’s sturdy and does its job.”

She pushes herself to her feet, eager for some more tea, still laughing. “It’s fire engine red, Nino.”

“There’s nothing wrong with red,” he grumbles under his breath.

Her giggles spill into the space between them as Adrien comments from the other side of the room, “How about blue? Or green?”

“You already got the room painted blue,” she snipes back. “We don’t need it looking like the Cookie Monster threw up in there.”

“Hey,” he says and peers around the cabinet, a wrench in hand. “There’s nothing wrong with blue. I—oh.” Adrien pauses, blue eyes softening as he stares out the window onto their balcony.

Marinette simply sighs and turns on her heel, already knowing well enough what she’ll find. Her own wet eyes stare back as the younger Marinette begins to fade away, hands clenched to her chest in despair.

She smiles and waves goodbye, quietly telling her that it’s okay, because it is, it does work out.

It’s not much, but the younger her has a lifetime to figure out what she means.

Warm arms loop around her waist, lips pressing against the nape of her neck. “You weren’t kidding.”

“I told you,” she says and leans back against Adrien’s shoulder. “She’s going to be very worried for a while.”

“I’m sorry I worried you.”

She turns around in his arms and kisses him—slow and soft. “It’s worth it,” she whispers. “You’ve always been worth it.”

And the rest, they say, is history.

#miraculous ladybug #ml fic #adrienette #adrinette #ml #my fic #my writing

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